by Kitty Cox
She pointed at him. "So you're not complete idiots. Good to know. The problem that none of you highly-paid developers seem to be able to grasp is that you have both types of play in Silk. Why the fuck would I play infantry if I can get in a highly armored mech suit and hit tab to lock on? My shots are more accurate, my defense is higher, and the required skill level is lower. It's overpowered."
"But mechs and vehicles don't fit everywhere." That was Tim.
Dez tilted her head, acknowledging that. "So, the box is the contested item. This guy is playing defense. That one is playing offense. Vehicles can't go everywhere, right? So, guy by the box? Yep, he's got standard bullet drop, lowered armor, and a higher skill curve." She walked back to the first guy. "Someone tell me why this dumb-ass isn't sitting in a mech suit or hanging out in a plane?" A heavy silence filled the room, and she glared at each of them. "So after he filled the box room full of rockets, explosives, and area of effect spells, who is standing against him?"
"Fuck," the object designer, Jeff, breathed. "I can't believe we missed that. The solution is less bullet drop?"
"And varied quest objectives. Make some vehicular – spread those out between mechs, wheeled, and air. Another group should be infantry only. A third group should be puzzle-based, or population-based. This goes for PvE and PvP objectives. Remember, kill stealing kills games."
"Where the fuck did you come from?" Jeff begged, thoroughly impressed.
Dez smiled. "Home Depot." Tossing the pens back onto the metal lip beneath the whiteboard, she headed back to her desk.
"Can she do that?" Braden asked. "Can she just override your designs?"
Chance looked around the room, making sure he had all of their attention. "Yes. If we want Silk to succeed, we're all going to listen to exactly what she says. Am I clear?"
"Why?" Braden demanded.
Chance looked across the room, wondering how exactly he was going to spin this to keep her safe. From the look on her face, Dez hadn't thought that far. She was pissed and getting more so with each dismissive comment she heard.
"Because I designed the concept!" she snapped. "The only person in the entire industry with the balls to listen to me is going to make a fortune, and Chance is willing to take that risk. I was the first person to promote Silk, and I'll be damned if the game of my dreams crashes and burns before it even gets off the ground because some fucking developer is worried about modern shooter dynamics in an MMO."
"Fuck," Gavin muttered, looking at Chance. "Destiny Pierce? She fucking fell off the radar."
"The same Destiny Pierce that designed voxels for that Sony game?" Mark asked.
Chance's head snapped up. "What?"
"Yeah. My college roommate worked on that. Said they couldn't..." He paused, then looked at the back of the room.
Dez crossed her arms over her chest. "They couldn't figure out how to make them both additive and subtractive. Either the world was destructible or buildable, but without convincing the system to shift in the middle, they couldn't make it do both."
"Decide to stop hiding?" Chance asked, aware that the entire room was listening.
She shoved her hand into her pocket. He knew she was gripping the bottle of pills tightly, but she didn't do more than that. Not yet. Her eyes clung to him like a lifeline.
"I don't want my name out there," she begged.
"I'll get an NDA for everyone in this room."
She licked her lips. "I also know why you can't keep multiple characters in the world at the same time."
Chance nodded. "Fix it, Dez. Don't ask, just fix it. Make it smooth."
She dropped into her chair. "As silk," she agreed, powering up her computer.
"I got a problem with this," Braden said, too stubborn to know when to give up. "I'm not just letting some nobody fuck with my code."
"He's the reason you had a loading error," Dez called. "His gun mechanics were trying to overwrite the tab targeting, resulting in a loop created artificially by a complete dumb-ass of a coder who apparently didn’t know what the fuck they were doing and had no concept of things like clock cycles and minimizing the opportunities for things to go tits-up during loading because he wanted infantry mechanics to be superior to vehicular."
"Six weeks," Chance said to them all. "Took six weeks, and not a single one of you was anywhere near a solution. Took her a single night." He met each of their eyes. "I'm going to make this real clear. I'd rather have an anonymous Destiny Pierce on my staff than all of you. If I'm firing someone, it won't be her. I don't care if she's high, if she's a bitch, or if she's wrong. When it comes to code, she's your damned boss. Got it?"
Chapter 8
"Almost done?" Chance asked, leaning over Dez's desk.
She looked up with a smile, but her eyes returned to the screen. Her fingers had never stopped moving. It had to be almost nine p.m. "Close. You know, earlier, I shouldn't have said anything, but they pissed me off."
"They all signed an NDA," he assured her. "The one they signed when hired, and another today. You're safe, kid. A few of them are star-struck, but so am I."
She caught her lip between her teeth and her brow furrowed. "We need a second map guy."
"Meeting for that is on Monday. Hiring starts right after we work out exactly what's needed."
"K." She hit enter hard and leaned back with a sigh. "I made a present for you." Slowly she grabbed the mouse and clicked on the Silk icon. "But you have to be on this side to see it."
Obediently, Chance moved behind her. Dez tucked her feet up and leaned forward, feeling his hands rest on the back of the chair. It didn't really bother her, but she was aware of it. Eventually, the game loaded, still fighting through problematic code.
Her character stood in one of the cities devoid of anything but landscape and buildings. All of the details like NPCs and weather had yet to be added. Grabbing her keyboard, she moved forward, strafed to both sides, then looked back over her shoulder.
"Ready for the best day of your life?"
"Hit me."
Her finger pressed Q, spinning the character in place. Standing around the center of the map were five other characters, all of them moving freely. Chance's mouth dropped open, and he jerked the chair with a loud whoop.
"Six total? So it's working?"
She moved her character closer so he could see just how well it was working, and chat bubbles began to appear. The clicking of five other keyboards filled the room around them. They were all celebrating virtually, their real mouths closed.
"Know why it's six?" She turned her chair to face him, her knees still against her chest.
"Um, party size?"
She shook her head. This was the part that would make his day. "Nope, because everyone else went home. I'm pretty damned sure it'll hold at least two thousand. More than that and the servers will lag, but that's hardware, not software."
"Oh fuck," Chance breathed. "We're ready for alpha?"
"No, we still need map work, but it's a viable build."
"It's working!" he yelled, slapping her desk before he headed back to the other guys. "Someone high five me before I hug her?"
With a laugh, Jeff held up his hand, leaning back to connect. Mark offered a fist bump. A few other guys joined in as well, and Chance made the rounds between them, every face filled with a proud grin.
"Braden's going to be pissed," Flynn said. "Dez warned him to wait, but he didn't think she could do it."
"So you guys convinced I might see something in her besides a piece of ass?" He looked back at Dez and grinned.
She offered him her middle finger, but there was no malice in the gesture. "You wish."
"Hell," Jeff admitted, "I wish. Thought you quit the scene."
"I did." She didn't really want to elaborate.
Chance pointed at her. "And you owe me a celebration. Why don't you go put on some casual clothes?"
Dez looked down at what she was wearing, then back up. "Uh?" She had on the same thing she always did. It didn'
t exactly get more casual.
"I was thinking maybe something black?"
She realized he was giving her shit. "Well, I have on a green bra, does that count?"
He leaned back against Flynn's desk. "You are so full of shit."
Dez nodded. "I am."
"Dunno if I can party with a damned goth chick."
She decided to call his bluff. Grabbing her ring of keys from her desk, she climbed out of her chair and headed across the main room without saying a word. She almost made it before he realized where she was going. Just before she climbed the stairs to his apartment, Chance started laughing.
"I've been told," he said to the guys.
He had no idea. She didn't wait to hear the response, just made her way into his bedroom, pulling open the drawer that held his shirts. She rummaged inside until she found one of the wife beaters he kept to work out in. It was red, which hid the black bra she wore. It also counted as color. Leaving her long-sleeve on his bed, she trotted down the stairs. When she was halfway down, the guys fell silent, all of them turning to look at her.
"Nice tattoos," Jeff said.
"Thanks." She wasn't about to start explaining them.
While she was gone, Chance had claimed one of her suckers, holding it between his cheek and teeth. "When's the last time you ate?"
Dez rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Dad."
He smiled and pulled out the sucker, offering it to her. "You're so full of shit. Just so you know, fruit flavors do not count as real fruit."
"Veggies," she told him. "Corn syrup."
"Right. Grab your smokes and a lighter and meet me out back."
She headed toward her apartment, Chance moving to his stairs, and behind them, the guys started talking softly. She was sure the rumor mill was about to go crazy, but she didn't really care. He'd kinda promoted her a lot right in front of everyone. Then again, her job hadn't really changed – she just didn't have to hide it anymore.
It felt really good to have someone trust her. Hell, it felt really good to have someone she could trust. By the time she got her things, Chance was waiting, a blanket tossed over his shoulder and a large lump in his pocket that had nothing to do with how glad he was to see her.
"Can't believe you got it working," he said, gesturing for her to follow him.
Together they walked well out behind the building, into the center of the large grassy area that was probably intended to be a parking lot during some iteration of the strange building's past. With a dramatic flourish, he spread the cloth over the late spring grass, then flopped onto it. Shifting over, he made room beside him.
Dez took it gladly. A few weeks ago, she never would have been this close to another living person, but something about Chance made it all ok. Even when he slipped, like he had that morning in the server room, she was never truly afraid of him, just startled.
"So." He pulled a ziplock bag from his pocket. "When's the last time you smoked pot?"
"It's been a while. Can't say I've ever gotten high with my boss before."
"Partner," he corrected, loading a large pinch into a pipe. "Gimme your lighter."
She passed it over, and he took a hit then offered both to her. Dez followed suit. It didn't take long before she began to feel the effects. As the sun sank beneath the horizon, they got very, completely, and totally stoned. The best part was that it was all in sight of where she worked. They finished the bowl, and she flopped onto her back, watching the first stars appear in the sky. For no reason at all, she giggled.
"Yeah," he said softly. "That's what I wanted to hear. How you doing, kid?"
"I'm baked."
He laughed. "Yeah. Me too. You got the shakes yet?"
"I dunno. Did earlier, but wanted to see if I could make it."
Chance tapped out the ashes against his shoe then dropped the pipe beside the bag and stretched out on his side. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and a smile played across his mouth like he didn't know what else to do. "I'm glad you're here. You know that, right?"
"Yeah or you'd be so fucked."
"Nah. Getting fucked's easy." He tapped the empty space between them, his finger bouncing on the blanket. "It's hard sometimes. I'm like, a toucher. Makes me feel real."
She turned her head to see him better. "What do you mean?"
"When I was seven, my parents went on this trip to Europe for two months. They left me with my uncle, right?"
"Sucks that you didn't get to go."
He sat up and began filling up the pipe again. "More than you know. See, my uncle? Yeah, worthless piece of shit. He only agreed to keep an eye on me because my folks were gonna give him money." He packed it tight and took a massive hit, offering it to her.
Dez pulled herself up and joined him. "What happened?"
He let out the smoke in a rush. "I spent two months locked in the basement. One little bulb that never went off. Had a pile of blankets to sleep on, a barely working toilet, and once a week he'd bring down peanut butter and crackers. I had to make it last."
"For two months?"
Chance nodded slowly. "Man, I screamed and yelled, hoping someone would hear me, but nothing. Felt like I was a ghost. Like no one could really see me. Never mind that I was already getting shit for being the red-headed stepchild, you know?"
They passed the pipe between them a few times in silence before Dez found the courage to ask the obvious question. "That's why you have the dating thing?"
He nodded. "Makes me feel like people really see me. I was really fucked up about it for a long time. Now? I guess I'm just a little fucked up."
"I think we're all a little fucked up."
He nodded in agreement. "Ain't that the truth. Weirdest thing, though." He passed her the pipe, but his eyes were a little too serious. "Hanging out with you? I finally feel like a part of something. Like I belong somewhere."
"Even with all of this?" She gestured at the massive brick building that blocked out the sky to the south.
He nodded. "Yeah. Being fucked up doesn't always make sense."
"Flawed," she said softly. "Not fucked up, just flawed."
"Dez?" he asked softly. "Do all of your tattoos cover up scars?"
She took a long hit on the pipe, finishing it off. Before she released the smoke from her lungs, she tapped the smoldering ashes out, crushing the last ember dark with her heel. "No. The one on my neck and one on my thigh are for me."
"Pac Man?" he asked, referring to the tattoo on her thigh.
She nodded then lay back to stare at the stars, her mind pleasantly numb. "Be ready, player one. It's from a poem."
He joined her, arms crossed under his head. "You'll have to show me."
"The rest cover scars from a knife." Her eyes found a star that twinkled in different colors. "I was blindfolded so can't be sure, may have been a box cutter."
"No matter what happened, I still think you're beautiful." His face was turned up, just like hers, but his voice was gentle. "Nothing in your past could make me think less of you. I got your back, Dez."
"Promise?"
"Forever and almost always."
She sniffed, wiping at her nose, but her eyes were already leaking just thinking about it. She hated crying. She hated crying with mascara on even more, but it was dark, and that made it better. "I didn't believe them. For over a year they'd been saying the same thing, over and over, all over the comments, but I never believed them, you know? I deleted most of them, but a few are probably still on the blog. I can't really look at it."
The air slid from his lungs. "Oh, baby."
She pressed her forearm over her eyes. "I went to an interview at EA. I left the building but never made it to my car. For over two weeks they kept me in an abandoned loft in a warehouse. I was tied up, standing usually. At first, I tried to be tough, and they made me pay for it. It started with the cutting."
"I'm sorry."
"They thought I was older. That was Mom's idea, to make it sound like I wasn't just some high school kid so the predat
ors wouldn't get me, but they still did. Thing is, they didn't expect me to be a virgin."
"Dez?" he asked softly. "Can you ever forgive me?"
"You didn't do it."
"But I've been rubbing it in your face. I'm so sorry, kid."
She reached her arm up and found his fingers, resting the tips of hers against the ends of his. "It's not the same. You love them a little bit, just for the moment. It's beautiful, even if it's desperate." She rolled to her side, their hands still touching. "It kinda makes me realize that sometimes it's ok."
He turned to face her. "It's supposed to be beautiful. It's supposed to make you feel good, not be torture. It's supposed to prove that you're still alive."
"I'm not really sure I am."
He shifted his fingers slightly, hers falling into the gaps between his until their hands were laced together. "I want you to be. I swear I won't stop you because I understand, but I don't want to lose my only friend."
"I trust you, Chance."
He smiled sadly. "Enough to let me touch you?"
The thought terrified her, but she nodded. There, laying on a blanket beneath the stars, he reached up slowly. His knuckles slid along the side of her cheek toward her chin, then his thumb brushed the swell of her lower lip before his empty hand dropped between them.
"It's supposed to feel good," he promised.
A sob broke free, like a gasp, and she pressed her free hand over her nose, shielding her face from his eyes. "I'm just scared."
"And I just want to protect you from anything that can hurt you. Even me. I want to wrap my arms around you and swear it's going to be ok, but I can't." His fingers bent around hers. "I'll keep trying, though, if you will."
"What if," she hiccupped a sob, "I freak out?"
"Then we start over. But we can't go forward until we take a step."
He'd said the right thing, at the right time, in the right place. For two weeks they'd been learning to trust, and he'd shown her time and time again that he accepted her even with her problems. He wasn't perfect, but his flaws were honest and made him no better than her. She didn't think about it; Dez just did it. She pulled her fingers from his and shoved her face against his chest, the last wall shattering as the tears she'd held back for years finally found an outlet.
