The next morning, WindyPeak Games' project department hummed with chatter. Some munched on pancakes, others sipped coffee, shared steaming noodle bowls, or peeled eggs. They debated global politics, celebrity drama, gas prices, crypto, Fxxk KOMINA, and Outlast's progress. English, a bit of Japanese—pure chaos.
"Done eating?" Luke Bennett asked, nudging Jake Rivers' chair after downing his coffee.
Slurp. Jake finished his noodles, wiped his mouth, and stood. "Let's roll."
They headed to Gus Harper's office for a progress check-in. The trio—Gus, Luke, Jake—met every few days to sync departments, ensuring Outlast stayed on track. A week into development, things were smooth, but these meetings were sacred.
They knocked on Gus's door. No answer. Not at his desk or office. Only one place left.
They exchanged a glance and approached Zoey Parker's office. As Luke raised his hand to knock, Zoey's voice cooed through: "Do it, please~"
Gus's voice followed, exasperated: "Ugh, not now."
"Come on, it's no big deal. Just do it…"
"It could mess with actual work."
"What's the hold-up? We can do it at home, no work time lost!"
"Tch, Zoey, you're killing me. I'm busting my ass at work, and now you want me grinding at home? Trying to burn me out?"
"Hehe, please, just do it…"
What—the—hell? Luke's hand froze. Jake turned to stone. Their eyes popped, locking in shock.
What are they doing?! Wild words!
"This… this…" Jake whispered, pointing. "They're… saying that?"
"I… don't…" Luke, a workplace veteran, was floored. "I don't know…"
Jake's toes curled, scalp tingling. "In the office?"
"Seems so…" Luke muttered. "Guess they ditched it for bad soundproofing…"
Silence. Their faces mixed shock and gossip. In unison: "Holy—freakin'—hell…"
"Let's try Gus tomorrow," Jake said. "Project's fine, no rush, right?"
"Yeah, let's bounce," Luke agreed.
They shuffled off like ghosts, slipping away from Zoey's door.
Inside Zoey's office, Gus caved. "Fine, fine, I'll do it. No clue why you're suddenly Miss Charity…"
Since last night's Charity Week pitch, Zoey had been relentless about a charity game. Gus supported giving back—WindyPeak owed its success to society. Publicly, it built goodwill; privately, it gave leniency for future flops. Years ago, a billion-dollar charity scandal had tightened global regulations—harsh penalties, full transparency. Charity now thrived.
But Outlast was in high gear, and WindyPeak's team was maxed out. Another game could derail it. Gus refused, suggesting they wait until Outlast was nearly done. Zoey wouldn't quit. With WindyPeak's hype and PacificTech's backing, Charity Week was her rebate jackpot. She nagged—while washing dishes, before bed, even outside his door: "Gus, you've got no heart…"
Gus was fraying. That morning, Zoey dragged him into her office for more. Defeated, he agreed.
Zoey's eyes lit up. "Really? You're in?!"
"You'll nag me to death," Gus grumbled.
"Pinky swear!" She hooked his finger. "No backing out, or you're a puppy!"
Gus paused, smirking. "…Woof."
"You can't be that shameless!" Zoey yelped.
He laughed. "Kidding. But we set rules."
She pouted. "A three-rule deal?"
"First, small scope." A big game would tank Outlast.
Zoey nodded. She'd learned from Gus that quality, not size, sold games. Vampire Survivors ($200K cost, $2.5M revenue) proved it.
"Second, full outsourcing. No pulling Outlast staff."
"Deal!" Charity rebates ignored costs, only donations.
"Third," Gus stressed, "you lead as chief designer."
"What?!" Zoey hopped onto the couch in her socks, flopping beside him. "Me? Director? I can't!"
She was a slacker president. Gus ran everything—game plans, updates, operations. Her leading? No way.
"Then no deal," Gus shrugged. "Outlast's my focus."
"Wait!" She grabbed his sleeve. "I'm not refusing—I can't. You're the star, talented, hot…"
"Stop buttering me up," Gus said sternly. "I'm immune."
"Your grin says otherwise," Zoey teased, poking his cheek. "Chill, Mr. President~"
Gus cracked, laughing. "Fine. I'll set the framework; you manage outsourcing, review work, suggest fixes."
"Oh!" She nodded, then frowned. "What if I mess up?"
"I've got you," Gus said. "No mess-ups. Do it."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Now?"
"At home."
"Teach me, then…"
Outside, Chloe Quinn, there for a weekly report, froze at the door. Her hand stalled mid-knock. What… are they… Adults had freedoms, but in the office? Reeling, she glided away to process.
End of the day. In the elevator, Gus buckled his seatbelt, puzzled. "Luke and Jake were weird, telling me to 'stay safe at home.' Am I not safe?"
Zoey, buckling up, frowned. "Chloe too. She lectured me about 'life choices' and 'thinking carefully.'"
They locked eyes, unwrapped lollipops, donned sunglasses, and shook their heads: "Weirdos!"
The black Navigator roared, exiting the garage into Seattle traffic…