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At an exclusive golf course outside the city, Marcus Morrison was lining up his putt when his phone buzzed. His assistant's voice carried obvious confusion: "Mr. Morrison, that Paul Gutierrez called again. Now he wants to give you Alex's game account for free."
Marcus straightened, his concentration broken. "Free? The same account he refused to sell for any price just weeks ago?"
"Yes, sir. He also asked me to plead with you to intervene with Alex. He's desperate for forgiveness and says he'll do anything to end the conflict. His exact words were 'I'll prostrate myself if necessary.'"
Marcus was genuinely puzzled. He didn't play Infinite Realms himself—running Morrison Group left little time for gaming—but he understood enough to know this was bizarre behavior. "What could Alex have done to inspire this level of fear?"
"From what I've gathered, Mr. Gutierrez discovered that his gaming rival was actually Alex—the same Alex Morrison who created Fast and Furious. Given Alex's influence in the gaming community now, Gutierrez is terrified of retaliation. Apparently, he could be effectively blacklisted from the game if Alex wanted."
"This man has no shame whatsoever," Marcus shook his head, half amused, half disgusted. "Too proud to take millions for the account before, now throwing away both the account and his dignity. A 'flexible' villain indeed."
"Should I arrange something, sir?"
"No. This is Alex's business. I learned my lesson about interfering. Tell Gutierrez I'll mention it to my son, but any decision is entirely Alex's to make."
"Understood, Mr. Morrison."
Marcus returned to his golf game, but his mind lingered on the situation. His son had clearly become a force to be reckoned with—not through money or family connections, but through his own talent and determination. It was... humbling.
Meanwhile, Alex had firmly rejected Paul's photo request and shown him the door. No signatures, no selfies, no memorabilia. The fact that he hadn't physically thrown the man out showed considerable restraint.
But Paul Gutierrez's capacity for shamelessness apparently knew no bounds. Within hours of being rejected at Stormwind Studios, he'd somehow tracked down Marcus Morrison and offered to return the account unconditionally.
"Dad, how did this guy even find you?" Alex asked during their phone call, genuinely baffled. "And why would he think going to you would help?"
Marcus's embarrassed chuckle told its own story. "Well... I may have tried to buy your account back from him earlier. Offered him quite a substantial sum, actually. He refused every offer."
Alex was stunned into silence for a moment, then laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh. His father had tried to fix things behind the scenes, in his own way. It was touching, even if unnecessary.
"Dad, I appreciate that. Really. But that account doesn't matter anymore. I've moved on. I'll handle Gutierrez myself."
"Of course. You're doing fine without my interference." There was pride in Marcus's voice. "Better than fine, actually."
What happened next defied all expectations. Unable to return the account directly, Paul Gutierrez implemented a solution so absurd it bordered on performance art: he changed Shadow Guild's name to "Sorry, Mr. Morrison!"
Every single guild member now displayed "XXX - Sorry, Mr. Morrison" above their heads. The entire guild—roughly 3,000 remaining members—gathered outside Immortal Banner's headquarters in a massive, surreal apology formation.
The North American gaming community lost its collective mind.
"What is even happening right now?"
"Is this real life? 3,000 people apologizing in unison?"
"Shadow Guild just committed social suicide!"
"This is either genius or insanity. Maybe both?"
"I've played MMOs for fifteen years. Never seen anything like this."
The forums exploded with screenshots and videos. Players who'd never heard of the guild drama were suddenly invested, watching this bizarre public humiliation unfold in real-time.
But understanding Shadow Guild's desperation wasn't difficult. Most members owed their high-level gear and success to Paul's sponsorship. They were bought and paid for—when the boss said jump, they asked how high. When he said humiliate yourselves publicly, they got in formation.
More pragmatically, they understood the alternative. Without this gesture, they'd face the combined wrath of Immortal Banner, Immortal Medal, Perfect Nation, and Blade of Destruction. That meant being hunted relentlessly, unable to play normally, essentially forced to quit. Public humiliation beat permanent exile.
"What kind of hold does Morrison have over them?"
"It's not a hold—it's influence. When someone can mobilize 50,000+ players with a word, you don't fight that."
"Shadow Guild found out their enemy wasn't just rich—he's beloved. That's way worse."
"This is like watching a mafia movie where the small-time hood realizes he robbed the godfather's son."
The community couldn't decide whether to mock Shadow Guild or admire their pragmatism. The spectacle was unprecedented—an entire guild prostrating themselves publicly, abandoning all pretense of dignity.
Alex's reaction was equally unexpected. The anger he'd nursed for months evaporated in the face of such absolute absurdity. He'd planned elaborate revenge scenarios, ways to systematically destroy Shadow Guild. But seeing thousands of players with "Sorry, Mr. Morrison" floating above their heads?
"I can't even be mad anymore," he told his officers during an emergency meeting. "This is just... sad."
"Boss, should we attack while they're vulnerable?" Triumph asked.
"Attack what? They're already destroying themselves. We'd look like bullies kicking puppies."
The next day, Paul escalated further. He changed his name to "Mr. Morrison, I really like you..."
He'd intended to write "Mr. Morrison, I really like the Fast and Furious game you designed," but character limits cut off the crucial context. To casual observers, it looked like a love confession.
He then equipped full Avatar merchandise, drove a Dodge Charger, and parked outside Immortal Banner's headquarters like a lovesick teenager.
The community's reaction was swift and merciless:
"SHADOW LORD CONFESSES TO MORRISON!"
"From enemies to lovers—the MMO romance we didn't know we needed!"
"This is better than any drama series!"
"First apologies, now love declarations? What's next, marriage proposals?"
"Plot twist: Their hatred was actually sexual tension all along!"
"I ship it. Shadow Lord x Morrison OTP!"
"Someone check if Shadow Lord is actually female. Not that it matters—love is love!"
"Top 10 anime redemption arcs!"
Players who bothered checking the full name tried explaining the context, but the damage was done. The narrative of a romantic confession was too entertaining to abandon.
"The truth doesn't matter when the story is this good!"
"Shadow Lord fell for the man who destroyed him. Shakespeare couldn't write this!"
"Their children will be excellent at both gaming and game design!"
Alex, reading the forums from his office, felt his eye twitching involuntarily. His careful revenge plans had somehow transformed into being shipped with his worst enemy by thousands of players.
"This has gotten completely out of hand," he muttered.
The situation climaxed in spectacular fashion. Alex's Thanos character emerged from the guild hall, weapon drawn, and began chasing Paul's character around the courtyard.
"Mr. Morrison, I know I was wrong! Please calm down!" Paul's character shouted while running in circles, the name "Mr. Morrison, I really like you..." bouncing above his head with each step.
Hundreds of players gathered to watch, placing bets on how long Paul could evade death. Someone started a livestream that quickly drew 50,000 viewers. The chat was pure chaos:
"GET HIM THANOS!"
"Run, Shadow Lord! Love will find a way!"
"This is the best MMO content ever created!"
"Someone animate this as a romantic comedy chase scene!"
Alex finally cornered Paul against the guild hall wall. One critical strike would end it. The crowd held its breath.
Instead, Alex typed in public chat: "Change your name back. This is embarrassing for both of us."
"Thank you! Thank you! I'll change it immediately!"
Paul's character sprinted away, presumably to the name change NPC. The crowd booed good-naturedly, disappointed by the anticlimactic ending.
But the damage to Shadow Guild's reputation was complete and irreversible. They'd gone from feared to pitied to mocked in record time. No amount of rebranding could save them now.
As this drama unfolded, Stormwind Studios made their official announcement: Fast and Furious's new content would launch October 23rd at 8:00 AM Eastern Time, with simultaneous worldwide release. Pre-orders for physical car models also opened, featuring detailed replicas of the game's most iconic vehicles.
The community's attention shifted instantly. Shadow Guild's humiliation became yesterday's news as players prepared for new content. Within ten minutes, model pre-orders hit 20,000. By October 22nd, they'd reached 10 million globally, generating over $150 million in revenue before a single unit shipped.
"Boss, this is insane," Sophie reported. "We're going to need multiple factories running 24/7 to meet demand."
"Good problem to have," Alex replied, still monitoring pre-order numbers. "Make sure quality control is—"
Nathan burst through the door without knocking, his face pale. "Alex, we have a serious problem. Fast and Furious just got pulled from Infinite Realms. Government regulators received complaints about 'promoting illegal street racing' and 'corrupting youth.' They're demanding immediate removal pending review."
Alex's blood went cold. "What? WHO REPORTED US?"
The office fell silent. After everything—the success, the partnerships, the cultural phenomenon they'd created—someone had weaponized government bureaucracy against them. The timing wasn't coincidental. Someone with connections had made this happen.
"Get legal on the phone. NOW." Alex's voice was deadly calm. "And find out who filed that complaint."
His mind raced through possibilities. Competitors jealous of their success. Conservative groups opposed to the game's themes. Or perhaps someone more personal, someone with an axe to grind.
The celebration atmosphere evaporated. Stormwind Studios was under attack, and this time it wasn't in a game where skill and strategy could win. This was real-world corporate warfare, where different rules applied.
Guys Throw Powerstones for some reason the fic is going down whenever i open inkstone and its shown everything in red i don't feel good and then i think it's time to launch new one and Boom that ones start getting attention and i start to neglect previous ones it's bad habit that's why i am doing one book a time .