The next morning, Evan Carter was still half-asleep when a soft digital chime echoed directly in his mind — the unmistakable alert from the Reaper Server USB drive.
DING!"Killing Planet" player count has reached 50,000.Player-Wish Aggregation Function unlocked.Please review player wishes and optimize the game to improve the user experience.
Evan sat up slowly, squinting at the sunlight leaking through the blinds.
"Player wishes…?" he muttered, rubbing the USB drive between his fingers.
A moment later, his consciousness slipped straight into the Server's internal world.
The dim cosmic void greeted him again — a quiet, endless universe where countless faint stars floated like distant embers. Compared to this vast space, Evan always felt tiny, like he'd barely unlocked a fraction of what this device could actually do.
Floating closest to him was the small crimson planet representing Killing Planet. It pulsed gently, waiting for him.
Evan reached out mentally, dragged the planet closer, and its interface unfolded.
Player Count: 50,093… and rising
The first page was the player statistics display he'd seen before. Except now, the total player count wasn't the lonely "0" from earlier. It was already past fifty thousand, the number ticking upward every few seconds.
Not bad for a 64KB curiosity piece.
Next, he tapped Player Distribution.
A soft-blue holographic map of the United States unfolded in front of him. Scattered red dots glowed across the country — New York, Chicago, Dallas, LA, Boston, a bunch in Florida — while everything outside the U.S. remained pale blue.
"So red dots = players," Evan murmured. "Domestic reach only… so far."
It looked clean, straightforward. Cool to look at, maybe not immediately useful.
Then his eyes shifted to the new icon blinking in the corner:
Player Wish Statistics.
He tapped it.
A Tidal Wave of Thoughts
Instantly, a torrent of raw text exploded in front of him — dense lines of unfiltered player thoughts scrolling by faster than he could even blink.
"Holy hell, this dev's insane. How is this game 64KB??""This guy has to be some kind of demon. No way this code is human.""The game is fun but so barebones. It really needs more features.""Yo this map is huge. Wtf.""Hope the dev adds more stuff later.""My laptop fan didn't even spin LOL.""Is this a hoax or real??"
A thousand different reactions. Praise, disbelief, curiosity, complaints, curiosity again, wishful thinking, conspiracy theories, "you're a devil," and so forth.
Evan staggered mentally.
"…Holy crap. Okay, THAT is a lot."
It wasn't even normal text — it felt like walking straight into the middle of fifty thousand people thinking out loud at once.
Then, as if the Reaper Server sensed his thoughts, the waterfall of text slowed… then reorganized. Lines vanished one after another until a clean interface remained:
Most Frequently Mentioned ThoughtsMost Constructive ThoughtsMost Shamelessly Flattering ThoughtsThoughts That Will Definitely Embarrass the Developer
Evan's eyebrow twitched.
"…Who the hell coded this thing's sense of humor?"
Most Shamelessly Flattering Thoughts was VERY tempting. But he forced himself to behave.
"Filter out just the three most frequent AND constructive requests."
The interface blinked. Everything cleared except for three lines:
1. Please add online multiplayer.2. Please add a global leaderboard.3. Please add more weapons and items.
Evan exhaled through his nose.
"Yeah… that tracks."
The Problem: Killing Planet wasn't meant to be a real game
He'd built it as a tech showcase — a modern spiritual successor to kkrieger, which was 96KB. With the Reaper Server's help, he'd pushed his version down to 64KB.
But because it was a technology demonstration:
No story
No leveling
No equipment system
No multiplayer
No leaderboard
No progression
No "hook"
No retention design
It was "run, shoot, survive until you die."Nothing more.
He never imagined it'd build an actual fanbase.
Now players wanted more.
Should he expand it? Was it worth it? Did he even WANT to?
Evan was still thinking about that when his phone began vibrating.
He slipped out of the Reaper Server and checked the caller ID:
Director Tate — Silver Ridge Games.
Ah. Speak of the devil.
Evan answered. "Morning, Director Tate."
"Mr. Carter!" Tate's warm voice boomed right through the phone. "Hope you're well! Say, any chance you're free in the next couple of days? Let me buy you dinner. I insist!"
Evan chuckled. "You're too kind. But I'm not in Silver Ridge City right now. Tell you what — put the meal on my tab. We'll settle it when I'm back."
"Haha! Fair enough. Since you always cut through small talk, I'll get straight to business."
Evan could practically hear Tate switching into professional mode.
"We launched Killing Planet last week. To be totally honest, the numbers blew our expectations out of the water. The initial estimate was maybe… maybe a hundred thousand lifetime copies."
He paused for effect.
"But in just one week, we've already broken fifty thousand."
Evan didn't even blink. "Well, congrats to Silver Ridge Games. And obviously, a round of applause for the brilliant developer behind it — me."
Tate burst out laughing. "I can't deny that. The algorithm alone proves your level. But Mr. Carter— the real reason I'm calling is that we'd like to renegotiate the contract."
"Let me guess," Evan said, leaning back. "You want the rights to update the game. Meaning you've seen the player feedback… and want to capitalize while the game's trending?"
A moment of silence — Tate hadn't expected Evan to be so eerily on point.
"…Yes. Exactly that. Streamers are going nuts with it on StreamHub and HypeLive. Competition streams, speedruns, high-score challenges — it's all blowing up. If we roll out multiplayer now, it'll push sales to a whole new level. Viral growth. Automatic friend-to-friend spread. Organic marketing you can't buy."
Evan took a moment, running through his thoughts cleanly.
"Director Tate," he said finally, "I know what you're trying to do. And honestly, I was thinking about all this before you even called."
"So you're agreeing?" Tate asked hopefully.
Evan smiled, slow and calm.
"No," he said. "I refuse."