"Wow, what a ride!" Rusty exhaled, staring at To the Moon's cover art on his screen. His eyes were still red from crying.
A heart-wrenching story. A killer ending song by Jay Lin. And that sweet Gus-and-Zoey Easter egg that had chat buzzing. In Rusty's mind, To the Moon wasn't just a game—it was an interactive movie, pulling players into its emotional depths.
The flashback structure was genius. The truth about Johnny and River Wyles only hit at the end, making every clue—every rabbit, every platypus—a tearjerker on replay. Players could feel River's quiet persistence, her unspoken pain, her autism shaping her love. A second playthrough? Pure heartbreak.
"I'm done, chat," Rusty said, setting down his controller. "This game's too much. I haven't cried like this in forever. Sorry if I got sappy." He chuckled, wiping his face. "It's a charity game, so let me say—buy it if you can. No ad deal here, just my honest take. Playing it hits different from watching. The puzzles, the details—they're worth it."
Twitch chat lit up: "Bought it, but I'm scared to play!" "Replay's a knife to the heart." "That yellow-blue rabbit broke me first time!" "It's like diving into a pool of feels." "Gotta own it, even if I just stare at the cover." "Zoey's a legend for this."
Rusty smiled, waving at the camera. "Alright, that's it for today. Need to recover. Catch you tomorrow, same time—"
A pop-up interrupted him. A digital letter appeared, its background a glowing moon and lighthouse, with Rusty's ID scrawled on the envelope.
"What's this?" He grabbed his mouse, pausing the stream's end.
The envelope opened with a soft rustle, revealing the letter:
To All Players,
It's an honor to join this Charity Week. Through To the Moon, WindyPeak Games sends heartfelt care to those like River Wyles, living with autism and other challenges. You are lighthouses, shining despite the distance, warming the world with your light.
Special thanks to @JayLin for his moving performance of "I Want to See You." His generosity inspires us all.
WindyPeak Games is proud to announce that all sales from To the Moon during Charity Week will be donated to the Global Starlight Foundation, helping "star children" shine and embrace new lives.
On behalf of WindyPeak Games, chief designers Gus Harper and Zoey Parker thank you for your support. Your kindness makes a difference.
Yours truly, WindyPeak Games
Rusty gasped. "No way…" He reread it, stunned. "Charity Week usually donates 10-15% of profits, right? They're giving all sales? The whole $15 per copy?"
Chat exploded: "All sales?!" "Zoey's insane!" "That's every penny!" "They're losing money to help kids?" "I'm buying five copies!" "$15 for a masterpiece and charity? Take my money!" "WindyPeak's too good for us."
Rusty shook his head. "This is wild. First-week sales are everything for games like this, and they're donating it all. Zoey and Gus are playing for keeps." Chat agreed: "Zoey's a hero!" "This is why WindyPeak's the best." "Buying the bundle to support them!"
To the Moon wasn't just a pixel art gem—it was a beacon. With a $500K budget, it had sparked a charity revolution, redefining what games could do.
The next morning, Zoey Parker sat in her Seattle office at WindyPeak Games, slurping porridge and scrolling X. Overnight, To the Moon had become Charity Week's hottest topic. The WindyPeak Charity Bundle topped sales charts, with fans saying, "Zoey's losing money on To the Moon, so we're buying bundles to help!"
WindyPeak's reputation soared. Players loved their heart. Media raved.
GameScope called To the Moon a storytelling triumph: "Flashbacks are tricky, but this game nails them, building suspense better than Titanfall. The script's a masterclass." Others praised its charity: "WindyPeak knows their success comes from community. From Titanfall's inclusive designs to To the Moon's autism focus, they lead by example." One outlet gushed about Zoey: "Seeing Zoey Parker's name in the credits? Mind-blowing. A president designing a game under Gus Harper's guidance is huge for the industry."
Zoey grinned, humming "I Want to See You" and wiggling in her chair. "Not bad for a $500K game," she muttered, checking the clock. 9:30 a.m. "First-day sales aren't in, but 12-hour numbers should give us a hint."
She grabbed her phone. "Chloe, can you check our sales—"
A knock cut her off. "Ms. Parker, you free?" Chloe Quinn called.
"Come in!" Zoey set her phone down. "I was just texting you about sales. What's up?"
Chloe's eyes were wide, her voice tense. "Boss, we've been called out."
"Called out?" Zoey blinked. "By who? For what?"
"Sit tight," Chloe said, motioning her to stay put.
Zoey laughed nervously. "You're being dramatic, Chloe." She straightened in her chair. "Alright, I'm ready. Hit me with it."
Chloe cleared her throat, opened her tablet, and read: "This morning, Global Pulse Media published an article in their Culture section: 'Embracing Charity, Leading with Purpose: WindyPeak Games' To the Moon Redefines Impact.' It says the global gaming industry is booming, and WindyPeak Games stands out as a leader. Under Zoey Parker's vision, the company champions social good, setting a standard for others. Your work on To the Moon shows bold innovation and heart, pushing the industry forward."
Zoey nearly slid off her chair. "Global Pulse Media? The Global Pulse Media?" Her voice shook. "That's… huge."
Chloe smirked. "Think I'd joke about this?"
She handed over the tablet. The article was real, its words glowing: WindyPeak Games, led by Zoey Parker, stays true to its mission, blending artistry with social responsibility…
Zoey's heart raced. "This is too much. I just wanted to make a donation!" She skimmed the article, her eyes widening. "I didn't sign up for this kind of praise."
In her head, she fretted. I had selfish reasons at first—padding my funds through the system. I'm just trying to make it right! But this? A major outlet calling her a visionary? It felt unreal.
She frowned, thinking. The donation was big—$15 per copy, all to charity. To the Moon was a hit. But a Global Pulse Media feature? Even PacificTech, with Victor Lang's clout, couldn't pull that off easily. Something felt… orchestrated.
Zoey waved Chloe off. "I need to process this. I'll dig into the article and, uh, soak up its wisdom."
Chloe laughed. "Call me if you need me." She left.
Zoey grabbed her phone, screenshot the article, and dialed a number. It rang three times.
"Hello, kiddo?" Uncle Liam's voice came through, warm and familiar.