More money?
Gus Shepard was floored.
Back in his old life, all he ever heard was "budget's too high" or "rein it in." Never once had a boss begged to jack up the budget!
In theory, this was a win. More cash meant Zoey believed in him.
But…
Gus glanced at his Cat Leo proposal and cringed. Where the hell was he supposed to spend extra money?
The only cost for this game was the dirt-cheap license for the Flash game platform!
"Character models? UI? I drew those myself," Gus admitted, sounding sheepish.
He snuck a look at Zoey Parker, half-expecting her to call him out for being a slacker.
And, yup—she frowned. "You drew all this yourself?"
"Uh, yeah." Gus forced a grin and nodded.
"Didn't spend a dime?" Zoey pressed.
"Nope," Gus said, still nodding.
Wham! Zoey slapped the sofa, making Gus jump. "That's not gonna cut it!"
She shot to her feet, all fired up. "We're WindyPeak Games! A legit, top-tier studio! And you, Director Shepard, are our visionary! Our captain! The big brain of this operation! You can't do everything yourself—you'll burn out!"
"Uh…" Gus blinked, thrown off by her speech. "It took me, like, ten minutes."
"No excuses!" Zoey snapped.
Damn it, she thought. How am I supposed to lose money if he's this cheap? No losses, no rebates. No rebates, no yacht life!
"Outsource it!" she declared, waving a hand. "I did some research last night. Games need serious cash—art, levels, coding. We're talking tens, maybe hundreds of thousands!"
"Just make it happen. Money's no object. We're not here to make the best game—we're here to make the priciest one!"
Gus: …
All I wanted was a simple Flash game! My janky art's the whole vibe! Why outsource? Is she trying to set cash on fire?
"Boss, hold up," Gus said, feeling bad about fleecing her. "The game's charm is its rough, abstract style. Outsourcing might kill the vibe."
Stop, Zoey! Don't blow your budget on this!
But Zoey was on a mission to tank the company. "Psh, Director Shepard, you're missing the point!" she said, waving him off. "Think bigger. Can't the outsourced artists just copy your style exactly?"
Gus's brain screeched to a halt. Is she serious?
"You're saying…" he started, "we pay someone to redraw my doodles… exactly the same?"
Zoey grinned, unfazed, and slung an arm around his shoulder. "You're not getting it, are you? It's about branding. Ever heard of clout?"
"Uh, enlighten me?" Gus leaned down slightly—she was a good foot shorter—and humored her.
"We're a new studio, no street cred," Zoey explained, like she was dropping wisdom. "To get noticed, we lean on big names in the industry. That's how we make waves!"
"Riiiight," Gus said, half-sarcastically, not buying it.
But she was the boss. If she wanted to throw money around, who was he to argue? Not his cash.
"Fine," Gus sighed, shrugging. "I'll… burn through some budget, then?"
"Burn it hard!" Zoey beamed, giving him a thumbs-up. "Go all out. Don't you dare save a cent!"
…
That afternoon, Gus took Zoey's "spend like a maniac" philosophy to heart.
Keeping Cat Leo's art and gameplay untouched, he found every way to waste cash without breaking the game.
In this world, there was a site called "GameForge"—a hub for game devs, covering everything from concept art to coding, UI, modeling, and engines.
Gus logged in, sorted by "highest price," and started emailing top-tier artists, designers, and coders, asking them to polish his deliberately cheesy Flash game.
But even the pros had standards. A low-rent game like Cat Leo? Most scoffed and passed, no matter the payout, calling it beneath their skills.
So, Gus had to aim lower.
After a whole afternoon of hunting and haggling, he scraped together a "gold-plated" version of Cat Leo for a grand total of $10,000. It was set to drop that night.
Being a spendthrift was harder than it looked—he'd given it his all.
When Zoey heard the report, she wasn't thrilled but nodded anyway. Ten grand wasn't ideal, but ten times that was $100,000—way better than two hundred bucks.
Launch time! Zoey thought, barely hiding her glee.
She'd picked a winner in Gus. Now, how to "comfort" him when this game inevitably tanked?
Gotta prep for when Director Shepard sees zero sales tomorrow. Poor guy's gonna need a pep talk…
…
Eight p.m.!
Twitch gaming section!
"Thanks for the sub, JayTheMan! Appreciate it…"
"Thanks for the 99 bits, PixelPal—big shoutout!"
Fresh off a sponsored stream, streamer Alex "Yin" Carter cracked his neck and thanked his donors. "If you're hyped, click the link in the bottom-left to jump into the game. Legendary loot awaits—I'll see you in the arena!"
The chat exploded with reactions:
"Game's lit, I'm already $1,000 deep!"
"Sold my car to buy in, no regrets!"
"Works on my grandma's laptop, 10/10"
"Lmao, wrong game, dude!"
"Yo, this is WILD hahaha"
"Fresh stream, let's go!"
"Time for the trash game reviews!"
"Spin the wheel, Yin!"
"Main event, baby!"
As a top Twitch gamer, Yin had a loyal crew. His fans knew eight p.m. was the best part of the night—when he'd dig through the indie game platform IndieVibe, pick the most ridiculous-looking titles, and review them live.
Each game got twenty minutes. Chat decided: keep it or yeet it.
With the screen buzzing with emotes and donations, Yin grinned. "Alright, let's see who's getting roasted tonight!"
He opened IndieVibe, the go-to indie game platform—think Steam's scrappy cousin.
Filtering for "small size," "single-player," and "$1–$10," a brand-new title popped up:
Cat Leo