Peyton Holt hovered his cursor over the Y key on the system panel, his finger trembling like it was about to detonate a bomb. *Here we go again,* he thought, *another round of 'let's pretend I'm not cursed by the god of ironic success.' What fresh hell will twenty-five million bucks buy me this time? A game about watching paint dry on a virtual wall? Nah, been there with Eternal Wait.*
He pressed it anyway.
[New System Funds approved: $25,000,000 transferred to SkyHigh Games LLC]
[Personal Cash: $8,313,311.81]
[Next settlement: 90 days]
[Note: Remarkable trajectory. Consider team-building initiatives to foster innovation. Or chaos. Up to you.]
*Innovation?* Peyton snorted, leaning back in his chair as the donut scent from downstairs invaded his nostrils like a sugary taunt. *More like inno-fail-tion. If only the system knew I'm trying to innovate new ways to crash and burn. Team-building? Sure, let's build a team so dysfunctional they accidentally make another hit. Because that's my life now—accidental billionaire in training pants.*
The office was alive with the usual Monday chaos. The team—thirty-six weirdos who'd turned his flops into fireworks—was settling in. Dylan was at his desk, obsessively tweaking a panda render that looked like it was judging everyone's life choices. Cody was debugging code while muttering curses at his screen. Ashley and Riley were by the coffee machine, giggling over a meme from Wildlife Warden's subreddit.
Peyton called the all-hands. "Ping-pong room, five minutes. Bring your A-game... or whatever letter we're on now."
As they gathered, Peyton paced, his mind racing with spitfire commentary. *Look at them, all excited like puppies. If they knew I hired them because their resumes screamed 'unemployable,' they'd probably unionize. Or throw a party. With this crew, who knows?*
"Team," he said, marker squeaking on the whiteboard like nails on his soul, "Wildlife Warden was... huge. PETA's framing it as the anti-poaching bible, Old Joe's turning 'elk staring contests' into esports, and we've got fan art of depressed beavers. Bonuses: 25% this round. You've earned it."
Cheers exploded. Dylan pumped his fist: "My beaver dam's a meme! People are tattooing it!"
Cody laughed: "And my flood mechanics? Genius! Players in Florida are rage-posting about 'hurricane realism'—like, welcome to the sim life!"
Ashley high-fived Tyler: "The forms! There's a speedrun category for 'fastest habitat log'—under 12 minutes or bust."
Elena hummed her dissonance tune: "Our silence drone broke Old Joe. He said it felt like his brain was marinating in regret."
Peyton smiled outwardly, but inside: *Regret? That's my middle name now. Peyton 'Regret' Holt. You people took my tedium trap and turned it into therapy. How? Just... how? Am I the only one who sees the irony in a game about waiting becoming a wait-for-the-sequel hit?*
He let the celebration drag, encouraging stories. Dylan ranted for 20 minutes about "fur shader drama." *Keep talking, buddy. Every minute here is a minute closer to budget bleed.* Cody demoed a "leftover bug" from Warden—animals glitching into trees. The room howled with laughter. *Yes, laugh at the bugs I told you not to fix. Turn my sabotage into features, why don't you?*
"Next up," Peyton said, quieting them, "we're going zoo. Eternal Zoo Tycoon. Build exhibits, manage animals, deal with visitors—but real. No rollercoasters. Just permits, vet checks, complaint logs. Animals escape if paperwork slips. Weather closes paths for hours. Balance the budget or bust."
*Budget or bust—story of my life,* he thought bitterly. *If only busting was an option.*
The brainstorm ignited. Dylan: "Photoreal pandas! But make 'em picky—refuse bamboo if the import form's wrong. I can obsess over the black-and-white balance for days!"
*Obsess away,* Peyton inner-monologued. *Every day you tweak is a day we delay launch and burn cash on coffee runs.*
Cody: "Escape chains! Wrong permit? Monkeys riot, flinging virtual poop. Cleanup? Hour-long insurance mini-game with Tax Sim crossovers."
*Poop-flinging? That's gold—for failing. Players will quit in droves. Right? ...Right? Oh who am I kidding, they'll mod it into a battle royale.*
Ashley: "Visitor complaints: long lines trigger riots. Boring exhibits? Mass refunds. Tie to Wait Sim queues—make 'em eternal."
Tyler: "Roars and screeches! But amp the chaos—elephants trumpeting over announcements. Elena, dissonance under the bird calls?"
Elena: "Yes! Silence spikes between sounds—players will think their audio's glitched."
Riley: "Marketing: zoo partnerships. Teasers like 'Manage the madness' on animal subs. Subtle, no hype."
The debate stretched: 30 minutes on "panda moods" (Dylan: "They need existential crises!"). Peyton fueled it. "What if elephants require weekly therapy logs?"
Laughter. "Boss, you're hilarious!" Cody said.
*Hilarious? Try tragic. I'm the clown in this circus, juggling flops that turn to fireworks.*
Lunch: Peyton ordered zoo-themed vegan (cash burn). Tyler's roar sample scared the delivery guy again. "Too real?"
Elena: "Layer my hum—make 'em feel the enclosure walls closing in."
Riley: "Caption: 'The game that bites back.'"
Peyton choked internally. *Bites back? It's supposed to nibble your will to live until you uninstall!*
Week one: prototypes. Cody's demo—escaping flamingos caused chain reactions. Team lost it. "Add flamingo permits!" Ashley yelled.
Dylan: "My elephants look grumpy on purpose—reflects captivity blues."
*Grumpy? Perfect. Make players feel guilty, then quit. Unless they turn it into 'Zoo Therapy Simulator.' God, please no.*
Playtests: comedy hour. After 40 minutes of "vet check forms," Cody snapped: "This is DMV hell with fur!"
Dylan cracked at an escape: "The monkeys are mocking me! Who codes taunt animations?"
Ashley: "We do! It's gold!"
Peyton: *Gold for my grave. If they hate it, why do they love making it?*
Budget slow-roasted: $5.4M on "animal AI" (pandas that sulked). $3.2M on team trips to zoos (debates ate days).
Launch: June 11, 2010. $79.99.
First month: 3,218 downloads. Concurrent: 312. Revenue: $64,300 post-refunds.
Peyton: *Yes! Sinking like a stone in poop-flinging quicksand!*
Month two: Old Joe.
**"504 Hours Zoo-Keeping – The Pandas Unionized at Hour 188"**
Narrated forms like stand-up. Chat: poop emojis galore.
Month three: blast-off. PETA: "Captivity critique!" Zoos: collabs. Protests over "stressed pixels" = viral storm.
Settlement: profit $1,118,447,003.
Personal: $11,184,470.
Peyton bounced the ball, spit-taking coffee.
"Slow burn? More like slow-cooked soul. Universe: 8, Peyton: 0."
He requested more.
Forty million.
The self-roast continued.
To be continued…