been looking at him so long that he witnessed it.
Stay focused on work, Melody. No distractions.
When I came back around, a group of white, young male vid bloggers walked up to Wil and asked, “What do you do?”
He answered, “You mean, what does the character do? Or like, in real life, what job do I have?”
The goatee guy rolled his eyes. “Like, what’s your signature thing in your game? Like, roundhouse kicking? Nunchucks? Samurai swords?”
Wil smiled but replied tersely, “Well, in the game I’d use a crossbow, my weapon of choice. In real life, I do boxing. Given my mood, I could probably pummel a few heads into a bloody pulp.”
Goatee guy sidekicked the air and yelled, “Ha-yah!” and then karate-chopped his friend. The group laughed and walked away with some of our swag bags.
Cringing, Nolan asked, “What kind of racist shit was that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, welcome to our world. I get those racist remarks plus the sexist ones. Pretend those same guys had stared at your chest the whole time while saying those horrible things and then walked away mumbling explicit remarks.”
Wil’s and Nolan’s mouths fell open. Nolan stammered, “Oh, that’s just . . . I . . . I’m sorry.”
A curious onlooker walked up to me with a small spiral notepad full of notes. “I’ve never seen a game like this. Male strippers as protagonists? Women wearing combat gear instead of fishnets with a bulletproof camo bikini? This is all so curious and odd.” I’d seen him circling the booth a few minutes, waiting for the right time to engage. This fiftyish-year-old man wasn’t anywhere near my target demographic, as UA skewed twenties and female, but maybe he was someone’s dad or something. He continued firing off questions about the origins of the game and asked for one of our mobile devices so he could play the first level. He had mad skills: he cleared the level faster than I’d seen anyone do that day.
He grabbed some branded swag and asked, “Did you know that your game has already gotten over a hundred reviews on IGN?”
I searched IGN on my phone and found an Ultimate Apocalypse game overview link, along with the average rating of 1.5 stars out of 5. These sham reviewers were undoubtedly the same trolls who had nothing better to do than write bogus reviews or trash me on various message boards. Skimming the one-star reviews, these insightful gamers really demonstrated their knowledge and expertise with thoughtful comments such as “I like your tits,” “I’m gonna beat you down with my giant cock,” “I’d rather play Mass Effect: Andromeda than this game garbage,” and my favorite, “I would rather eat my own big butt than buy this game” (um, WTF).
Blinking back hot tears, I blew out a slow exhale and tried to think of ways to handle this disaster. Because of the restrictions placed on me by my company’s legal team, I couldn’t go on the counterattack. But also, it wouldn’t make a difference. These trolls were everywhere I looked, like disgusting cicadas during their hatching season, or a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.
As I fought back tears, my mind wandered in despair. Quitting my job, curling up in front of the television, and crying into my bowl of ice cream was an easy way out, and oh so tempting. I could go back to my old job, bored to tears, feeling unaccomplished and unsatisfied. I had known breaking into the game industry would be challenging, and here I was, living what I thought was my dream. How would I know if it was really my dream if I didn’t see this to the end?
No way was I going to give up now. I’d made a promise to myself that I would get this game launched, no matter what it took. I thought about my team and how far we’d come. These asshole bullies wouldn’t defeat Melody Joo. Fuck them, and their big butts, right?
A food vendor came by with a display of sandwiches, chips, and bottles of water, and I bought lunch for everyone. We all wolfed down our food in silence: talking nonstop and standing for several hours had wiped us all out. Wil and Nolan finished their food first. “Back to the grind!” Wil said as he pulled Nolan up off the floor. They jumped back into stripper cosplay mode just as the wave of postlunch traffic hit our booth. By 3 P.M. the booth crowds began to die down again,