“We have to make the coverage public.”

“And why should we do that?” the CEO asked sharply. “We all agreed that by limiting exposure, interest in this unfortunate business would die down. No fuel, no fire.”

“That was before the badge and Save Me campaigns. And now rumours have started that we’re blocking the public because there is no coverage. That our software has made Arline brain-dead.”

Daily meetings had become necessary to keep up with recent developments within the SharkBytes company. Time-consuming irritations that diverted resources from more pressing matters. The constant distraction of that foolish woman was making it difficult to concentrate on what should have been their most exciting cycle—that of bringing a new game to the world.

And through it all David Parker’s second in command’s pacifying voice told him things he didn’t want to hear.

“Hospital records will prove that that just isn’t true!” Daphne said heatedly. Unusually for a financial advisor, she was often the first to react with an angry retort.

“The hospital is not reporting to the media. Only to immediate family. Which in this case is her brother, who refuses to comment.” Peter shook his head wonderingly. “A more unyielding individual I have yet to encounter. Did you know that the Queen of England sent him a sympathy message and still hasn’t gotten a response?”

“Surely a mini-cam…?”

Peter sighed. “No. We can’t get our hands dirty on this one. If it were traced back to us…well, let’s just say our professional status—now on the edge of respectability—would slide off that cliff face into shady territory.”

“So what do you advise?”

“Put simply, our current stance isn’t working. The public, when faced with no information either lose interest—which was what we were initially counting on—or they start making shit up. And pics of celebrities like Antoine Callale and Princess Vicky wearing Arline pins isn’t allowing that public to forget. Nor is having the Lindell cover of Save Me make it into the world music charts. People are growing hungry for more information, more action. There are even serious rumblings about a boycott on Dangerous Dreams.”

“That’s not new. That started when this whole thing hit. Safety hysteria,” Abhud said dismissively. A relative newcomer to the group, their legal counsel had been contracted to stay for an indefinite period. Which David hoped wouldn’t be much longer. Daphne had become increasingly outspoken about how much his time was costing the company.

“Yes, with the public. Now it’s the companies that we’ve negotiated advertising space with that are taking action. Pressure from their customers has made it very uncomfortable for them. Even Google has relegated our ad halfway down the results page for every search that includes the words ‘SharkBytes’.”

“Hardly surprising,” David said. “The scandal of recent events must have generated hits from every news agency and conspiracy site on the net.”

“Yes, but we paid for that ad to be positioned at the top. And when our legal counsel contacted them about the breach”—a nod in Abhud’s direction— “they stated there were mitigating circumstances and offered us a partial repayment. That means that they’re making more money from it than they can get from us. Plus, they look like a neutral party if this goes any farther up shit creek.”

The CEO put his fingers at the edges of his eyes and pushed his eyebrows up. “Okay. What are the possible risks and rewards of putting up the new stream?”

“Best case scenario, Arline survives and the public sees that we’re doing all we can to help her. We may also get some free publicity for DD if we reveal that the fairy directing the camera is part of the new game. If the sourness of her disposition doesn’t blind players to the advancements she represents. Gus may have put in one of our most advanced NPCs, but she definitely won't be winning any popularity contests.”

“And worst case?”

“Arline dies. Particularly if it’s a glitch that does the killing. We look lethally incompetent, and are legally obliged to shut down our operations to face an inquest and possible prosecution. The New Zealand government is already making grumblings about the injury to one of their citizens.”

“Shit.” Daphne again. “You think that’ll fly?”

“Not yet. Luckily, the legal position is sketchy, being primarily out of their jurisdiction and there being no precedence for trapping someone in a virtual prison. Miss Johnson also agreed to our terms and conditions when she registered, which absolve us of responsibility for issues resulting from faulty or jail-broken equipment, making the legal waters even murkier. Truth is, they’d have to institute a full-blown cooperative enquiry before they could take it to our government, and relations between the two Prime Ministers have been strained since Crazy Larry’s visit to New Zealand last month.” Peter sat back in his chair. “Of course, this all becomes irrelevant if we can keep Arline alive.”

“And what are the chances of that?”

“Honestly? Slim. Apparently, she’s about to head into the pyramid challenge.”

“Is that supposed to be dangerous?”

“Gus seems to think so.”

“Where is Gus, anyway?” David interrupted. “I thought I called all my staff to this meeting.”

“He said he had some kind of external matter to deal with. Not sure what that means.” Peter’s voice changed from authoritative to uncertain. “I can send for him if you think it’s necessary for him to be here?”

The CEO shook his head. “He’s probably better riding a desk than making executive decisions right now. If anyone can stabilise the game and find a way to get Arline out, it’s Gus. We’ll just have to trust that whatever ant has crawled into his brain doesn’t distract him from his primary focus.”

“And your decision regarding streaming coverage?”

“Do it. If we don’t and it comes out later that we had it, we’ll look like even bigger assholes than we do already. At least if we appear transparent we have a shot at mitigating any additional negative publicity.”

“Do we delay the release of DD?”

“No! At the moment interest is higher than ever. Best to make as much money as we can before anything else goes down the shitter.”

——

Back in his office, Gus stared at a screen. On it was a line of script, hidden amongst line 20186:

set_colour (brick_colour) ; I know what you’ve done

It wasn’t so much the words, but their location that disturbed him. He had found it sitting in an AoD subdirectory, with an edit date of only yesterday. Where the only person that ought to have access was him.

Shit. We have ourselves a hacker.