[Chapter 929: Biohazard Goes Online]
"She's really beautiful. Sigh, raising a daughter sure is tough. Wonder which jerk she ended up benefiting."
"Janessa, call daddy, daddy."
Watching the father and daughter having fun, Nastassja sighed. That jerk--if only he weren't so fickle. Never mind, on every beauty girl's pick list, that jerk ranked at the very top. As for that little guy from Netscape, the difference was beyond reasoning.
Did those girls not know he was so unfaithful? Come on, if a week went by with no William White scandal, their tabloids wouldn't even sell.
"Alright, I'm drenched in sweat. Gonna take a shower first."
"No worries, my sweat glands aren't that overactive. Smell for yourself; it's just a light body scent."
"Ugh, who wants to smell you?"
"Hey, last night you said it smelled delicious--I'm deeply hurt. You lied to my innocent heart."
"Stop talking nonsense. The kid's still here."
Janessa had eyes like her mother--big, bright, like two sparkling blue sapphires. Once she saw her mom, she immediately stopped paying attention to this weirdo.
"By the way, they sent over some game saying it was what you wanted. I'll take her to wash up first."
"Ah, poor me. Someone used to help me with washing, now no one does. Forget it, I'm off to play some games."
"Go shower first, you stink."
"Hey, you keep telling me to shower. Got some bad plan? Aunt Flo's here--no service today."
"Ugh!"
After the shower, he changed into a comfortable robe. Not gonna lie--the Japanese-style clothes weren't great, but the robe's design was excellent.
William White didn't get why Americans liked silk robes. They could tear easily, and that seemed to be their only downside.
He even asked Nastassja if she looked forward to him ruining the robe. If so, she should have bought a cheaper one.
You know how many robes America imports each year? Everyone has one or two, and it's definitely not just for wearing, if you ask me.
The familiar scene played out again, just with finer details. Although William owned the world's largest game company, his gaming skills were terrible. After not practicing for so long, he quickly got killed by zombies.
"Shit, these bastards made it so hard."
"Ha ha, I get it. You're bad at games, so you wanted to start a game company. That way, you never lose."
"Yes, you're right. I should get them to make an invincible mode--either the zombies never bite or never die."
He started a new game. His state improved a lot. It was just a matter of practice.
Since the PlayStation 3 came out, arcade businesses had been declining. Not bankrupt yet, but far less profitable than before.
Legendary World demanded higher game quality, which squeezed small game companies' survival space. Without investors, they couldn't finish projects independently.
Both technology and capital monopolies formed an oligopoly in the gaming industry. No point hoping for antitrust now--as a last resort, they could just pull out of the US market.
"Not fun at all, this one's kinda scary. Do you think this can make money?"
"Ha ha ha, you don't get it. Not only can it make money, but a lot. I have a script here. It's White Films' next movie series. Take a look."
"Are you sure this stuff can be made into movies?"
"Pfft. Young people seek thrills now. Know why zombies are in? It's safer that way. Notice anything?"
"What? Hardly or barely any other ethnic groups."
"Really? Do I have to tell you that?" Nastassja rolled her eyes and rummaged through the script.
The script was simple: conspiracy theory at the start. Rich old tycoons wanted immortality but messed it up. Instead of just killing themselves with some pills, they turned the whole world into zombies.
"Is this a post-apocalyptic wasteland theme?"
"Yeah, more or less. As the story progresses, it becomes a wasteland genre."
"Honey, post-apocalyptic themes aren't popular lately. Maybe oversaturated--like westerns used to be. Nobody watches them much anymore. Last year, Universal's Waterworld--Oscar-level cast--almost bankrupted them."
"Tsk, how to put it? Kevin Costner's performance was superb. The script was garbage, but it was just unlucky timing, I think. Nastassja, you know when post-apocalyptic movies are popular?"
"Don't know. Stop teasing me."
"During economic downturns--if there's a crisis. I'd start shooting this flick this year if economy's bad. If economy's good, I'd just keep remaking it."
"Ha ha ha, like that big ship?"
"Hey, can you talk without being silly? I gotta eat--my little money, damn Cameron, better make the effect you talked about. Otherwise, I'm sending him to shoot in Mumbai."
"Ha ha ha. Aren't you worried he'll sue you for murder?"
"Old guy's tough, not some Spielberg sickly type. By the way, what's for dinner tonight?"
"Abalone sashimi. Not sure what's good about it though."
William smiled quietly. Abalone is rare; besides money, you need luck. That's why Americans aren't into it. If everyone ate it, you'd have even less chance.
Nastassja didn't bring up the movie talk, just enjoyed a warm dinner--that was what mattered most to her. The script clearly painted the old families as villains.
The so-called Umbrella Corporation? Ha. Even the peanut farmers got trashed. A sinister protective umbrella? Pfft. Look at Marvel's Hydra--it's always throwing shade subtly.
Whether zombies were real, William wasn't sure. Scientifically, totally impossible. But those rich old guys were definitely researching longevity pills.
Don't think Clone Island was just fiction. Its box-office flop said a lot. If not deliberately suppressed, Scarlett Johansson's standout performance shouldn't have left it unnoticed.
Look, after Black Widow's success, even Lucy was hyped--but Clone Island, a great flick, was ignored. The bombshell combo of Bae and Black Widow flopped without a trace.
To put it simply, if you didn't work on or care about it, why purposely bury it?
Of course, as a smart woman, some things weren't suitable to say. Men have their own considerations--it's never that simple.
Dinner was very pleasant, and the conversation afterward was quite enjoyable. It seemed only with good cooperation could they truly please each other.
Rapid breathing gradually calmed. Even with a spacious bedroom, the unique protein scent of truffles lingered.
"Darling, you're amazing. Was I especially embarrassing just now?"
"What? You mean the bedwetting? Okay, I forgive you. Gosh, you scared me--I thought the bed was leaking."
"Ugh, you. Forget it, I'm dying here."
*****
https://www.patreon.com/Sayonara816.