A week had slipped by since the Millie stream, but in my room, time moved at its own lazy, comfortable pace. The buzz from the outside world was a constant hum, a background noise I'd gotten used to, like the ever-present whir of my PC fans. I was sprawled in my chair, one eye on a code compiler for a minor game patch, the other idly scrolling through a music chart site.
Right on schedule, three days after "Ocean Eyes" had soaked into the public consciousness, I'd let Sunday loose with the rest of the tracks. The full, studio-quality version of "Humble," with all its chest-thumping arrogance.
"Glimpse of Us," that raw, emotional gut-punch. And "4 Seasons," the smooth, lyrical flex. Dropped them all at once, a triple threat that felt less like a release and more like a takeover.
I smirked, looking at the charts. Just as predicted. Number one, two, and three. Not just on the hip-hop or pop charts, but on all of them. The headlines had been predictably hysterical.
"[SAEL VT COMPLETES DOMINATION OF MUSIC CHARTS!]"
"[THE METEOR STUDIO MONOPOLY: IS THERE ROOM FOR ANYONE ELSE?]"
And now, a week later? They were still there. Undisputed. Untouchable, top of the charts, funny enough I did not submit any of my music to anyone, it just on MeTube, they were the one that kept hounding it.
It was almost boring how easy it was, many other labels were still hiding, clearly in fear of colliding with my release, never before they have seen such a massive hit. That even the haters were loving it. Their big summer releases presumably gathering digital dust on a server somewhere. They were waiting for my shadow to pass. The power of that—the sheer, silent control—was a way bigger rush than any number one spot.
"Whoosh~" With a lazy flick of my wrist, I switched one of my monitors over to MeTube Gaming.
The Silent Hill: First Fear category was still a glorious mess of panic and frustration. Streamers with eyebags so dark they looked like raccoons were staring at codebreakers, trying to decipher the game's deeper secrets. I saw one guy jump so hard at a particularly well-placed enemy that he knocked his entire energy drink onto his keyboard. The resulting shriek of frustration was music to my ears.
I specifically searched for GasFunk. The guy was back in his element. The chat was lively, supportive. He was methodically working through a section, explaining his theories to his viewers. He was an accidental victim in the whole Silent Hill 'Completion' arc, he did brag about it, so when I called it out, the netizen was quick to jump on him.
Still, now He looked… happy, very focused, which is quite Good. I was glad I'd thrown him that bone, having the official Meteor Studio account comment that he was "already 80% of the way to uncovering the truth."
It was a tiny bit of manipulation, sure—a way to light a fire under the corporate teams by showing them a lone wolf was beating them—but it also happened to be true. And it clearly the achievements meant the world to him.
It was entertaining, watching the entire gaming world collectively lose its mind over my horror game. But ultimately, it was background noise, A part of the show that I wanted to show to this starved world.
I minimized the stream and brought my main drawing tablet to life. This was where the real work was happening now.
On the screen was a meticulously re-drawn page of Spider-Man, mid-swing between the skyscrapers of a smoggy New San Antonio. The detail was insane, every brick, every window pane rendered with a love and care this world's comics had never seen.
I'd officially established "Meteor Creative" this morning. A new branch of the empire, dedicated to saving the utterly pathetic state of comics and animation here. I couldn't take it anymore. I'd tried to just enjoy being a game dev and a musician, but every time I glanced at what passed for entertainment in the print and animation world, a little piece of my otaku soul died.
So, I was taking matters into my own hands. I'd started with the big ones, the icons. Iron Man and Spider-Man for Marvel. Batman and Superman for DC. They were Meteor Creative property now, in this world at least. My world. My rules.
I was pouring my old-earth knowledge into them, retouching, refining, and recreating the stories that defined generations. It was a massive undertaking, but it felt… righteous. This world was dying for a real story, and I was the only one with a library card to the good stuff, so I intend to shared, and also along the way corrected some of these titles, 'mistakes' along the way.