Page 6 of Glitched Play

Instead, it feels like freedom.

two

. . .

Witt

Message Draft: Glitch

Every system has a pattern. Every pattern has a weakness. Mine is you.

I own fourteen companies, two esports’ leagues in Europe, one here and enough stock options to retire every member of my family.

Yet, Birdie, my sister-in-law, still thinks I'm incapable of feeding myself.

The first thing people notice about my office is the glass. Not just any glass, some of them are actually screens so that I can look at system architecture, games, etc.

But floor-to-ceiling panels wrap around the top level of Armadillos Arena like a goddamn spaceship overlooking downtown Austin.

The second thing they notice is the silence.

No TVs blasting sports commentary.

No music.

No assistants hovering.

Just the soft mechanical hum of servers in a climate-controlled closet, the size of most middle-class houses and the faint click of my keyboard.

Exactly how I like it.

Dara steps into my office carrying a tablet and an iced coffee I forgot I ordered forty minutes ago. “Your viewers think you died.”

I don’t glance up from the letter in my hand.

“Statistically unlikely,” I say.

“That was sarcasm.”

“I know.”

Dara adjusts the sleeve of her blazer then moves my coffee three inches to the left.

I move it back.

She rolls her eyes. "Every time."

"There is a correct place."

Dara’s worked for me long enough to understand the rules.

If I’m wearing the black headphones, don’t talk unless the building is on fire.

If I’m holding a letter, don’t interrupt.

And if both are happening simultaneously?

Run.