Gus Harper froze, unsure how to answer Victor Lang's question about the name "Steel Chain Fingers."
The studio names—Golden Experience and Steel Chain Fingers—were inspired by a comic series that didn't exist in this world. Explaining it without sounding like he was making it up was a tall order.
But before Gus could cobble together a vague response, Zoey Parker leaned in, her eyes sharp with confidence.
"Mr. Lang, you've seen how we roll," Zoey said, flashing a charming smile. "Golden Experience Studio is our bedrock—the crew that started it all, pouring heart and soul into bold, fresh games that shake things up."
She gestured smoothly. "Steel Chain Fingers? It's a nod to an old rock album, Sticky Fingers. Think 'keep moving, stay sharp'—a team that's always charging forward, never stuck. Sure, 'sticky fingers' hints at being a bit sneaky, but it's about grabbing the gaming world's attention."
She glanced at Gus, her smirk saying, Got your back, Harper.
Gus blinked, stunned.
Damn, she's good.
Zoey, the finance major, just spun a pitch-perfect explanation out of thin air.
It was clever, layered, and sounded like it had deeper meaning than Gus ever intended. A masterclass in covering his ass.
"Exactly," Gus said, nodding at Victor with a grin. "That's the vision. Zoey's got the long game figured out for WindyPeak."
Victor's face lit up, clearly impressed. "Golden Experience, Steel Chain Fingers—those names hit hard! Gus, you're a creative genius, and Zoey, you're seeing moves ahead of everyone else. WindyPeak's going places with you two calling the shots. IndieVibe's lucky to be in your corner."
Gus gave a sheepish smile. "Appreciate that, Victor. We're just glad to team up with IndieVibe."
Gus exhaled as Victor's car pulled away, the weight of the moment lifting.
Zoey nudged him. "Nailed it, right? We're basically mind-readers now."
"You killed it," Gus said, throwing up a thumbs-up. "Couldn't have said it better myself. You're out here planning ten steps ahead—total boss move."
Zoey grinned, hands on hips. "Damn right, Harper. You're learning fast. Come on, milk tea's on me."
"Nah, you're the real deal," Gus said, chuckling. "I'm just riding your coattails, boss."
"Ugh, enough with the charm!" Zoey laughed, shaking off a shiver. "No wonder Dad's your biggest fan. You're too smooth."
They wandered into the coffee shop downstairs, still joking. After grabbing two milk teas, they settled by the window.
"Any thoughts on the new project?" Zoey asked, sipping her drink.
They had a month until IndieVibe's Indie Game Fest overseas plan launched. Tight, but doable for a small game with outsourcing if they locked in a concept fast.
Waiting too long to pick something would choke their production time.
First move: decide what to build.
"Not sure yet," Gus said, staring out the window, brow creased. He took a sip of tea.
He had too many ideas, not too few.
A dual-platform game—PC and mobile, same account—meant catering to mobile's limits first. PCs could handle anything, but phones were finicky.
Even so, the possibilities were endless.
He could craft a roguelike card game, a gritty survival strategy, a business sim, or a fast-paced action platformer.
Or take a mobile hit and port it to PC—something simple, quick to build in a month.
Too many options, not enough focus.
Zoey propped her chin in her hands, eyes glinting. "What if you're my zombie slayer?"
"Zombie slayer?" Gus raised an eyebrow. "Like Defend the Carrots? That's Firebird Games' turf—copyright trouble waiting to happen."
"Not literally," Zoey said, rolling her eyes. "I mean that style. Set up defenses, fend off enemies. Could be protecting anything."
Defense games.
Defend the Carrots was the gold standard for the genre.
Smart call.
Gus's interest piqued. "Why defense games? Done with carrots?"
"They're… okay," Zoey said, shrugging. "But the levels, enemies, maps, mechanics—by the end, it's all the same. Gets old fast."
She wasn't wrong. Defense games had been spinning their wheels for years.
Take Defend the Carrots. Free to play, sure, but to keep the money coming, Firebird churned out updates. New enemies, new defenses, tougher challenges—more health, trickier paths, random obstacles.
It wasn't progress; it was a treadmill. Players burned out, played less, then quit.
Defense games followed a tired script: enemies march a fixed path, you build defenses to stop them, upgrade to save the goal.
Same formula, no spark.
But flipping the script wasn't impossible. Give defenses multiple upgrade paths with unique effects. Let them merge or evolve at higher levels.
Gus thought of a game from his past life, one of the genre's heavy hitters. But even that only tweaked the defenses' playability. Enemies still followed set routes, defenses still stood static. Same old core.
He needed something bigger.
Gus sipped his tea, an idea crystallizing. "Forget carrots. Let's defend brains."
The next day, WindyPeak's conference room hummed with nervous energy.
"Defend… brains?" Yuki asked, hands cupped over her head like Gus might steal her thoughts.
"Explain, boss," she said, cautious.
That morning, Chloe Quinn had summoned Steel Chain Fingers for a project briefing. The team was pumped.
A new studio with hefty paychecks—sitting idle felt wrong. Sato and Yuki, pulled from A Way Out to lead Steel Chain Fingers, were itching for work.
A new project was a godsend.
But defend brains?
The team froze. Another horror game like Silent Hill P.T.? Half of them had worked on that nightmare, scaring themselves stupid during testing.
Gus targeting their brains? Terrifying.
He laughed, reading their faces. "Chill, it's a small defense game. You block zombies to save your brain."
The team relaxed, piecing it together.
Zombies trudge down a path toward the level's end. Defenses line the sides—turrets with standard ammo, flamethrowers, electric traps, maybe a pay-to-unlock mega-blast.
And zombie types? WindyPeak's The Walking Dead had unique infected. Toss those in for variety and a fan-favorite callback.
It'd be a home run.
Zoey, listening, was stunned.
These pros were on another level. Without Gus saying much, they'd mapped out a full defense game, complete with mechanics and nostalgia hooks.
A damn game-design machine.
Good thing this was a side gig. Zoey didn't need profits—her rebate system thrived on flops.
But before she could agree, Gus smiled. "Great start, but it's too close to every defense game out there. Got anything fresher?"
The room went silent.
Gus was right. Their idea was standard, blending in with every other defense game.
How do you break a genre that's set in stone?
"Don't limit yourselves," Gus said, grinning. "Why's it gotta be towers?"
He clicked the remote.
A game cover appeared on the screen: a colorful, quirky town split by a street. On one side, green-skinned zombies—some with briefcases, others with ice cream cones on their heads—shambled forward, goofy yet determined.
On the other, vibrant plants stood firm, faces set like loyal guards defending a garden from the zombie swarm.
The title glowed at the top: PLANTS in leafy green, VS. ZOMBIES in weathered gray.
"Plants can stop zombies. Gardens can be battlegrounds," Gus said, hands spread. "Let's make Plants vs. Zombies."