Page 25 of The Chase

I snicker. “Like I’m going to tell you.”

“But I’ve been stuck here since last night.”

“I literally sent you the link last night. The fact that you’ve already made it to the city is wicked impressive.” I shake my head. “I haven’t checked the message boards today, but last I saw, none of the other betas were even close to passing the village level.”

“Well, yeah. That’s because I’m superior to them in every way. I’m the only one whose opinion matters.”

“And your opinion so far?”

“This game is boss.”

Excitement gathers inside me. I love hearing that, especially from a dedicated gamer like Morris, whose Twitch stream earns him a shit ton of money. Yup, people actually subscribe to watch him play video games online. He’s that good, not to mention incredibly entertaining as he livestreams his virtual adventures.

Not to toot my own horn, but I’m a bit of a legend too. Not from livestreaming, but reviewing. Up until this year, I reviewed games for the college blog, as well as other hugely popular gaming sites on the web. But I stopped reviewing because it was a time suck, and I needed to concentrate on my own game.

Legion 48isn’t the most complex of RPGs; it’s not multiplayer and it follows a very scripted storyline rather than an open-world concept. With my schedule, it’s hard enough to find time to play video games, let alone design them. But I’m in the process of applying for jobs at several game-development companies, and I needed to give them a taste of what I’m capable of in terms of design techniques.Legion 48might not beSkyrimorGTA,but all I need it to do is show these studios I’m not a total hack.

My greatest strength, I think, is that I did all the artwork myself along with the computer coding required to make the game functional. All of the art started out as rough sketches, was then drawn digitally, then turned into 3D assets. I can’t even calculate how much time I spent on it, and that was nowhere close to how long it took to code the damn thing.

“Run into any bugs yet?” I ask Morris.

“Nothing major. When you speak to the dragon in the cave, the dialogue freezes up and then jumps to the next bit.”

All right. Easy fix. A relief, because it took hours upon hours to refine and hammer out all the pesky bugs in the alpha stage. For nearly a year, the game was barely playable. The first round of beta testing shed light on more bugs I’d missed. Somehow, despite my grueling schedule, I debugged the game enough to make it fully functional and ready for this second and final round of beta testing. This time, dozens of gamers are playing, including many of my college friends.

“Hasn’t crashed yet,” he adds helpfully.

“Yet? Don’t jinx it, man. I’ve sent this thing to half a dozen studios. If it crashes on them…”

“Hasn’t crashed, period,” Morris corrects. “Won’t crash, ever. Now tell me how to open the third gate.”

“Nope.”

“But I’m dying to see the City of Steel. Is there an oracle I’m supposed to talk to? Why can’t I find this key?”

“Guess you’re not as good as you think you are.”

“Oh, fuck off. Fine. Whatever. I’m gonna beat this thing and then call you to gloat.”

“You do that.” I grin to myself. “I’ll find you online later. Jumping in the shower now.”

“Cool. Ciao.”

I strip out of my clothes and head for the bathroom, a spring to my step. Morris’s enthusiasm forLegion 48managed to ease the tension plaguing my body.

But my muscles tense up again at the sound of Summer’s laughter in the hall.

I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, noting the frustration in my eyes, the rigid set of my jaw. The harsh expression seems even harsher when paired with my tattoos—the two full sleeves covering my arms, and the chest piece that’s doneonly in black. The piece is a bit faded now, though that almost gives it a cooler vibe. Not that I got tatted up because it’s cool. I’m an artist. I designed all the tats myself, and whatever I can use as a canvas, I’ll use. Including my own skin.

But when my face is surly, and my beard is growing out, and I’m brooding in front of the mirror, all the ink just makes me look like a thug.

If I’m being honest, “thug” is kind of what I was going for during my brief high school rebellion. I got my first tat—the dragon on my left arm—when I was hanging with the dudes whose go-to solution for solving problems involved their fists. Or brass knuckles. Don’t get me wrong—they didn’t pressure me to get inked. They just knew of a parlor that tattooed minors without their parents’ permission. Because, truthfully, the first time was essentially a fuck-you to my folks. My sophomore art class had just put on an end-of-year exhibition, where Mom and Dad spent the whole time sniping at each other instead of supporting their kid. They walked right past my paintings, too busy arguing to notice my work.

So fifteen-year-old Colin, badass that he was, decided,Fine. You guys are too busy fighting to appreciate my art, so I’ll put it right where you can see it.

These days, I do view the tats as an extension of my art, but I can’t deny it didn’t start out that way.

My shoulders tighten when I hear the low murmur of Hunter’s voice. Followed by another laugh from Summer.

---