Spring, 2022

  Tim Graf smiled as he shifted on the crisp white sofa. Spotlights clipped firmly on him, lav mic rustling on the press of his blazer. Somewhere, out beyond the audience, yellow and orange LED lights crunched up on the sound desk. He smiled a second time. A smile that he'd been rehearsing in the mirror since at least yesterday lunchtime.

  He couldn't quite get it right.

  “—well,” he said, as the dull thud of his voice became pregnant with a pause.

  “Well. I mean. The wealthiest man in the world wouldn't play this game if it was going to kill him, would he? I'm aware of the rumours, but that's a ridiculous assertion.”

  Tim smiled for a third time.

  “I can categorically say that no Monolith IP would ever, or could ever kill anyone.”

  There was a solitary cough out in the crowd. It rang out like the drop of a wet soap in a prison shower.

  His executive team had promised him that none of the tech journalists at the summit would go for the throat. They would jostle, of course—throw a few jabs at the ribs and the chest, but no haymakers. Fifty-k retainer meant you played by our optics. He felt himself flushing a little red as Dana Psomas tapped her cue cards on her knee.

  “OK. You've heard it straight from the source then folks. Iron Ark beta is in full swing. The risks are just that… rumours.”

  She looked up at him, eyebrows creased. Her raven black hair had been pulled back tight in makeup. When Tim had chatted with her a few hours prior in the greenroom, it was soft and messy, splayed down by her shoulders. Dana had come prepared for battle.

  “Tim,” she continued. “Can you tell us a little about the contracts that player-streamers have been required to sign? I know Monolith have been keeping closed-beta a mystery, but fans are keen to know how they could earn themselves a spot.”

  Tim smiled—this time with teeth. It was almost a grin.

  “Yeah—I mean, that's something we're super excited about. One of our core tenants in development has been the fan ecosystem. Player experience is second to none, but the audience and viewer affinity is something we're so excited to share with the fans.”

  He paused and took a sip of water from the Fiji bottle resting by his foot.

  “We’re serious about esports. We're serious about competition and—what we're calling in house—player legend mobility. We don't want to be shy about this. Not everyone in the world will get to play this game.”

  There were a few quiet mutters from the crowd. An annoyed drone like a slightly perturbed wasps nest.

  “But we believe that's the true strength of Iron Ark. The viewer is just as important as the player. We want you to form deep, emotional bonds with these heroes. Don't get me wrong, we've created the greatest engine that the world has ever known with this game. Players will spend days, weeks, perhaps even months in our specialist rigs. They require an obscene amount of upkeep. Playing this game is a transcendent experience for the chosen few, but we still want to share that with you—the fans.”

  Dana looked out at the audience—pop guard of her mic pressing close to her lips. She huffed.

  “Guess we won't have a beta-key today guys.”

  There was a playful boo, but Tim smiled and so did Dana. He spread his hands wide with a bashful nod.

  “Yeah, no beta-keys today guys, but that's the other exciting aspect of the player/viewer pipeline. Fandom is everything for us, so our contracted players will have twenty-four seven livestreaming capabilities while in the gameworld of Iron Ark. This will be fully integrated into their own in-built HUD, and so you as the audience can experience the world vicariously through them.”

  “And what kind of things can fans expect?” Offered Dana with a shrewd nod. She’d finally thrown him a bone.

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  “From day-one we want fans to find their person. Their hero. Now, I still have to be tight-lipped about the kind of talent we've got lined up for release, but we are so excited about the pros that have already lined up. We thought long and hard about the type of streamers we want involved at launch, and, damn… you're going to love some of our heroes, and of course, heroines.”

  “Because… well, you already do!”

  Dana grinned. “Come on, Tim. Can you tell us who's been lined up so far?”

  Tim shook his head, “no—no,” as the crowd started to irk with come onnn Tim’s and give us something.

  “Well, let's just say… we've got a few award winners.”

  “OK—OK,” interjected Dana. “We can work with that. And, of course, we already know that Sander Gore has given Iron Ark his full blessing, as well as playing an integral role with funding and development. Sander and Monolith have been doing some great things together over the last decade. You hinted at it earlier, but can we assume that the richest man on earth will be featured as a player-hero for fans to root for?”

  Tim grinned—this time for real. Nailed it.

  “Sander is a huge fan. We want passionate gamers involved at every level of Iron Ark, so yeah. Maybe he'll drop in from time to time. He's a busy guy.”

  Some people in the crowd clapped loudly. One person even cheered, but the applause for the most part was milquetoast.

  He was losing them a little.

  “—but yes. You can expect a Sander Gore stream. Maybe not at launch, though.”

  “WOOOWWW,” crooned Dana over the mic, drowning out the hum of the audience. “Well, there's our exclusive guys!”

  “Wow. Awesome.” Dana ruffled her hair a little. “Monolith have really gone all in here.”

  “Yeah, we really have. And that's also probably a good time to briefly mention our Squire Feature. Like we said, Iron Ark is an exclusive game, our world relies on players, audience, and engine working symbiotically. But we also want fans to be aspirational.”

  “So we've been working on what we're calling the Squire System, which will be feature ready at launch. Chatters can earn themselves experience in their chosen player-heroes community, and if they reach a certain threshold. Well, maybe they'll get their own invite to the gameworld.”

  Now the crowd were really feeling it. Tim beamed as he leaned back into the sofa, arms spread over it, applause and cheers sounding out. This is all they wanted, really—gamers were both eager to please and be pleased. They just wanted to be a part of something.

  “Tim, you're slaying me. That's two zingers back to back. Wow. I think that's all the fans want, to play your game, but of course—the VR immersive tech. This isn't just gaming, is it? It's living. Wow. Tim, can you tell us a little about the game world itself? We're starving out here.”

  Tim nodded happily, as the screen wall behind him faded into the concept-art landscape of a large, ominous mountain—forests of pine and winding rivers beneath. A castle keep poked out in the distance, though you had to squint to see it clearly.

  “Yes, yes, of course. Like you said, Iron Ark isn't just a game—it’s an entire world.”

  “We can proudly announce today that all four continents have now been fully-genned. And when I say continents, that's exactly what we mean. Iron Ark’s engine is effectively 1:1 ratio to real earth. It requires twenty dedicated superserver centres across the planet to power, as well as fifteen player incubation facilities—most of them off-shore for cooling reasons.”

  “Wait, you mean—so…” paused Dana.

  “Yep,” grinned Tim. “This is a virtual, artificial planet. Living. Breathing. We will be live on Earth, but players will forge their legends on the planet Ore.”

  He let the word seep into the audience for a moment as he glanced out at the dark. It had been torn apart by seven rounds of marketing executives—blown to pieces by legal, but in the end it had made it through the mill. It was the best of a bad bunch. How can you come up with a better name for a planet than Earth? Well, you can't, so at least try and make it metal.

  “The art you can see behind me is from one of Ore’s largest continents. Praxa. Roughly the size of China, it is dense with forest and mountain regions, though its southern biome is mainly treacherous marsh, bogs and mire. Players that find themselves spawning here will have to face off against a horde of indigenous monsters; namely a goblin empire to the south that have ruled their realm in bloodlust and black magic.”

  Several images pulsed on the background behind him. Green, snarling faces. Barbed, pointed blades. Structures with sharpened stakes and palisades. And then—a much larger character model. Fatty. Bulbous. Skin sagging like rainwater pooled beneath tarp.

  A goblin queen of sorts—chains wrapped and wedged into the folds of her flesh. Trinkets of bone and skin and lacquered shells painted about her.

  “Believe me,” said Tim. “She looks gross on screen—but in engine? I'm still having nightmares.”

  The crowd balled and laughed. Dana cackled and then dropped another wwoooowwww.

  The landscape behind shifted again. Deserts of shifting sands, stark white polar regions, flat grasslands and endless prairies—jungles dense with flickering eyes and slithering limbs.

  “Now, we don't want to give away too much today,” continued Tim. “But we can't wait for you all to be a part of this world.”

  He looked out at the crowd. Eyes faux-glassy, sincere stare practiced and perfected in the mirror the morning before.

  “Iron Ark. Ore. Every one of us at Monolith. It would all be nothing without you. People are our magic, our mana. This world is for you. You're the only thing that matters.”

  No pop on the lav mic. No rustle of a collar. No flush of red on his face.

  Just a quiet hush and a sea of dark faces, and then, of course—applause.

  Nailed it.