What a wild show!
The rocket pipe blasted off, carrying Cat Leo—and the chat's laughter—into the stratosphere.
"Hahaha, LIFTOFF!"
"Pipe's like, 'Keep flexin', I'll make you fly!'"
"NASA's got nothin' on this!"
"What even is this trap, lol…"
"Youngblood's got moves!"
"Thought of a thousand traps, but a rocket pipe? Nope."
"Boss is pissed, hahaha!"
"This game's unhinged!"
"Pipe eats you? Decent. Pipe launches you? Legendary."
"This game's a fever dream…"
Staring at the smug cat on-screen, Yin felt personally attacked.
"Alright, you got me!" he said, flashing a thumbs-up like a gamer facing a worthy foe. "That was just a warm-up. Now I'm getting serious."
And he meant it.
For the next thirty minutes, Yin got wrecked—clouds that chomped, bricks that slapped, floors that caved, invisible blocks that bonked, and traps that snagged.
His vibe went from cocky trash-talk to dead silence, then full-on gibberish.
But the stream? Pure chaos and joy.
Sure, it's a little messed up to laugh at someone's pain, but watching Yin lose it was comedy gold. Gifts flooded in—chat was eating it up.
And not a single "yeet it" comment after the first few minutes. Even when Yin was ready to rage-quit, chat egged him on:
"Don't quit, Seattle Speedster! You got this!"
"Boss, keep going, hahahaha!"
"Yo, your laugh's killing me."
"Boss is gonna implode quietly."
"Too late, he's already toast."
"Laughed so hard I cried."
"Don't swap games—we'll crowdfund a jet for you!"
[GamerKing: drops a Super Sub]
[MonkeyMan: sends 99 bits]
"Chat wants blood today (lol)."
…
Meanwhile, Gus Shepard, watching Yin's stream from his dorm, grinned ear to ear.
Brutal.
In a world with boring, cookie-cutter games, dropping Cat Leo—a game designed to troll players—was straight-up evil.
Before this, no game here aimed to break players' spirits like that.
So mean. So effective.
In just thirty minutes, Gus's system lit up. Emotional points poured in like crazy.
[Emotional Value: 1975]
He opened the Game Vault System, scanning games he could unlock. AAA blockbusters were out of reach—those needed millions of points. For now, he eyed games around 5,000 points.
With nearly 2,000 already, a few more hours of buzz could get him there.
"What's next?" Gus muttered, scrolling.
The 5,000-point range had some gems. First up: Don't Starve—aka "Hammer Time" from his old world. But another rage-fest so soon? Nah, players might get bored.
Emotional points came from "joy, anger, sorrow, fear," so he could mix it up.
"Let's go for something fun," he decided, landing on a quirky game cover.
It showed two 3D characters—one adult in a suit, one kid in a diaper. Total father-son vibes, but with that "three years of animation school" charm.
Gus nodded. "Nice. Once I hit the points, you're up."
…
Next morning, Seattle's sunrise glowed warm.
Sunlight spilled through balcony windows, dancing on gauzy curtains.
Light dappled a cozy bedroom, landing on smooth skin. Slender legs stretched under a silky quilt, a pink foot poking out, wiggling.
The foot's owner, Zoey Parker, was out cold, drooling on her pillow, mumbling, "Heh… hundred grand in the bank… cashback… hehe…"
Bzzz. Bzzz—
Her phone's buzz snapped her dream in half.
"Ugh…" Zoey groaned, rubbing her eyes and fumbling for the phone. One sleepy eye cracked open—caller ID: Chloe Quinn.
"…Yo, Chloe, what's up?" Zoey mumbled, voice all groggy and soft.
On the other end, Chloe sounded hyped. "Boss! Wake up! Our game sold!"
Sold?
SOLD?!
Zoey bolted upright, wide awake. "No way!"
"Huh?" Chloe paused, catching the panic in her voice. "Something wrong?"
"N-no, nothing!" Zoey backpedaled, calming herself. Chill, Zoey, chill.
It's fine. A two-buck game selling a few copies? Normal. Barely covers a coffee.
Some suckers will always buy. And at that price, no one's refunding over pocket change.
No biggie.
Even if Gus sold, say, ten copies—that's twenty bucks. Ten grand minus twenty, times ten? Still $99,800 in rebates. Solid.
Zoey took a deep breath, her confident smirk returning. "Just shocked, haha. Selling games is the goal, right? Any sales are good news, no matter how small."
"Oh, and if you see Gus, tell him we've taken the first step. Even if sales are meh, don't let him get down!"
Zoey played the supportive boss, but her mental calculator was already clicking.
Then, after a pause, Chloe's voice came back, confused. "Uh… Ms. Parker, what do you mean 'don't get down if sales are meh'? Did someone send you numbers already?"
Zoey blinked. "Nope, just guessing."
Psh. Like anyone needs to report that? A trash game like Cat Leo? Ten sales max, and that's generous.
A hit? Hundreds of copies? Dream on.
But Chloe went quiet, then spoke slowly. "Actually, Ms. Parker, the sales numbers… might not match your guess."