Parallel World Game Developer

Chapter 6: Chapter #6: A Job Offer and an IP Buy Out

"This guy’s game is... interesting," Daniel Fenn said, leaning back in his leather chair. "Go find out if he’s willing to sign a five-year exclusivity deal. Let’s lock him down to Nexus."

Inside the sleek executive conference room at the Nexus headquarters, Fenn, the general manager of the platform, stared at the real-time telemetry data flashing on the projector screen.

The download metrics for a bizarre little indie title called Getting Over It were skyrocketing at an unprecedented rate. It had taken exactly three days to jump from complete obscurity to the absolute peak of the platform’s trending charts.

On day one, the only person playing it was streamer named, SilverShot. And the stream had ended with him losing his mind live on camera.

By day two, the contagion had spread to his community. Viewers who had watched him suffer went out, bought the game, and immediately began raging with bloodshot eyes, screaming into the void of the internet.

By day three, the entire streaming platform had succumbed. It didn’t matter if a content creator usually played competitive shooters, cozy simulators, or just chatted with their audience—their chat feeds were so relentlessly flooded by fans demanding they play the game that everyone eventually caved.

And that was when the collective psychological collapse of the gaming community truly began.

The game featured dead-simple, entry-level controls that required nothing but a mouse, yet it delivered the most agonizing, high-pressure psychological torment imaginable.

It stood in stark contrast to the dominant market trends.

The storefront was currently bloated with expensive, $70 AAA cash-grab games where a player could unlock max-level talents by pulling out a credit card, buy legendary gear by buying premium currency, and pay to win.

Yet this deeply unpleasant, agonizingly punishing indie game had managed to tear its way right through the middle of those flashy power-trip titles.

"And while you’re at it, talk to him about buying out the IP rights entirely," Fenn added, his eyes tracking a clip of a streamer violently slamming his mechanical keyboard against his desk. "Letting a game with this kind of viral engagement sit in the hands of a solo amateur is a waste. He’s selling it for less than two bucks to play forever? He’s leaving millions on the table."

The internet was already having a field day with the fallout. In the comment sections of various viral clip compilations, gamers were making the same joke over and over: ’The developer definitely owns shares in a mechanical keyboard factory.’

According to some amateur data analysts tracking retail trends, keyboard sales across Amazon and other major online storefronts had actually seen a measurable spike over the last forty-eight hours. Customer support reps for hardware brands were dealing with an influx of bizarre inquiries:

’Is this chassis reinforced? Can it handle a direct fist impact?’

’Does it have a certified stress-test rating? Is it completely waterproof against tears?’

’Can I get a bulk discount? I need to buy like three of these, and I don’t want to feel bad when they break.’

Fenn let out a dry snort. If he were the one running this IP, he would have already implemented at least three layers of aggressive monetization. Charge $0.99 for an immediate checkpoint save.

Charge $2.99 for a custom skin on the cauldron. Charge for a temporary grappling hook to save a catastrophic fall.

Naturally, you’d limit the purchases to a few times per run, though premium VIP subscribers would get a few extra lifelines.

He flipped to the game designer’s profile page and sighed. It was exactly as he expected—a university student, still in school, with absolutely zero business sense.

Kids at that age still viewed game development through a naive, idealistic lens.

They just wanted to build things; they didn’t think about extracting maximum player value.

"Find out who his faculty advisor is, and get him an invitation for our corporate entry assessment," Fenn instructed, closing out the profile tab. "If he passes, we can bring him into the fold. The kid has raw talent, and he’s worth grooming."

An assistant noted down the directive. The outreach to Ethan Vale would be handled by a dedicated talent acquisition representative.

With a click of a remote, the multifunctional projector screen shifted.

The metrics for Getting Over It faded, replaced by promotional branding for the year-end TGA gala.

It was only March, but the corporate machinery at Nexus was already laying the groundwork for December.

Nexus wasn’t just a distribution platform; they had their own internal development teams spinning up major projects.

"The category we are locking down this cycle is Best Independent Game," Fenn said, his voice dropping into a serious, unyielding register.

The category had been established over a decade ago to honor standout titles that lacked massive R&D budgets or multi-million-dollar marketing campaigns, prioritizing raw innovation and mechanical engagement instead.

"Understood," the department heads in the room murmured in unison.

The response was polite, but the energy in the room was flat. Every year it was the same corporate speech, and every year the indie category slipped through their fingers.

...

Later that afternoon, across town in a cramped university dorm room, Ethan Vale received an official notification in his inbox.

"A job offer? And an IP buyout?" Marcus Shaw was hovering over Ethan’s shoulder, his breathing turning shallow and fast.

He stared at the glowing monitor, his eyes wide with pure disbelief. "Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars for the copyright? Outright?"

Marcus looked at the screen, then at Ethan, practically vibrating with vicarious excitement.

"Holy shit, Ethan, you’re set! That’s Titan Interactive, one of the biggest game publisher on Nexus! You’re basically jumping straight into the big leagues! This is insane!" Marcus let out a long, envious breath.

This was the ultimate dream for anyone in the university’s game design program—breaking out while still taking classes, catching the eye of a massive gam publisher, and securing a high-paying corporate track before graduation without having to grind through entry-level QA.

Ethan glanced over the formal corporate jargon in the email, his expression completely unbended.

There wasn’t a hint of hesitation as he clicked reply and typed out a brief, measured response.

[Thank you for reaching out and for your interest in my work. However, the proposed arrangement and corporate employment conflict with my current long-term studio plans. I will have to respectfully decline.]

"Are you serious?!" Marcus lunged forward, trying to grab the mouse to pull the draft back, but the client updated instantly—the message had already been transmitted and marked as read by the recipient.

It was gone.

Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s panic. Sifting through the memories of this body’s previous life, Marcus was one of the closest friend he had in this world.

If Ethan hadn’t transmigrated from an Earth with a fully matured gaming landscape, accepting a massive corporate buyout like this would indeed have been the peak achievement of a college career.

Marcus was just looking out for him.

"Relax," Ethan said, pulling up a directory on his hard drive and zipping a massive folder of asset guidelines.

"I just sent a batch of weapon reference files to your inbox. Go ahead and start blocking out the low-poly models."

"Are you out of your mind? Do you even realize who you just turned down?" Marcus dropped his hands, staring at his roommate like he had grown a second head.

There was an old joke among the students that you always want your buddy to pass, but you never want him to top the class.

But right now, Marcus sincerely wanted his friend to take the life-changing win.

"I know exactly who they are," Ethan said with a calm smile. "Just get the modeling done. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you’re driving a Land Rover by next year."

"You..." Marcus blinked, utterly derailed by Ethan’s quiet confidence.

"We made a decent chunk of seed money from ’Getting Over It’," Ethan said, turning his chair back toward his primary development monitor. "This time, we’re gonna invest it all right back into the next project."

"You call nearly three hundred grand ’a decent chunk of seed money’?" Marcus gasped. "What kind of budget are you looking at for this new title?"

"Simple," Ethan said.

He reached over, picked up a thick printed design document, and dropped it right into Marcus’s lap.

Marcus flipped through the document.

It was meticulously organized, detailing everything from procedural level-generation algorithms and interconnected biome routing to weapon frame data, enemy behavior trees, and stat scaling systems.

Every core mechanic required to build a functioning, highly polished loop was completely laid out.

Looking at the sheer density of the documentation, Marcus realized Ethan wasn’t just throwing out wild ideas. He had a blueprint.

"You’re actually founding an independent studio?" Marcus’s voice dropped an octave. "Ethan, that’s a massive leap..."

"Which is exactly why I need you on the asset pipeline," Ethan replied smoothly. "If I have to grind out every single sprite and hit-box calculation by myself, I’ll burn out before the end of the year."

"Alright, fine," Marcus said, a grin breaking through his anxiety as he walked back over to his own workstation.

He booted up his machine and clicked open the file link Ethan had shared.

"If you’re going to be crazy, I might as well pull the late nights with you. Just make sure you’re buying the pizza."

Ethan turned back to his screen, watching the download counter for Getting Over It click upward by another thousand units.

’ My goals aren’t even that ambitious,’ Ethan thought, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips as he opened his IDE. ’I just want for them to hit the review section and click "Super Difficult." ’

— — — — —

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