The soft, familiar hum of my gaming rig was the only sound in my room, a steady baseline beneath the symphony of success playing out across my screens. The blinds were drawn, casting the room in a comfortable, dim glow, lit only by the pulsating heart of my setup. I leaned back in my ergonomic chair, the leather sighing under my weight, and let a slow, deep grin spread across my face. This… this was the feeling. This was what I'd craved in my old life, hunched over a tiny blog in a dead-end gas station. Validation. On a scale so massive it was almost absurd.
Sunday had curated a feed of the best reactions to the Silent Hill trailer, and it was a thing of beauty. Clips of streamers jumping out of their skins, reaction channels losing their collective shit, analysts with whiteboards trying to decode the symbolism of a fucking hallway. It was glorious. But one video thumbnail caught my eye. It featured an older guy with a serious, intellectual look and a name underneath: Martin Berg. He looked familiar in that way important people do.
So, I clicked play. The man spoke with a passion that was almost frightening.
"—a stroke of genius!" he was saying, his hands chopping the air for emphasis.
"The music isn't just soundtrack; it's a character! The cinematography in each shot—the way the light dies in that hallway—it's meticulously crafted dread! This isn't a mere game trailer; it's a promise of a revolution in interactive horror! I can state, with no hyperbole, that based on this artifact alone, this experience will be massive!".
I raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed with his rather artistic takes. The guy had a presence, like legitimacy on him.
"Sunday,". I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. "This Martin Berg guy. …He, Like… for real? Or just another talking head?".
"[Affirmative, Sir,]" Sunday's voice responded smoothly from the speakers. "[Martin Berg is a three-time Academy Award winner for Best Director. His influence on global cinematic and narrative trends is considered monumental. His endorsement carries significant weight.]".
A low chuckle escaped me. A three-time Oscar winner was losing his mind over my little pet project. Hell yeah, that feels good. I kept watching. Berg didn't just like the trailer; he was performing an autopsy on it. He'd freeze-frame on a shot of the rust-stained bathroom door.
"Observe!" he'd command his audience.
"The non-linear narrative is implied in the very texture of the decay! The door opening itself—it's not a cheap trick; it's a metaphor for the protagonist's forced descent into a subconscious madness! The baby's cry you hear, the woman's shriek—they aren't merely sound effects designed to startle! They are emotional anchors, tethers to a forgotten, visceral tragedy!".
I was full-on laughing now, a warm, amused sound in the quiet room. This guy was incredible; He was inventing PhD-level thesis statements about a trailer I'd cobbled together from gameplay footage in about two hours, that is the watered-down version, not that first one that I created.
He was seeing layers of meaning and directorial intent that I'd never consciously put there. I'd just known what worked from a lifetime of consuming horror media on Earth. But here? It was like showing a cave painting to an art historian, is what it feels like. They'd lose their damn minds trying to figure out the deep meaning behind the stick figures.
"I never knew I was that freaking genius," I mused aloud, shaking my head in bemused wonder.
"[In the context of this world's current entertainment landscape],". Sunday replied, her tone ever-analytical, "[the techniques and tropes you employ are, for all intents and purposes, revolutionary. Director Berg's analysis, while perhaps over-attributing conscious intent, is a logical conclusion based on the data presented.]".
Still smiling, I tabbed over to the Meteor Studios social media accounts. I'd been avoiding it, letting the hype build without my direct interference, just to see what would happen. With Sunday, I can really turn the algorithm to what I wanted, but that would be too much hassle, and felt like I was cheating way too much. I already skipped a lot of steps, so, if I can, I wanted to do this part, without cheating. The numbers that loaded made me physically jolt in my chair.
"Holy shit," I breathed.
The follower counts were… they weren't numbers. They were bundles of 0 closed to each other's. Millions. On Chirper, on Facepage, on MeTube. The little verified checkmarks glowed proudly next to the name, The notification icons were a solid sea of red, a continuous, rolling wave of mentions, tags, and messages that was utterly incomprehensible.
A sudden, profound sense of relief washed over me, so strong it made me slump back in my chair. Thank fuck I'd had the sense to create this corporate alias, The thought of this level of manic attention being directed at 'Sael Hardcox,' at my apartment, at my family… it was unthinkable. I'd known it would be hectic, but this? This was a whole other level of beautiful, chaotic madness. This was the big leagues.
"[DING! DING! DING!]". The sounds of notifications from all of Meteor Studios Social accounts just kept of ringing. With the social media hurricane still raging on my screens, I took a satisfied breath. The hype was organic, massive, and best of all, on my side, this was a calculation that I thought would be an overactions, but turns out to be the best thing I have ever done.
"Sunday, run a full status check," I said, my voice calm amidst the digital storm. "Just so that we don't miss anything…I want green across the board…".
"[Running diagnostic]," she replied. New windows flickered to life on a secondary monitor. I watched as lines of text scrolled, each one a tiny piece of the fortress I'd built.
"METEOR STUDIOS - BUSINESS REGISTRATION: [STATUS: ACTIVE][TAX ID: VERIFIED]"
"INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY - SILENT HILL: FIRST FEAR: [TRADEMARK: REGISTERED][COPYRIGHT: SECURED]"
"DISTRIBUTION - VAPOR PLATFORM: [DEVELOPER ACCOUNT: ACTIVE][UPLOAD: COMPLETE][UNLOCK TIME: 12:00:00]"
A slow smirk spread on my face. It was all locked down tighter than a drum. No corporate vulture was gonna swoop in and steal my shit. I'd made sure of that. The game was set to unlock at noon sharp. No pre-orders. Why bother? Let the hunger build to a fever pitch, let the moment of release itself be an event. The first time anyone could throw their money at me would be the exact second it went live It was a power move, and a move that I wanted to make to made the public relate Meteor Studios, with mysteries and independent.
My mind flickered back to yesterday morning, a sharp contrast to the controlled chaos of today. I'd wandered out of my room around eleven, still riding the high of the trailer's success and a solid night's sleep. The moment I'd stepped into the kitchen, the atmosphere had hit me like a wall. The usual morning chatter had died instantly.
Four pairs of eyes—Cathy, Vera, Bella, and Nadia—had all snapped to me. But it wasn't their usual looks. There was no casual warmth, no teasing annoyance. It was a mixture of pure, unvarnished awe and something else… a protective, almost feral intensity.
"Well, well. Look who's awake. The savant." Bella had been the first to break the silence, her voice a mix of disbelief and a new, strange respect.
"The what now?". I'd blinked, leaning against the doorframe. Cathy had approached me, wiping her hands on a dish towel but her eyes never leaving mine. They were wide, almost nervous.
"Sweetie," she'd started, her voice soft but firm. "We all talked… after what we saw on the news… we really, really think it's best if you stay home today." She reached out and touched my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Just… lay low. Please.".
Vera had nodded vigorously from behind the island, her impressive cleavage heaving with the motion. "Sí, mijo. The whole city is going loca for your game. It's all anyone is talking about." She'd gestured vaguely at the window with a knife she'd been using to chop fruit. "We don't know what people might do. It's not safe for you out there right now.".
Nadia had just given me a slow, serious nod from the table, her expression confirming the unanimous verdict. I was under house arrest, apparently and it is for my own good. The man of the house needed to be protected from the outside world he'd just turned upside down. The irony was so thick you could taste it; I'd just agreed with a shrug. It's not like I had anywhere else to be. Besides, the looks on their faces—that blend of fear, pride, and possession—was kind of a turn-on for me. I am not that much of an attention whore, especially after knowing how the big whales in this world play with their money.