With Effie safely tucked up in bed, I follow the launch across social media, newsgroups and streaming channels. I watch it snowball long after the image of the sigil overhead has faded, as videos are shared and reposted.
At the same time, I’m monitoring the numbers on the platforms, and I can see gamers going nuts. Midnight UK is seven in the evening east coast US and four in the afternoon west coast, and we dropped on Friday. Every single gamer must have ditched their plans and significant others to log on to our game.
I’m sitting with my laptop in the bedroom Effie and I are sharing, trying hard not to squeal with delight as the concurrent player count ticks over a hundred thousand and keeps going. A hundred thousand had been the number Scarlett had set as our success point. When we hit that target, we knew the game would make enough to ensure Cerium’s continued existence, along with jobs for all its employees.
I so badly want to share this moment with Anders, but he’s back in the US to keep an eye on his dad. All I can do is message him:Are you seeing this?I don’t expect an immediate reply as he’s in Chicago tonight, liaising with Scarlett and giving interviews.
One of the smaller streamers, a woman who goes by the handle Neon Sister,is live streaming the game, and her viewer count is in the thousands. She was quicker off the mark than the established big-name guys who all have scheduled and contracted content to cover. And she’s killing it. She’s having so much fun withThe Obsidian Sigil.All the tricks and traps we built in, and the layered storyline, are paying off.
This game was years in the making, driven by some of the greatest talent in gaming, not by a marketing executive with a spreadsheet. And our strategy is working. People are loving it.
Suddenly, I’m crying huge, unstoppable tears. Because we are safe. We have survived. Anders and Cerium will go on to make another game. All the stress, the bad actors, the technical challenges, we’ve overcome it all. And for me personally, my job, my home, my future, Effie’s future is assured.
Mopping my tears, I send a message to all my Cerium friends, to Rob and Steve, Ginny, Chloe, and Nur.We did it!
Of course, it’s two in the morning by now so everyone sensible is asleep. Except Steve, who’s working flat out fixing bugs and issues. And Ginny, who is also on overtime, supplementing our programmed social media withad libbedresponses. These hours immediately after the launch are crucial for building interest and stoking excitement.
There’s only Rob, who, like me, is following the launch. I know because he’s the only one who replies.I told you it would be alright.
It makes me feel like I belong with this group of misfits and mavericks, adventurers and dreamers who have created something huge.
Closing the lid of my laptop, I lie down, curling around my daughter. But my mind is too jumpy to let me sleep. As the dawn light slips into the room, I get up to go back to tracking progress.
Our shining sigil stunt is paying dividends. The stampede of public reaction is enough for the national news channels to cover the story, achieving a level of PR hype no marketing budget could ever have achieved. It goes to show; you can’t keep a good creative down. Take away their toys, they just make new moves.
One of the newsrooms has a clip of an interview with Anders. I watch it; his hair shaggier than normal, his scruff approaching Viking beard territory. The interviewer is trying to accuse him of acting irresponsibly. Good luck with that.
“Did you think it was a message from aliens?” he counters.
“No,” the presenter scoffs. Then remembers the audience. “But many people did.”
“But you didn’t. Why not?”
The interviewer squirms. He doesn’t want to imply his viewers are fools. “It looked man-made.”
“Our game,The Obsidian Sigilhas been on early access for over a year. The sigil itself has been public since well before then. It’s easy enough to look it up. The game has just gone to full access on all the major platforms.” He gets the plug in before the presenter ends the clip.
After a quick mental calculation, with fingers crossed, I video call Anders. It’s late where he is.
Miracles do exist. He answers.
“Cora!” he breathes my name like I’m water at the end of a long hike. “They like it.”
I can hear the pride and fulfilment, the joy and the relief in that one short sentence. “Yes, they do.” I’m beaming. He is too. “Was it worth it?”
“Hell yeah!” There’s that Wisconsinite creeping out.
Right there, I know Anders will never stop reaching, never stop aspiring to build the best, the cleverest, the most devious game he can. He will always be pushing it to the edge of what is possible, technically, creatively and financially.
And yet I find I’m okay with that. I never thought I would be. I thought security would be everything to me. The difference is, I truly believe in him. Just as he has shown time and again, he believes in me.
“How are things with your dad?” I ask before I get too soppy.
“He’s a pig-headed, narrow-minded, stiff-necked dinosaur!”
“That good, huh?”
Anders’s dad was released from hospital a few weeks ago but still requires a lot of care and monitoring. He tires easily but keeps trying to take over jobs on the farm, criticisingeveryone who is helping out. Although his dad is recovering, he’s sustained a lot of damage to his heart. And farmwork is hard and physical. Going forward, Anders wants his father to agree to installing a robotic milking system. He thinks it’s the answer. His dad does not.
