Darren sat at his computer terminal with a sickly smile on his face as he watched Kelly and Rachel in the warehouse. He hovered over Rachel and watched as her health bar appeared; 72% it showed.
“Excellent!” he said to himself. “That stupid cow will be gone soon enough and then Kelly will be back by herself.”
He clicked into the settings of the PM file and looked further and further into menus, searching for a section to increase sickness speed, to no avail.
Picking up his phone, he dialled a number and spoke curtly when it was answered.
“How do I increase the speed of health decline in this thing, Michael? I’m in the menu and I can’t see a slider for that anywhere!” Darren barked.
“That’s not a feature of the original game,” Michael answered meekly.
“Well can’t you put one in? Just write a mod or something, I don’t care!” Darren demanded.
“It’s not that simple, I can’t just…” Michael’s response was cut off by an obvious attempt to hide their call.
“Yes Mrs Parnaby, it’s a great system and you can definitely be put into Banjo Kazooie. I’ll send you across the email brochure right now,” Darren said, hanging up the phone as he clicked furiously at his computer, closing the PM file and opening an email window.
“What was that about Darren? You know we don’t have authority to use Nintendo IP,” Dr Paisley said sternly.
“Oh it’s okay, she was an old lady, she wouldn’t even notice if we put her in a different game,” Darren responded.
“Don’t be so stupid!” said Dr Paisley. “Apart from the fact that would be ruining someone’s choice of eternity, I for one don’t want to be sued.”
She walked around to see Darren’s screen and look over the email he was writing. She looked down to see that not only had he not typed an email address, he had only managed to type ‘blah blah blah’ in the body.
“I think you should go home, Darren,” Dr Paisley said, frustration gripping her every word.
“Fine. But my uncle will be hearing about this,” Darren said, storming out of his tiny office. “And I want full pay!”
Dr Paisley rubbed her eyes. She’d had enough of Darren’s antics, and with Rachel gone, she was swimming in extra paperwork.
“I don’t need this,” she said under her breath. “I’m going to lunch.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Darren waltzed out to his car, smugly grinning with his free day off. He plonked himself into the driver’s seat of his Subaru and started the engine. Idling in the carpark right by the door of the office building, Darren called Michael through the car’s Bluetooth.
“Brrrring brrrring!” the speakers of the car rang out. “Thanks a lot, Michael – you almost got me caught!” Darren cursed at Michael.
“I didn’t do anything – you called me!” Michael responded.
“Whatever. You’d better find out how to knock off Rachel ASAP. She knows too much about the game – it’s ruining everything!” Darren hissed.
“I don’t think knowing how to play a game can ruin it,” Michael said. “And I’ve told you, you can’t modify the speed an illness takes hold – that setting doesn’t exist.”
“Well make it exist Michael, or Dr Paisley will be finding out about your little indiscretion!” Darren shouted, hanging up the call before speeding out of the carpark’s boom gate, nearly collecting it on his way out.
Michael, another worker at Stygian Synapses, was primarily remote-based, shifting to a work-from-home role to better take care of his mother, who had recently taken a bad turn health wise. Darren had enlisted his services – nay, blackmailed him – into organising the technical aspects of his plan, not knowing anything about how Stygian Synapses technology actually worked. Michael reluctantly went along with Darren’s demands, initially at least – but increasing a terminal illness hit too close to home and Michael couldn’t go on tampering any longer.
Sitting at his small wooden desk in his clean but empty home office, Michael opened two programs: his email and the PM file server. He drafted an email to Dr Paisley: “Dr Paisley, I would like to schedule a meeting with you in person regarding an issue I am having and an error I have made. Please advise your availability and I will come into the office to discuss.”
He clicked send on the message and breathed a sigh of relief.
“You can’t scare me any longer!” he said to himself, ready to own up to his peccadillo and free himself from the manipulation of Darren Meagher.
Michael then opened the PM file for Alan Thatcher and entered the settings menu. He filtered through a huge list of options, finding a section titled Loot Rarity. Michael moved across the sliders from left to right, from super-rare to common.
“I may not be able to get you out of this mess,” Michael said aloud, “but I can help make it easier.”
Dr Paisley’s phone buzzed as she walked out of the carpark, her foot nearly crushed by the ridiculous body kit of Darren’s Subaru as he screamed by. She had heard nearly all of his conversation with Michael, thanks largely to the car’s speakers but also to Darren’s complete lack of volume control.
“What is he up to with Michael?” she said to herself. “I bet he’s up to no good again.”
She had been chastising Darren since day one, suffering his continued presence due to the insistence of her business partner, who was more importantly her financial backer. Pulling out the phone, she looked down at her notification.
“What a coincidence – an email from Michael wanting a meeting,” she said.
Dr Paisley was well and truly done with Darren’s behaviour, and knowing he was haranguing Michael too was the last straw.
“I let Michael work from home so he didn’t have to put up with your constant garbage!” she said to herself.
Dr Paisley typed furiously as she responded to Michael’s email, her long shellac nails clicking violently on the screen of her smartphone.
“Monday morning, 9am,” she replied bluntly.
Dr Paisley strode defiantly out of the carpark, her Jimmy Choo pumps nearly buckling with every furious step. “I’m done with this bastard, and now I’m going to get this sorted out once and for all.”
