The Invasion of Cryptic Studios: Inglorious Basement Nerds

"Right there. That's our objective." I say, peering through my binoculars. "That's where they work on Champions Online." I say this to my partner in this covert operation- a homeless guy named 'Ray' who said he'd assist for a ham sandwich and some beer money. They don't make them like Ray any more, I tell you. He might not look like much, but I knew he was a keeper when I saw him fight off the other homeless guys over a half-empty bottle of MD 20/20.

The place isn't much to speak of, either. Stuffed between a Korean nail salon and a Payday Advance Loans, I can tell that PWE went to great efforts to disguise Cryptic studios- this place at one time had been a Blockbuster Video, and the graffiti and trash out front hid it well. I saw Trailturtle outside, chain-smoking and rehearsing what seemed to be some form of damage control. His thin and womanly features were covered in bruises. A POW, it seemed. If I could save him, I would. Perhaps I could even get him out to his Prius so he could escape at 45 Miles Per Hour. Maybe that would be enough.

I crawl on my belly through the parking lot, waiting for Ray to finish urinating on a nearby van. When he catches up to me, he doesn't say anything I don't know already. He's muttering about the rattlesnakes that the government sent to his house and the microchip the President put in his skull- it's his way of saying he has faith in me even though this is a suicide mission. Trailturtle doesn't see us, which is good- he's been their prisoner so long, he may scream and alert them. It happens to guys like that.

The front door isn't locked, and the board over the broken glass hides our approach. Ray pulls a tooth out, and offers it to me- I decline. No- we didn't need to be hostile at first. When I walk in, I see what appears to be a receptionist at the desk. She's emaciated, chained to the desk. More POW's. "Ma'am, I can get you out of here, but I need you to be quiet." I assure her. She reaches for a phone- an older model, the wiring to the wall broken and frayed. I see she has a name-tag... an old Blockbuster membership card crudely affixed to her worn blouse. It says 'Lady Gadfly'. Her will is broken. A few months ago, she was probably a sane and rational woman... now a broken shell. That's what PWE does. Ray engages her with a conversation about the black helicopters and Illuminati agents that follow him, which she seems to listen to for a while. I make my way down the hallway.

The first room has three letters scrawled onto a door- 'D-E-V-S'. I push it open- it doesn't have a doorknob any more. There's a couple of guys poking at keyboards on 1997 Dell computers. They haven't eaten in days. Their eyelids are taped open. They're staring at lines of code, like someone being tortured and forced to stare at the Matrix. This is inhuman. Every few seconds they say 'Lockbox' or 'Vehicle'. On the wall, signs read clearly in bold print: IF IT PROFITS IT IS GOOD. FUN IDEAS ARE BAD. I won't be reaching them. They're too far gone.

"What are you looking for?", the voice behind me says. I turn- and I see him. And... I can swear, I smelled brimstone. "I was... lost." I lied.

"We are all lost in some ways, my son. Why have you come here?" His voice is sweet and warm, like honey on a pork chop.

"I'm... I'm here because the things that are happening in Champions Online are bad. I'm here to help restore faith in the game, make it what it used to be." I steady myself. I can see the letters tattooed over his cheek- PWE. I shake. I swear, behind him something... wings? No... tentacles of shadow. They reach for me, crawling toward my wallet.

I take a step back. Courage, Cyber. Courage. "Stop it." I demand of him. "You're gonna kill the game!"

He chuckled, and behind his soft laughter I could hear the wailing of suffering children. "Son, do you not understand? I don't want to kill your game. I want it alive."

Ray was out there with Gadfly, hopefully convincing her to come to his 'space ship', which was my '88 Chevrolet van. Perhaps Trailturtle would escape with them. The PWE minion wouldn't see Ray... he had no money, he was invisible. "Look, we're okay with buying things... we just want it to be worth the money we spend, and we're tired of gambling for everything?"

Its eyes flickered with a green flash when I used the word 'gambling' and 'money'. I backed away, until I bumped into something- something hard, and thin, covered in cobwebs. I turned to face it- a skeleton, long since dead. "Our customer satisfaction officer." The PWE-thing tells me.

"You just... stop it, okay? We want this game to succeed. We just need you to stop doing this to these people." I am running low on courage. "We want content, value, and decent improvements."

It hisses at me. "NO! GIMME YOUR MONEYS!" I throw my Dukes of Hazzard wallet across the room to my right, watching it bounce into a bin marked 'Good Ideas'. It dives after it, tearing through the items inside to get my money. I make a run for it. Gadfly refuses to leave. Trailturtle, too. They've been here too long, they're gone. "It will all be all right. We have plenty of great content for the future!" They assure me as I run past. Their minds have been broken, no doubt forced to repeat those lines.

I drop Ray off at a nearby Arby's so he can argue with the outdoor menu. I'm broke. I don't know where Champions Online is headed, but at least I tried...