Chapter 8 #2
I can feel my mobile phone vibrating in my pocket, but I ignore it.
For one thing, I’d like to let the others live with their illusion that everything is fine for a little while longer, and for another, I can’t take my eyes off Luca.
His posture is upright, and he nearly jumps up the two steps leading up to the stage.
Everything about him radiates self-confidence.
He belongs here. I admire him, but at the same time, I hate him right now.
Because he’s showing me everything that’s wrong with me.
Instead of a basic mic, he clips a headset behind his ears and then turns to face the judges, one hand casually on his hip. “I know what you’re thinking. A horror game? Why should we promote that when half the population is still traumatized by the horror that was Brexit?”
Quiet laughter ripples around the room, and I tightly press my lips together. Luca is everything that I’m not. He’s charming, funny, and confident.
“But let me show you why Desolate Dread matters.” He jumps into the demo—no, not a demo.
He’s playing the game live with a controller, in such a casual way that he hardly has to look at what he’s doing while the character moves through a gloomy version of London.
“Desolate Dread isn’t your typical horror game, filled with blood, guts, and jump scares.
It tells the story of Zachary and his life with post-traumatic stress disorder.
Players are stuck in a world where anything could be real, but maybe nothing is.
Can the terrors and monsters hurt Zachary, or are they just figments of his imagination and his nightmares? ”
I can’t see the judges’ faces, but I already know they’re hanging on to his every word.
I recognize their eager posture and notice two of them have shifted their weight forward in their seats.
I know, because I feel exactly the same.
I want to shut my ears, but I can’t, because the passion in Luca’s voice touches something deep inside me.
And though I’m fascinated by what he’s saying, something else inside me starts to burn.
He’s the underdog here, the one who’s developing an indie horror game, but he’s selling it so well that I realize after barely a minute that he’ll get through to the next round.
As he wraps up, people clap for him—excitedly, not in a measured way. Even the judges are applauding him. And the second Elsa addresses the audience, hands shoot up.
“There are several firearms in your game. An interesting choice for a game that also addresses mental health and post-traumatic stress disorder. Don’t you find this kind of depiction of violence problematic?
And isn’t it a proven fact that first-person shooters desensitize people to weapons-based violence? ”
Again, Luca and I couldn’t be more different, because while I roll my eyes, he nods as though the judge has just made an interesting point. Though I don’t really know what people see in shooter games, I’m sick and tired of hearing these sorts of arguments from politicians.
“I do understand your concern, but all existing studies on the topic talk about the effects of excessive gaming, which requires a time investment most players can’t even make.
Desolate Dread is not a pure first-person shooter, and it certainly doesn’t romanticize shooting.
Zachary himself even suffers from these acts, and they don’t make him feel good.
Aside from that, post-traumatic stress disorders aren’t always connected to war-like settings, though we often make that association.
” Luca takes a few steps on the stage, gesturing with his hands.
He looks like he’s watched the same TED Talks I have, but unlike me, he’s sticking to their tips.
“There is recent research suggesting that the type of game environment we have here provides people with controlled exposure to traumatic events, which in turn can be a viable therapeutic approach. We do include trigger warnings, of course, so every person can decide for themselves whether the game is for them or not. Moreover, we remind our players to take breaks now and then via pop-ups. Beyond that, and I’m telling you this exclusively now, there’s a hidden achievement for any players able to play the game through without weapons. ”
Akito puffs out his cheeks and leans back in his wheelchair. “Someone came prepared.”
I’m silent, because he’s obviously right. Even the judge who asked the critical question nods, satisfied. Luca’s about to answer another question when my mobile vibrates again in my pocket.
I pull it out. Unexpectedly, it’s not the PixelPulse group chat, but the one with Nat and Aria.
Nat: I know your plan was to go viral, but you should have left that bit to me.
Nat: Everything all right with you, Lairy-Fairy?
Go viral? My heart, which has just calmed down again, launches into a new gallop.
Impossible. This can’t be. I quickly open TikTok, scrolling my For You page, and I can’t find anything out of the ordinary.
But Nat only calls me Lairy-Fairy when I’m having murderous period cramps or when she feels sorry for me for some other reason.
Lara: What are you talking about?
Aria: We saw a video . . . of your performance.
No. I whip around to look at Shane, who was pointing a camera at me earlier, but naturally, he and everyone else around me are focused on Luca.
Nat: How are you doing?
Lara: Where did you find that? What did you find?
Nataly replies with a link. And then I see myself.
I’m just as small and pitiful looking as I felt up there.
I watch as I trip and catch myself, hear the clatter of my laptop falling to the ground as the cable gets pulled out of its socket.
On the recording, I can hear whispers and a low laugh that I hadn’t heard from the stage.
Three thousand views already. That might not be much so far, but in such a short time?
My shaking finger hovers over the speech-bubble icon for the comment section. I press it and instantly wish I hadn’t.
User920112
lol women in gaming amirite
Gtrtrtrex
me when I try to distract my teacher after I forgot to prepare my presentation
sophiebarnesxx3
but her hair is lit!
cod.dude
is she drunk?
I don’t read any more. Luca may have just presented a horror game, but this horror right here is my own.
It’s worse than Zachary’s nightmares, because it’s real.
I haven’t just failed; I’ve made a fool of myself in front of everyone.
The video loops again and again and again as I grip my smartphone in my shaking hands.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Shane watching me.
He must have uploaded it. I bet he’s waiting for my reaction, for tears, for a tantrum, whatever.
Bold of him to assume, because nothing in this world, not even my anger at him, burns as hot as my own self-hatred.
I do what I should have done earlier. I get up and run from the room.