New Game

MY HEART JUMPED as I saw the cardboard box with the large “fragile” sticker on it leaning to the left. The two guys carrying it were too distracted checking out Salma's ass as she took a box of controllers into my new digs. My best friend was hot, if you were into women, but my cargo was too important to see it destroyed.

"Hey, watch it," I shouted, my eyes widening.

The guys startled, and the box slipped further. Oh shit, no! Not my baby.

They managed to steady it and the one facing me grinned. "It's all right, all this junk is insured."

"Junk?”

The guy shrugged, and my blood boiled. What the hell was he thinking?

"Dude, that's a five thousand bucks custom made gaming computer. After paying out for the insurance, how long do you think your boss will wait before firing you?"

He gaped at me, eyes wide. "Five thousand... What? This just looks like a plastic case."

Great, so he'd peeked inside. "It's transparent. It's not empty, and it cost more than you make in a day."

"So you're rich and you're threatening our jobs," the other one said as he back-walked into my apartment.

"How did I threaten your jobs? I fucking rode in the back of your truck to make sure you got here with everything in one piece. I warned you several times those items are fragile. Yet I'm the bad guy?" Okay, maybe I was a bit obsessed with my equipment. Hard not to when I spent most of my time playing videogames and recording it.

"Stop trying, Simon," Salma said, scoffing at the leery movers. "It's easier to blame you for their troubles than focus on their job and not on my ass."

The older one of them had the decency to look sheepish. They went back to the truck and I sighed, needing a moment before following them.

"You should cancel the pizza order," Salma said, crossing her arms over her chest. She snarled, the dark lipstick she'd used making her teeth appear stark white and deadly.

"Nah, that’s overkill. Besides, I’ve dealt with worse."

"Yeah, plus you might piss them off. They might even come back to rob you at night."

I huffed and turned to face her. "Way to see the worst in people."

She shrugged. "Three times. My apartment was broken into three times this year alone. I tend to see thieves everywhere."

I left her inside and went downstairs. As long as I was supervising, I felt better about other people handling all my computers and gaming consoles. Not to mention all the expensive cameras.

I found the two guys of the crew who carried stuff waiting for the elevator. They were carrying another computer upstairs, along with some of my cameras.

"We're being careful," the younger one said.

"Thanks, man. My income depends on this gear."

I walked through the spacious hallway of my new building. We had a doorman who nodded at me every time I passed through. We even had coffee tables and chairs for visitors to wait. It looked super fancy.

Is this the right thing for me? The nagging doubt I felt whenever I spent money on anything gnawed at me. I made my money on YouTube and Twitch, posting game play videos and doing livestreams and, although I partnered with tech companies and game developers now and then, there was nothing guaranteed about my income. An image of my mother with her disapproving glare flashed through my mind. Maybe my parents were right and I should get a real job. Maybe I wasn’t responsible enough and I should have rented a much cheaper place.

Because I doubted myself and my spending choices, I’d given very clear and specific requirements to my realtor. This new apartment wasn't more expensive than my old one, although it was fancier. The location was a downgrade of sorts, as I lived further from the heart of the city, but my commute from my bedroom to my office didn't even require me to get out of my pajamas.

I picked a few camera bags and the backpack with my laptop from the truck and trudged back inside. A few people were waiting for the elevator but meeting anyone new when I had a serious case of self-doubt didn’t appeal to me. What if they asked what I did? One old lady in particular looked like she’d require my life history and a background check before trusting me. What would she think of an adult getting played to play games all day? I took the stairs and regretted it almost instantly. Going up seven flights carrying heavy equipment wasn't the best idea I'd had that day.

It took hours to get everything upstairs and longer still to start setting up my office. I definitely had too much stuff. I’d wasted plenty of time watching decluttering videos and jotting down tips. I’d thrown and given away a significant chunk. Single, living on my own, I really didn’t need all that much. Now that I was seeing it all being carried between two apartments, it still felt like too much. Did I need all of this? Or was I overspending and burning through my money too fast?

"How long till your stream?" Salma asked as she cleared the kitchen table. We'd enjoyed a late lunch with all the movers and she'd been kind enough to help with the cleanup.

"Four hours. Shit, it's gonna be tight." I went through the tasks I'd checked off my list. "I've set up all the lights. And the green screen is in place." Those were the most time-consuming tasks after the lights had been completely disassembled for the move.

"So the hardest part is done. I'll help you with the rest."

I wasn’t convinced. I still had to reassemble my desk and set up my main gaming computers. Plus cameras. I couldn't forget the cameras. I could go with a simpler setup for the stream and only use a couple of webcams, but the desk would still take a while to reassemble.

"Want to guest on the stream if you're here?" If my setup would be more rudimentary, my fans could at least get a little bonus. Streams more than doubled my income, so I put a lot of care into them. I needed three different screens just to make sure I could monitor all the comments from live viewers. If I was ever pressed for time, I’d rather upload fewer videos than miss one of my live sessions.

Salma shrugged as she helped me take out the desk from its box. "Sure, I don't mind. What are we playing?"

"You're the guest, so whatever you want."

"I feel like kicking your ass today. Like drag you on the floor and finish you off?"

I chuckled but wondered if I should keep the power-tools away from her. "So another fighting game?"

"I have a lot of anger to work through."

Salma always had some level of anger to deal with and she usually handled it by savagely beating other people in games. For someone so pretty, she sure was furious all the time. And therein lay her main issue. Salma was beautiful. Classical, all-American beauty, perfect strawberry blond hair, large blue eyes, perfect lips and cute Cupid's bow. Her body had that much desired hourglass shape and she'd toned it to perfection. However, Salma liked loose-fitting clothes, most of them dark and unflattering. She had an immense collection of army-style boots and she favored bold and dark makeup. It didn't mesh well with what people, especially her family, expected of her. Being friends with me and spending so much of her time on her YouTube channel weren't helping either.

We set up the desk and computers in silence, then came up with a nice way of connecting my main camera and the webcams so that we'd both star in my stream. During the actual gameplay, they’d see our faces in the top corners of their screen, then when we’d take a break to address comments, I’d switch the streaming software to my main camera and show us next to each other, chatting. With Salma’s help, I was done with time to spare.

"Okay, let's test this baby." I logged in, typed in the password the realtor had emailed across, and my heart sank. Blood drained from my entire body and my hands shook. "Oh, shit."

"No working Internet," Salma said, her voice meek.

The connection seemed to be working fine. The modem reboot did nothing. I even restarted the system, just to make sure. "Mother fu--"

"Didn't you say you'd already have an Internet connection when you got here?"

I growled, frustrated by her interrupting my cursing. "Yeah, I did. I made the real estate agent check and include it in the contract."

"And didn't you say your landlord lives in the penthouse?"

I nodded, another cuss bubbling in my chest.

"Then go talk to him. Sure beats swearing up a storm over here."

Her dismissive shrug pissed me off. Whenever I was angry or panicking, her cool logic always got on my nerves. She was right, of course. Always practical Salma. But she could have at least refrained from interrupting me mid-swear. The cursing didn't bother her, wasting time on futile things, however, did.

"Fine, I'll go look for him."

"I'd change first." She gave me a once over and scrunched her nose. "You're covered in dust and other dubious stains from riding in the back of that moving truck."

I looked down at my T-shirt and jeans and realized just how much of a mess I was. No one should see me like this, especially not the landlord, given how nice and clean this building was. “Oh, shit. Thanks for not telling me earlier, Salma. Not like we’re going live soon.”

“I would have told you after you checked everything else. You could have gotten away with just changing your T-shirt, it’s the only thing visible when you sit at your desk.”

I stormed out and headed for my new bedroom. I'd taken all my clothes there, neatly packed and labeled. I’d divided them into tops, bottoms, suits,...