Late night, 11:59 p.m.
Zoey Parker curled up in her small apartment bed, wrapped in a cozy pink blanket, eyes glued to the countdown on IndieVibe's website.
Her old downtown Seattle penthouse, with its skyline views and hefty rent, was history. Now she was crashing in a modest one-bedroom in a quiet complex—no sprawling living room, no dreamy canopy bed, not even a proper office. Just a laptop on a wobbly desk by her bed.
Yeah, the showdown with Nebula Tech hit hard. Ethan Caldwell and his crew took a beating, slinking away with their tails tucked (at least toward WindyPeak). But Zoey's wallet was hurting too. She'd burned through $1.07 million—savings, last year's bonuses, and most of this year's salary—in that media blitz.
Now? She was scraping by on $5,600 a month. Chump change compared to big shots like Gus Harper or Jonah York. Heck, WindyPeak's janitor probably made more.
$5,600 a month. In a small town, that'd be fine for a regular gal. But Zoey wasn't regular, and Seattle wasn't cheap.
"Life's rough," Zoey sighed, burrowing deeper into her blanket.
Good news? This broke phase wouldn't last. One minute to go until IndieVibe X2's launch.
When that countdown hit zero, IndieVibe X2 would drop worldwide, along with Titanfall and two other escort titles. With a $170 million budget and a $198 price tag, Titanfall needed to sell 860,000 copies to break even, even with IndieVibe's no-commission deal.
No way that was happening.
Zoey was sure of it.
IndieVibe X2's first batch was just one million units, spread globally. The second batch's size would depend on sales, but production took time—six to eight weeks for another million. By then, Zoey's rebate system would've settled.
For Titanfall to profit, two things had to happen: over 85% of those million units had to sell, and sell out before her system's deadline. Since Titanfall was exclusive to IndieVibe X2, no cabin, no game.
Impossible.
Zoey was hyped. This is my moment. A glorious loss, a fat rebate, and a ticket back to her penthouse life. Financial freedom, here she comes.
She chuckled, scraping the last of her watered-down moisturizer from a jar and smearing it on her face.
Ding!
A cheery system prompt chimed in her head.
Midnight. Showtime.
IndieVibe's site refreshed, showcasing the sleek IndieVibe X2 with its full sensory assist system and WindyPeak's story-driven masterpiece, Titanfall, launching worldwide.
But then—whoa.
Zoey expected to check her investment details, but a synthesized female voice broke in:
"Detecting single project investment exceeding $100 million. Initiating profit-loss audit of past projects…"
Project 001 - Cat Rio: Profit
Project 002 - Who's the Daddy: Profit
Project 003 - Vampire's Curse: Loss
Project 004 - MindFreak: Profit
Project 005 - Left 4 Dead: Loss
Project 006 - PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds: Profit
Project 007 - Overcooked: Profit
"Audit complete. Total projects: 7. Profitable projects: 5. Profit rate: 71.43%."
"Host's single project investment exceeds $100 million, and profit rate exceeds 60%. Trial rebate system deactivated."
"Loading… Official Investment Rebate System v1.0 activated!"
Zoey shot up, nearly knocking over her desk. "What the—?!"
An official version? She'd been on a trial this whole time? And that "v1.0" hinted at more updates. Wild.
She took a deep breath, eyes gleaming, and dove into the system's update notes.
Investment Rebate System v1.0 Official Version
Overview: Activates when a single project exceeds $100 million or total projects exceed 10, with a profit rate over 60%.
Updates:
Rebate Rate: Base rate unchanged—10x multiplier.
Rebate Timing: Settlement time (1–4 weeks) set by system based on data.
New Feature: Time Extension: Lock project costs anytime, generate rebate docs, and adjust settlement time pre-launch. Each extra day adds +1 to the multiplier, up to 100x (no bonuses).
New Feature: [Locked]: Unlocks after Titanfall settlement.
Zoey's jaw dropped. This was a game-changer. Same base multiplier, but now she could tweak the timing and the payout? Insane.
She pulled up Titanfall's system doc. The project had launched, but the system gave her a 10-minute grace period to test the new features.
Project: Titanfall
Investment: $170 million
Settlement Time: 14 days (+0 days)
Rebate Rate: 10x (+0x)
Current Revenue: $0
Estimated Rebate: $1.7 billion
Settlement Status: Pending
Fun, Zoey thought, grinning. She cranked the multiplier to the max in her mind.
Settlement Time: 14 days (+90 days)
Rebate Rate: 10x (+90x)
Estimated Rebate: $17 billion
Whoa! Seventeen billion would mean instant financial freedom—penthouse, yacht, the works. But holding Titanfall to zero sales for three and a half months? Pure fantasy.
She slid the multiplier back to +1. One extra day, one extra multiple. In 15 days, IndieVibe X2 might sell 500,000 units. If every buyer grabbed Titanfall, that's $99 million in sales—$100 million rounded up. Subtract that from $170 million, a $70 million loss, times an 11x rebate: $770 million.
Jackpot.
"Gotcha, system," Zoey smirked. She locked the doc in her mind, setting the official system live.
Project: Titanfall
Investment: $170 million
Settlement Time: 14 days (+1 day)
Rebate Rate: 10x (+1x)
Current Revenue: $0
Estimated Rebate: $1.87 billion
Settlement Time Remaining: 14 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 59 seconds…
No time to waste. Time to cash in.
The next day, Saturday.
On Ethan "Piggie" Vance's Twitch stream, the self-proclaimed "Pigskin Bully" hyped up his audience, smacking an IndieVibe X2 box like a kid on Christmas.
"Yo, chat, to get this X2 early, me, Old Horse, and the crew stormed IndieVibe's factory. I told their manager, 'You want this on Twitch? Hand it over now.'"
"They were shook—sent a guy straight from the warehouse!"
Ethan's tale was pure flair, and chat ate it up:
"Translation: Y'all begged for early delivery."
"Couriers move faster than you, Piggie."
"Mine's still shipping—tomorrow morning!"
"Hype's real, tho."
"Piggie flew from Portland to Seattle for this?"
"Unbox it already, dude!"
Caught out, Ethan scratched his head, grinned, and called his co-streamer to wheel the X2 in front of the camera.
Crack, crack! They pried open the box, peeled away layers of packing, and hooked up the wires.
There it was: a sleek, black IndieVibe X2 cabin, all sharp angles and glowing LED strips, like a sci-fi war machine. The IndieVibe logo gleamed on the hatch.
"Damn, that's slick," Ethan said, circling it. "VibeAI, you there?"
"Right here!" a chipper female voice replied. The hatch opened, revealing a high-tech cockpit.
Voice recognition wasn't new, but in a gaming cabin? Groundbreaking. The name VibeAI was a bit basic, though.
Ethan climbed in, buzzing with excitement. The hatch clicked shut.
"Welcome to IndieVibe X2. Activate full sensory assist system? This will scan your health in real-time."
The X2's killer feature was its sensory system—near-real immersion, amped-up feedback. Ethan knew it was why fans were hyped.
"Turn it on," he said, no hesitation.
A quick scan confirmed he was good to go. Then came pain settings—five levels, low to high. Players could tweak it, and the system would adjust within safe limits. High pain for a punch, dulled for a gunshot or worse. After seven rounds of testing by global health agencies, it was certified 100% safe.
Chat went wild:
"Fifth gear, Piggie! Full send!"
"Die in-game, sue IndieVibe!"
"Twelve safety checks, you're fine. Go big!"
"Bet you'll cry at max pain."
"Ten rockets for fifth gear!"
"Piggie's pork chops are cooked."
Ethan wavered. Fifth gear sounded intense, but backing down? Chat would roast him. "Fine!" he yelled. "Fifth gear, max bravery!"
Chat exploded:
"Piggie's got guts!"
"Bet he bails in ten minutes."
"Mikey, open a betting pool!"
"Fifth gear on a horror game would wreck."
"WindyPeak, you seeing this? Horror game next!"
The sensory system loaded, pain set to max. Time to pick a game.
Ethan browsed the X2's store. "Not much to choose from, chat. But let's be real—you're all here for the mecha, right?"
Chat roared agreement. Titanfall's hype was off the charts, and everyone wanted to see if WindyPeak's story-driven epic lived up to the buzz. Plus, Ethan had his own angle: "Mecha games shouldn't hurt too bad, right? Hide in a Titan, and I'm untouchable."
Purchase confirmed. The game was preloaded, unlocking instantly.
Screen went dark. Chat grabbed virtual popcorn, pushing the stream to 30 million viewers and climbing.
Ethan took a deep breath. "Here we go, chat!"
Boom!
The Titanfall trailer kicked in—gunpowder in his nose, earth-shaking rumbles, screams, stray bullets whistling past. Giant mechs loomed, their steel clashes deafening.
As the trailer faded, the screen darkened, and a title appeared: Iron Pilot Trial.
A whiff of motor oil hit. A gruff voice growled, "Rifleman Cooper, let's move."