Following Chloe Quinn to the president's office, Gus Harper stepped in to find Zoey Parker hunched over her computer, brow furrowed, deep in thought.
Nodding to Gus, Chloe closed the door and left.
"What's this invitation?" Gus asked, strolling over. "Why so serious?"
Zoey spun around, straight-faced. "No idea."
Gus nearly tripped. "You're that focused, and you've got zip?"
"That's why I'm staring so hard—'cause I'm clueless!" Zoey fired back, logic bulletproof.
"Alright, alright," Gus said, hands up. "So, what's on the screen?"
"You think I'm faking it?" Zoey smirked, shooting him a look. "If I had answers, would I drag you in here?"
Gus shook his head. Zoey's wit was sharpening, and he couldn't pin who was rubbing off on her.
"Here, check it out," Zoey said, angling the monitor toward him, muttering, "Some developer conference, I think? But didn't we just do one? Aren't those every four years? Did Pulse Entertainment drop the ball?"
Developer conference?
Gus leaned in to read.
After a moment, he said, "This isn't Pulse Entertainment's gig."
There it was—an invitation from the Global Game Developers Conference (GDC), co-hosted by International Data Corporation and United Enterprise Media Network.
WindyPeak Games had been on fire this past year.
So, the organizers were bending the rules, inviting WindyPeak to the party!
And more—
The grandeur of Titanfall is breathtaking, the narrative of Silent Hill PT is groundbreaking, and the pacing of Outlast is electrifying.
We cordially invite Mr. Sam Harper to share insights and deliver a speech on the future of cinematic games.
Your company's unique storytelling will add a spark to this conference, inspiring global game innovation.
We await your reply.
—Game Developers Conference (GDC)
"See? Just another developer conference," Zoey said, pointing at the signature. "We did one already, right? What's with the repeat?"
Gus laughed. "Totally different beasts."
"The last one was the Asian Esports Game Developers Conference—ACG. It's all about esports, mostly Asia-focused."
He tapped the screen. "This is the Game Developers Conference—GDC. Not a contest, but a global meet-up for swapping ideas and showing off projects."
"And—" Gus leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "It's worldwide."
Global.
The word carried weight.
A GDC personal invite? Massive.
Gus knew GDC inside out. In his past life, it ran in Los Angeles, May or June, pulling together top developers to trade notes on tech and ideas. New game trailers often dropped there.
Not as glitzy as the world's four major game expos, but its industry cred was unmatched.
Here, though, GDC only invited heavy hitters—elite companies or developers.
WindyPeak? Not yet in the billion-dollar league, technically short of the invite bar.
But with Titanfall, Silent Hill PT, To the Moon, and Outlast blowing up, their clout was hard to ignore.
So, GDC broke its own rules for the invite.
Gus was pumped, no question.
WindyPeak had made waves but mostly played local—IndieVibe's mini-game fest, Pulse Entertainment's media expo.
The Asian Games was their biggest stage, but still regional.
GDC? Their first crack at a global platform.
A huge leap from local to worldwide.
Nail GDC, grab industry and player buzz globally, and they could target the four major game expos next.
Gus's brain kicked into overdrive, reworking plans.
Originally, he'd planned to keep pounding Komina, ride Outlast's win, and show them how it's done.
But GDC flipped the script.
This was their shot to stake a claim globally.
Use GDC as a springboard, hit the Tokyo Game Festival next, and square up with Komina on equal ground, world watching.
Sure, anyone half-decent could sign up for the big four expos.
But Gus didn't want to be a side booth nobody, like at Pulse Entertainment.
He wanted a prime stage, a real shot to flex WindyPeak's magic.
GDC was the key.
They had to jump in—and bring a game-changer project.
"So, this thing's legit," Zoey said, eyes widening, getting it. A small step for WindyPeak, a massive stride toward going global.
Zoey was down for boosting the company's rep.
Bigger company, fatter budgets.
Titanfall cost $170 million, their priciest yet.
Titanfall only nailed quality.
They had room to swing big.
Influence, though? Zoey wasn't stoked.
More hype meant more players, more sales—bad news for her betting scheme.
But no way around it.
Growth meant visibility, and visibility meant sales.
So, Zoey could only hope Gus would fumble like Komina did.
Silent Hill crashed with 50,000 copies day one. Even if Komina pulled a miracle, selling 50,000 daily, that's 350,000 in a week—$9.8 million.
Against a $67 million budget? A 57.2 million loss.
If that was her project…
She'd cash in over 4 billion yuan in rebates.
Enough for yachts in this life and a few to torch in the next.
Pure envy.
But she was tethered to Gus's projects, banking on a flop.
"So… we cooking up a project for this?" Zoey asked.
They were locked in!
Time to plan a GDC game.
Gus called it their "global foothold," so they needed a speech and a project to max out the buzz.
The game's theme and vibe were make-or-break.
A fresh start.
Zoey wouldn't meddle, ready to back Gus for a win.
A hit main project meant she could launch a sub-project, leeching its odds for her betting losses.
Main profit, side loss.
Her game plan.
"Yeah, what kinda game?" Gus said, slumping onto the sofa, arms crossed, brow creased.
Too many choices, too much pressure.
Outlast's win gave him high creative juice, unlocking a ton of game ideas.
He'd never had this much to work with, and it was a lot.
The Future of Cinematic Games.
No doubt—Titanfall's epic end and To the Moon's emotional twists wowed the organizers, making waves.
Their GDC project had to scream cinematic.
"What kind of cinematic game?" Gus muttered, flipping through his mental library.
A game with a tight script and bold themes?
Nah, gameplay'd be too thin.
One with 2.40:1 cinematic visuals?
Nope, got roasted for weak mechanics.
An interactive movie with a killer story?
Perfect, but too advanced for this world's tech, and gameplay's shaky.
So, what—a game with cinematic storytelling and standout gameplay?
There was one.
A next-gen masterpiece, with a brutal sequel nicknamed The Golf Club (Gus's jab).
It'd shake the world.
But… not enough creative juice to make it happen.
Damn.
Gus rubbed his face, stuck, then turned to Zoey. "We're doing cinematic games. You're big on movies, right? Got any ideas?"
"Me?" Zoey flinched.
Don't call me out! she thought. I was just goofing off, and you're still on that?
But no escaping Gus.
She stammered, "Uh… haven't caught many flicks lately. But since this project's huge… maybe draw from classic movies?"
Gus leaned in. "Like what?"
"Like…" Zoey stalled, pulling up IMDb's top-rated list, scrolling fast.
"Lord of the Rings?"
Gus shook his head. "Copyright mess. No go."
"Forrest Gump?"
"Inspirational stories don't game well."
"Fight Club?"
"Too small for a big script or fresh gameplay."
"Fine, here's the king," Zoey said, shrugging. "The Shawshank Redemption. No game there, right? Can't just have players digging tunnels."
Zoey rolled her eyes, thinking classic movies were a dead end for games.
But Gus's face lit up. "That's a banger!"
Zoey blinked. "What? How's that a banger? You want players digging tunnels?"
No way.
Was he off his rocker?
Other games had epic heroes, slick racers, elite fighters.
Their lead? A prison inmate?
A breakout story?
That's a dark pitch.
Zoey's mind reeled with question marks.
But Gus—one eye swollen, the other sparkling—was all in. "Put players in a prison, make them scheme an escape. That's fire!"
He clapped, pumped. "Yes! Hell yes! We're running with this!"
Zoey froze, a shiver hitting her.
Oh crap.
He's gone full warden.