Chapter 38: Offers
The glow from multiple screens bathed the room in an artificial blue hue. Richard Santamo sat hunched over the dual-monitor setup, a steaming cup of barako coffee clutched in his hand. The dark circles under his eyes told the story of a man who had been running on adrenaline and caffeine for far too long. Beside him, Jack lounged in his chair, his eyes darting across the screen as his fingers flicked through emails like a man possessed.
Jack let out a low whistle. "Bro... we got emails from EVERYONE. EA, Ubisoft, Activision, Sony, hell, even Nintendo. This is nuts."
Richard exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair, the worn-out leather creaking beneath him. "I knew we'd get attention, but this is insane."
The screen in front of them was a digital battlefield of notifications. On Twitter—scratch that, Twitter—the hashtag #ByteBull was trending worldwide. Gamers, tech enthusiasts, and even mainstream media had latched onto their creation, World War II: Frontline, the first AI-driven FPS that didn't just react but thought like a real player.
Jack chuckled, scrolling through the rest. "Sony wants exclusivity. Activision wants a 'strategic partnership.' Nintendo..." He paused, then grinned. "Oh man, Nintendo just sent a cease and desist by accident, then retracted it five minutes later."
Richard smirked. "Classic."
His mother, Anita, poked her head into the basement. She looked between them and the mess of cables, keyboards, and empty coffee cups. "Aren't you two going to sleep?"
Jack turned. "Auntie, we're in the middle of history right now."
Anita crossed her arms. "History won't help when you pass out and die from exhaustion." She walked over and pulled the coffee mug from Richard's hand. "You're drinking too much of this. When was your last real meal?"
Richard glanced at Jack. Jack shrugged. "Uhh... does pizza count?"
Anita sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You two need real food. Estello had the cook make sinigang."