The thumping EDM music shook the walls as I approached the ground-floor party, and the light beams moving across the floor spilled a multitude of colors into the hallway through the open double doors. Dozens of people walked out with booze, T-shirts, and bags of swag. Most of the guys leaving the event had on GoW tees, autographed on the back by Asher and Ian. I rolled my eyes.
A few people left wearing Ultimate Apocalypse shirts, mainly women and a few gay men. A handful of lanky hipster dudes wore them, too, but it may have been because most of the launch shirts for my game ran smaller.
I walked in and beelined to the freebie stations. The only UA shirts left were size XS, about two sizes off from what I needed. Pulling one over my head anyway, I squeezed my head through the supersmall head hole, like I was reenacting my vaginal birth. My arms pushed through next but there wasn’t any room in the chest area to get both arms in there. My writhing caught Rain’s eye.
“Here. Take mine. It’s a men’s L, but that’s better than shoving yourself into a too-tight S.”
“It’s a too-tight EXTRA S, actually.”
He looked mortified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
I laughed and peeled the shirt off. “I’ve never fit into an XS my entire life, honestly. I went straight from young girl sizes to ladies’ size S, and then M. Don’t know why I’m sharing all this with you, by the way.”
“That’s okay, I grew up with sisters, and now my wife and I have three daughters. I’m used to talking about this kind of stuff. Did you get a good look around? Ian went a little overboard.”
The entrance was only as far as I’d gotten. I looked up and noticed jumbo video screens playing synchronized scene excerpts from the two launch games. It was a game mashup party: there were apocalypse-themed “survival” boxed lunches, and war ammunition–themed drinks, like the AK-47 Absinthe Cocktail, a Grenade Grenadine Cooler, and Rum Rocket Launchers.
Ian walked across the room. “Isn’t this amazing? The events team did such an amazing job, right?”
I muttered, “I’d rather funnel events money into more press kits and advertising.” And not on ill-fitting T-shirts or specialty drinks offered in cups shaped like grenades.
He ignored me. “The board members are here, too. They just told me they want you to say a few words.”
Before I could protest, the music lowered, drawing attention to PR Joe, who stood on a tall makeshift stage in the front of the room. “If I could have your attention, everyone! Let’s give the Seventeen Studios events team a huge round of applause. Lift your glasses. The food and drinks are amazing, events team!”
The crowd erupted in cheers as everyone clinked grenade cups.
Ian jumped on the stage and shooed PR Joe off. “Thanks for warming up the crowd, Joe. Or maybe it’s the alcohol that’s helping.” More cheers erupted. There were at least two hundred people there.
He said, “Congratulations to both the Girls of War and Ultimate Apocalypse teams for working so hard to get those games launched on time. Seventeen Studios knows how to get shit done!”
More applause. More cheers. Ian really had a knack for rallying the troops. People were loving this.
“Unfortunately, Asher, the game creator of Girls of War, can’t be with us now, because he’s on the phone with Warner Bros. Girls of War was optioned for a TV series and a movie this morning. What a success story!”
My stomach dropped, like I was on one of those horrible free-fall rides at Six Flags. My ears and face blazed with pulsing heat. Asher’s booberific game became a runaway hit overnight and Hollywood Reporter and Entertainment Weekly would announce his blockbuster deal soon. He’d hit the entitled-affluent-white-bro jackpot.
Joe walked over and offered me one of his two grenade drinks. “You look like you need it.” He smelled his cocktail and furrowed his brow. “Is Ian going to ask you to speak about your experience as a woman in the gaming industry?” He took a sip and then coughed. “Wow, this is strong.”
I took a giant swig, needing a little something to take the edge off. “He wants me to speak because the board is here, and of course he gave me zero notice. The expectation is to say amazing things about my opportunities here, right?”
“Shit, this tastes like paint thinner.” He looked around and found a table behind us. Placing his drink on the corner, he said, “Yes, he’s hoping you’ll say something like that.”
“And as the head of PR, do you agree? Are you here to coach me?” Tipsy tingles hit my toes and fingertips. That paint-thinner cocktail was seriously potent.
“As someone who saw what you went through, I think you should say what’s in your heart.”
“And what if my heart hates everything about gaming right now?”
Kat and Rain walked by us, with two stolen trays of cookies. My heart softened a bit.
Joe looked me in the eye. “With all the odds stacked against you, somehow you managed to release that game, with no executive support. Say whatever the fuck you want.” He grabbed his drink from the table and raised his glass. “Tell them all to fuck off.”
Ian took the mic again and rambled off the names of everyone who’d helped make Girls of War a success. He paused and shuffled the index cards on the podium. “Today we also launched Ultimate Apocalypse, and we’ve reached over thirty thousand downloads as of an hour ago. We’re projecting to hit one hundred thousand before midnight. Congratulations to the UA team!”
A healthy wave of applause filled the air. It didn’t sound like pity clapping.
“I’ve invited Melanie . . . er . . . Melody Joo to come onstage to talk about her experience leading the production of this sleeper hit. We appreciate all her contributions as a woman in gaming, am I right? Let’s give Melody, our female production superstar, a round of applause for her hard work.”
The clapping continued as I made my way to the stairs. Ian gave me a firm handshake at the podium. He whispered, “Five minutes. And then we drop the balloons. It’s on a timer.”
I peered through the blazing white spotlights. Joe stood there right in the front, with five fingers held up. Thank god for Joe and his timekeeping skills.
A quick scan of the room revealed it was 90 percent men. Some older dudes stood in the far back, presumably the board of directors. Ian drank artillery cocktails at the bar while Kat and Rain jointly stole stacks of survivor box lunches without him noticing. And Asher remained absent, probably still on the fucking phone with Warner Bros.
I took a slow, deep breath, and then spoke from my heart.
“Thank you for that rousing male speech, Ian, from the bottom of my female heart. Speaking of females, how many of you gave reviews for the Girls of War game on BetaGank or some other review site today?”
About 80 percent of the audience raised their hands. Even some of the board members did. A few guys in the back even gave celebratory whistles.
“And how many of you reviewed Ultimate Apocalypse?”
All hands went down, except for Kat, Rain, Joe, and Kedra the receptionist. And the two dev interns. That was it. Six people, seven if you included me. No whistles.
“Right. Seven people from this company reviewed that game. It’s an unwritten rule at Seventeen to have all employees honestly review every game we launch. Ninety percent of our company submitted reviews for Zooful Nation, which targets six- to twelve-year-olds. You aren’t anywhere near that demographic, and yet, you all posted reviews for that game.” I swallowed hard. “I’m not even saying UA should have gotten an automatic five stars from you. In fact, Kat over there is so honest, I bet she gave it only three.”
She yelled back, “I gave it three and a half!”
Her comment cut the tension. The crowd laughed and all eyes moved back on me. “Okay, let’s move past the reviews. How many of you downloaded UA?”
Again, the same people, plus a row of women raising their hands in the back. Nolan burst through the doors in the back, donning a massive UA T-shirt, waving at me with both arms. I nodded at him.
Moving to the front of the crowd, he winked at me and smiled proudly, fueling my confidence.
“You see, Ultimate Apocalypse was the ultimate underdog game. It became an incubator project that was thrust into market without any room for error. You’ll remember that resources were taken away. We were moved to back burner status. And somehow, with our bare-bones team, we pulled it off. With no marketing budget. No dev resources. And a junior producer who flew by the seat of her pants but had an amazing team to support her to make it all come together. This game had been set on a course to fail, and the world expected as much. But the team of devotees, those seven people who had their hands raised high a few seconds ago, wouldn’t let this game crash and burn. Because that isn’t part of our company’s DNA.
“Yes, UA was a sleeper hit. We won a coveted advertising award and got a ton of nongamer media coverage thanks to a dear friend of mine who moonlit as our publicist while pregnant on bed rest. We didn’t get a movie deal or anything, though. Warner Bros. must’ve lost my number or something. But we got a shitload of downloads and reviews, with no help from you all.”
I looked at Joe. One minute remaining.