"The main project's locked in with MOSIA," Zoey Parker said, flipping through her notes. "The contract kicked off this week, and we've sent the first payment."
"Solid," Gus Harper replied, leaning back in his chair. "We're holding off on the next payment. Any complaints?"
"Nope," Zoey said. "They're fine with it, said they understand we're building up funds to hit mid-tier game company status. They're okay delaying payments until we announce it officially, then we'll get back on track."
"Tatsuya's got some real clout," Gus said with a nod. "MOSIA's being awfully generous. We could make them a long-term partner. How's the motion capture going?"
"Kenji Tanigaki's team signed on with MOSIA," Zoey answered. "They don't usually work directly with developers, but this project's special. Tanigaki wants a video call with you to talk action design. We've got it penciled in for tomorrow morning. That good?"
"Perfect," Gus said. "Sekiro's the top priority. Everything else takes a backseat. Let them know I'm free."
"Got it. Also, Victor Lang from IndieVibe wants to call this afternoon about their sensory pod expansion plan for next quarter."
Gus laughed. "IndieVibe talking global expansion with us? That'll turn some heads. Victor's probably been dying to make a move. Tell him I'll call him this afternoon."
"Will do," Zoey said. "Oh, and Garden Warfare's basically wrapped. We need you to set a release date."
"Tell Jonah York to stop by my office at 10 a.m.," Gus said. "I'll go over it with him."
"Alright, that's the big stuff," Zoey said, scribbling notes. "I'll handle it."
It was early Monday morning in WindyPeak's CEO office, and Zoey was watching Gus and their assistant, Chloe Quinn, go back and forth like a high-speed tennis match. The half-eaten donut in her hand nearly hit the floor as her mouth hung open.
"Holy smokes," Zoey muttered under her breath.
Chloe must've covered a hundred things, and Gus tackled each one like it was nothing—sorting, planning, making decisions without missing a beat.
Is this guy's brain even real? Zoey thought. Mine's still running on fumes.
She remembered the chaos of running things when Gus was in Japan for Silent Hill P.T.. Her head nearly melted trying to keep up. How did Gus handle this every day without losing his cool?
Running a company like this wasn't for just anybody.
Chloe turned to her. "Ms. Parker, anything you want to add?"
"Uh…" Zoey blinked, pointing at her coffee. "Got any sugar? This needs a kick."
Chloe stared, deadpan. "…I'll grab you a sugar cube."
"Anything else?" Chloe asked, hoping for something actually helpful.
Zoey thought for a second, then grinned. "Can we get tofu pudding tomorrow?"
Chloe sighed, kicking herself for expecting more. "Sure. Extra garlic sauce and chili oil, right?"
"You're a star, Chloe!" Zoey said, flashing a thumbs-up.
Chloe shook her head, muttering to herself. Thank heavens for Gus. When he joined WindyPeak, she'd had her doubts. Now? She knew the company would fall apart without him.
That afternoon, Gus hopped on a call with Victor Lang from IndieVibe.
As WindyPeak's VP, Gus was Victor's main contact for big decisions. Neither liked wasting time, so after quick hellos, they dove right in: Sekiro.
Victor had guessed it was their big project, and Gus wasn't shocked. The guy turned IndieVibe into a powerhouse, overtaking Nebula Games in just a few years. He had a sharp eye for talent—Gus included—and a knack for timing.
Gus laid it all out: sensory pod action game, MOSIA's motion capture, Tanigaki's team on action design. Victor was stunned, practically gasping with each detail.
This was WindyPeak's first 3S-level blockbuster since the company started. Once their disposable net assets topped $140 million, they'd hit mid-tier status, secure a spot at the Tokyo International Game Festival, and launch Sekiro full throttle.
That meant burning through their cash—a huge bet, just like Titanfall. But this was even dicier.
Titanfall had a foundation—WindyPeak's work on Left 4 Dead and PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds gave them FPS experience. Sekiro? No such luck. Action games on sensory pods were almost unheard of, even worldwide.
And the competition? Titanfall faced Nebula's "Three Generals," big names in their home market. Komina? They dominated the global gaming scene.
This was a make-or-break gamble.
So, Gus pitched a bold idea: a temporary alliance between IndieVibe and Nebula Games. Together, they could chip away at Komina's sensory pod market share, giving Sekiro a shot.
Victor wasn't sold. The Outlast alliance already gave Nebula a few market share points. Another joint effort could shrink IndieVibe's lead even more.
"Here's a deal," Victor said after a pause. "We'll drop to a 15% revenue share instead of 20%, but…"
Gus cut him off with a smile. "Victor, you're missing the point. I'm not here to negotiate. Zoey was clear: IndieVibe gets the full 20%, no shortcuts."
This wasn't just Gus talking. Zoey had been adamant. Cutting IndieVibe's share would make WindyPeak look like they were cutting corners or pulling strings. They weren't a big player yet—acting shady now would hurt their rep, especially as a company respected by industry leaders. Fair play was the way to go.
Victor was stumped. WindyPeak was dead set on this alliance to take on Komina.
After a long pause, he said, "Alright, Gus, give us some time. I need to run this by the execs. I'll get back to you soon."
"No hurry," Gus said. He understood Victor's hesitation. If they weren't up against Komina or betting it all on a 3S game, he wouldn't have suggested it. But this fight was too big to go alone.
While Sekiro's plans were in full swing, Garden Warfare dropped out of the blue on a Friday night.
The launch was quiet—hardly any promotion. Compared to Titanfall, Outlast, or even To The Moon, WindyPeak barely hyped it. And the development time? Two months flat.
The gaming world was floored. Two months? Even Komina couldn't crank out a masterpiece that fast. Fans and media started buzzing: Was Garden Warfare really WindyPeak's big "blockbuster"? What was it even like?
Curious, Winter Melon rounded up his old Left 4 Dead crew—Eggplant, Leo Parker, and Benny—to try this spin-off of the Plants vs. Zombies IP.
The cover art didn't inspire confidence. On one side, plants like Peashooter, Sunflower, Cactus, and Chomper looked ready for battle. On the other, zombies—Foot Soldier, Engineer, Scientist, All-Star—had silly, cartoonish grins.
"It's… pretty cartoonish," Benny said, scratching his head. "This a blockbuster?"
It looked like fun, no doubt. But a major hit? That was a stretch.
The live stream chat was skeptical too:
"Isn't this just Plants vs. Zombies in 3D?"
"Still planting flowers to fight zombies?"
"They called it an FPS, but it's just plants with guns?"
"What, you're shooting zombies with a flowerpot? That's nuts."
"Maybe you play as a Peashooter? Ha."
"No way WindyPeak's that crazy… right?"
The chat was still joking when Leo Parker's shout broke through the stream.
"Whoa—Winter Melon! I'm a freaking Peashooter!"
In the game's training field, Leo looked down and froze. His "body" was a slender vine with a tiny waist, leaf-like hands sprouting out. Below? Two skinny roots for legs, moving as he did.
He stumbled to the training field's mirror, staring at his reflection: a smooth head with two sprouts, thick eyebrows full of grit, and a trumpet-shaped mouth that looked both serious and absurd.
"What… am I?!" Leo said, stunned.
He'd been around for 34 years and never pictured seeing this in a mirror.
After a ten-second pause, something clicked. He turned to the empty field, pulled his neck back, and leaned forward. "Here goes—spit!"
Pop! A pea bullet shot out of his mouth with a sharp sound.
The stream went quiet for two seconds, then went wild.
"Haha, what?!"
"He's really a plant?!"
"That pea sound—too good!"
"This game's insane!"
"Who comes up with this stuff?!"
"It's a blockbuster… but, like, totally wild!"