Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Andi
Something tickles my neck. I scratch it and shift away from whatever’s vibrating under my head. As I do, a song starts playing: “Peaceful Days” from the classic Japanese RPG Chrono Trigger . Annoyed, I slap at the pillow and feel … plastic. Rumbling, reverberating plastic.
I open my eyes. In my hands is my phone. It’s ringing, so my thumb skids up on the call.
“Andz,” Philo bursts out on the other end. “Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying you all morning. Brett is here.”
“Who?” I croak, partially because my sheet is wrapped noose-like around my throat.
“ Brett McCloy. Our boss. He said you sent him an email last night and he got so excited he just had to come in and get a sneak peek. Why would you promise him anything, eh?”
“I didn’t,” I say reflexively. Did I? Cutting a path through my brain fog, I play back the last twenty-four hours: Cat, and before her, an emptying office, and …
An email from Brett that I responded to.
“Monday!” I yell. I leap to my feet, nearly choking myself out in the process. “I told him we’d have something by Monday . Not Friday. Not today!”
“Well, surprise, surprise,” Philo says. “Brett can’t read.”
I let a curse rip. I’m already halfway into a clean shirt when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The reflection isn’t great—my eyeliner’s screaming panda cosplay gone wrong—but it’ll have to do, along with the jeans I wore to work yesterday. “I’ll be there in thirty. Twenty.”
“Ride safe,” Philo shouts from my phone on the bed. “I’ll sic Gabe on him in the meantime. He’s got a new vegetation-shading demo.”
A piss and a blistering mouthful of Listerine later, I’m out of my apartment and on the road. It’s not even ten yet, but business types will never learn basic human decency around leaving people alone before the sun is directly overhead. My mom should be thankful I never wanted to work a normal job. People who work normal jobs are the worst.
Despite lingering rush hour traffic, I make good time and tumble into the office right as Brett yawns into his fist. There’s an ancient yew up on the ten-foot projector in Gabe’s office, which Gabe is staring at with unabashed emotion. It’s impressive, I have to admit, but I also can’t blame Brett for seeing its boughs and thinking about naptime.
“Brett.” I run up. “Sorry for making you wait. It’s good to see you,” I lie through my teeth.
With a nod in Gabe’s direction, Brett turns and grapples me in a hug. “Andi! Lady of the hour.”
I wince into his armpit. Lady is not something I enjoy being called. Woman I tolerate because the assignation is both understandable and unavoidable, but lady —especially from an ex-college footballer like Brett—feels lecherous. Nonetheless, I slap on a smile. “Always a pleasure.”
We banter for a minute, and by that I mean I stand there like a wall while Brett tells me about his new girlfriend and how model-gorgeous, how smart, how well endowed with joie de vivre she is. It’s all so nauseating that I’m almost relieved when he brings the topic back to work. Clapping me on the shoulder, he asks, “Now tell me, how’s the romance coming along?”
Here’s my chance. I know for a fact that what Brett is suggesting is wrong. I just need him to see it too. Keep your head down and pay your dues, yes, but also— do what’s right for the game .
“I want to talk to you about that, actually,” I say. “I don’t think adding romance to Compass Hollow is a good idea.”
Brett’s grin fades. “Are you saying you haven’t started identifying viable love interests for the player character at all?”
Careful now. I don’t want Brett to know how much I’ve been dragging my feet on this. Thinking back to my run-in with Cat, I decide to smudge the truth a little. “Not at all. We have some thoughts in place. Having a temp has allowed me to shift things around so our senior team members can tackle the most important narrative issues.” I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth, taste sharp mint and chemicals. “It’s just … I really don’t think Hollow needs romance.”
A vein pops out along Brett’s right temple. His complexion muddies as he combs a paw through his blond hair, but he doesn’t lose his temper. Not yet. “Look, Andz, this game’s gotta pull in the big bucks. That means it’s gotta capture female gamers, and female gamers tend to play games with romance. Hence the request. It’s about revenue, not creative perfection—got it?”
Where do I start with this guy? Capturing female gamers? What a creepy turn of phrase.
Tucking my elbows in, I remind myself that Brett, however indirectly, is responsible for making sure the checks Philo writes clear. We can’t afford to make an enemy out of him.
In my steadiest voice, I say, “You have to understand, Brett, that ‘female gamers’ tend to play games with romance because for the longest time, those were the few games that featured women . It’s almost like the average straight white cis man can’t figure out how to ‘use’ women as anything other than props, plot hooks, and love interests.”
“Now, Andz,” Brett says. He grins again, except this time, his eyes don’t minnow. “Don’t get all sensitive on me about this. The numbers are what the numbers are, and I am nothing if not a numbers guy. Romance sells, so I want you to try adding romance.”
“Please,” I say through gritted teeth. “Call me Andi.”
He dips his head. “Do the work, Andi. It’s what we’re paying you and your little team for.”
My mouth goes dry. I hear the threat coded in his words loud and clear and flash back to last night. Is that how I sounded, talking to Cat? Pompous and arrogant and full of hot air?
“Andi?” Brett prompts in a low growl.
Well, shit. Now I have to tell my team—and Cat—about the embarrassing change of plans.
“Sure thing, boss,” I concede without an ounce of guile.
Brett stays for another thirty minutes, lumbering around the D-pad and distracting everyone. He’s on the verge of leaving (and I’m on the verge of sneaking a sip from the handle of bourbon in my office) when he remembers “one last thing.” Corralling Philo, Gabe, and me back into Gabe’s office where the yew is still up on full display, he closes the door behind him.
“IAX,” he says, resting his eyes on me. “You up for going?”
“What?” I ask stupidly. My mind is still hung up on the romance I now have to bake in … and the email I definitely won’t be writing Cat until Monday.
“You know, Interactive Arts Expo,” Brett says, as if I need the acronym spelled out. “The big con in Vegas every fall? It’s the weekend before Halloween this year. You three should go, drop some hints, rile up the fanbase.”
“I’m in,” Gabe intones while frowning up at his tree.
“Me too,” Philo says.
I shake my head. “Con appearances aren’t really my thing. Don’t like the attention. Besides, the two of them can hold down the fort, right? Two’s company, three’s a crowd and all that.”
“Ew,” Philo and Gabe spit out at the same time. They sidestep away from each other, Gabe closer to the projector and Philo next to me. “C’mon, darling,” she says, sinking her talon-like nails into my elbow. “It’ll be fun.”
“Heartrender doesn’t need to send two creatives to IAX,” I insist. “If anything, we should ask Dominik if he wants to go.” I crane my head down toward the D-pad where Dom, our lead engineer, is rocking out silently to some banger only he can hear. How does he manage to get out of these impromptu meet-and-greets with Brett, leaving Philo, Gabe, and me to play defense?
“No need,” Brett says with a wave of his hand. “Dom’s doing important work. We shouldn’t distract him needlessly.”
The hairs on the back of my neck go up. Why does Dom get a pass? Because he’s a man? Because he’s white?
Brett continues, “Andz, you have to put in an appearance. IAX asked specifically for you. We can’t have you hiding behind the scenes for all of development, then popping out post-launch. None of us wants another Aftermath situation on our hands, do we?”
I hear sharp intakes of breath on either side of me.
The funny thing is I never intended to take credit for working on Aftermath . You’d think after the lawsuit Sandcastle had gone through, Jan and his cabal of straight white cis male producers would want to show me off as the only non–cis male person on their team, but no. Either because they had no idea how to introduce me (and couldn’t be bothered to think about it for two seconds) or because they wanted to leave media appearances to the more senior members of the team, I was kept in the writers’ room and out of sight—which, honestly, was fine by me.
Of course, as soon as Aftermath released, Sandcastle came under fire again (it’s always something in this industry), this time for not having enough racial diversity, either in its games or on its development teams. That was enough for Jan to start throwing my name around every chance he got. “The entire team behind Aftermath believes in the importance of diverse perspectives in gaming, which is why we’re so excited to have Andz—that is, Andi Zhang —on board. Andi helped introduce a lot of the grittier elements of White’s backstory, and we’re super grateful to have taken a chance on such a great new voice and writer.”
Well, his own story got away from him. Reporters and fans alike began heaping praise on the crown of “Andi ‘Andz’ Zhang.” Con organizers wrote our HR department asking if “Andz” could put in an appearance. By the time anyone realized all the articles and requests were referring to me by he/him pronouns, the Aftermath hype train had long departed the station and was hurtling unstoppably down the side of a steep mountain. The producers could never have imagined the fallout from me stepping out onstage at TornadoCon and introducing myself as “Andi Zhang, she/they.” And Jan could never have imagined how much he’d come to regret giving me one iota of credit for Aftermath ’s genius.
Brett probably belongs to the camp of people who believes the Aftermath controversy was my fault, that if I’d just shown my face in public more, there never would’ve been any gender identity mix-up. Meanwhile, I’m still wondering three years later if Jan and the rest of the execs truly just forgot to mention my pronouns while they were singing my praises to the press or if they thought having an Asian American writer who was also an enby was a bridge too far. After all, diversity is only good if it helps the bottom line.
My heart thunders in my ears, but I remain calm as I say, “Right. Of course. That makes sense.”
“Attagirl!” After punching me in the chest a few inches shy of where would be considered appropriate, Brett adjusts the waistband of his khaki pants and winks. “Love to see y’all hard at work on a summer Friday. I’ll send over some pizzas later. Nothin’ like some ’za to boost the old morale, eh?”
I keep my eyes from rolling long enough for Philo to seize control of the situation and usher Brett out. When he’s finally gone, the three of us sprawl out on the floor of Gabe’s office. With the projector still running, it’s almost like we’re outside, picnicking in the dappled light of a perfect day.
“Is it the weekend yet?” Philo says first.
“I need more weekend in my weekend,” Gabe adds.
“We’re in charge, right?” I tack on. “We can declare it the start of the weekend right now.”
“And miss the pizza? Sorry, ’za,” Philo amends.
We laugh. Then Gabe mumbles something about needing to adjust the vegetation shader offset, and we get up and resume the day.