“As usual, I have two choices of news, good and bad.” His corporation’s main analyst had always loved drama.
“As usual, tell the bad one first. Oh, and ask Oksana for some mineral water.”
After calling the secretary in, Sarik opened a massive folder marked with Sphere’s logo, pulling out a thick report.
“Paper? How old school,” Ashot said, chuckling. “Give me the big picture. I’ll look at the details later.”
“Then I’ll start with the project’s internal state. In short, things aren’t good. First, Yamato’s team. You probably know it already since there hasn’t been any result after six months. They still don’t have access to the procedural generator. Moreover, it’s gotten so bad that Yamato has personally assembled a team to try and deal with the problem via in-game methods. Considering how big the game universe is and how quickly emergency situations spring up, this goal seems unachievable. Your man might be a great programmer, but he was unable to conquer his predecessors’ creation. He’s trying to fight fire with fire, but it’s not working.”
“Nothing at all? Did his attempts have any results?” the investor said, thoughtful.
“Actually, the results are negative. The situation has considerably worsened. In our case, the source of the problem is the procedural generator. After analyzing the actions of this cunning program, we’ve discovered a simple pattern: the more external factors influence the game world, the harder the generator retaliates. Yamato made the same conclusions but didn’t come up with anything better than empowering his in-game avatar, violating the Balance by destroying a crucial non-playing character. This resulted in a large-scale abnormality, lots of negative reviews, and thousands of customer support tickets. The report has a detailed description and numbers.”
“Tell me more,” Agasyan said, frowning.
“In layman’s terms, we have the following situation: each day, the players are growing stronger. Therefore, they start pressuring the in-game environment. The procedural AI tries to rebalance the entire system, as it was designed to do. However, in our case, it doesn’t simply make NPCs stronger. The system’s reaction is quite unpredictable, often skillfully disguised.”
“Just tell me, how long do we have until the game goes completely off the rails?” Ashot pushed back in his chair, radiating complete calm.
“It’s hard to tell. Four to seven months, maybe. The analysts are still studying the in-game events, but the core scenario won’t change. The schedule might be adjusted due to successful or unsuccessful actions of both sides.” Sarik paused, allowing his boss to process his words.
“It’s not enough! How do you think we can buy more time? The last time Sphere went berserk, we used rollback. Why can’t we do it again after removing the source of the system’s disturbance?”
“I wouldn’t recommend doing that,” Sarik said quietly. “First, the procedural generator considers such interference as an additional threat. Basically, we’d just pour oil onto a flame. Second, this is a huge loss of reputation. Legal proceedings after the previous rollback are still going on, and we rewound the game only several hours back. Now, however, it’s been days. Lots of things have happened, including mass events. Players won’t forgive us that. A large-scale alliance war is in process; power’s changing hands. The largest battle in the history of Sphere has just ended. Have you heard about that?”
“That’s true. I had to. Passions were running high!” Agasyan twisted his lips, displeased. “A few hours ago, I got a request from Australian police. It’s come all the way into real life. Someone almost got killed or something like that. They’re asking us to give them the message logs. We’re trying to brush the scandal under the rug.”
Sarik gave a knowing nod.
“Now for the good news. At the moment, Sphere’s capitalization is growing. Seventy percent of the holding company’s shares are consolidated in our hands, and we are the sole owners of twenty-one service companies maintaining the project. Capitalization, player base, and profits are at an all-time high. If the trend continues, these markers will increase by thirty-five percent in the next four months. On top of these, the negative in-game events only serve to fuel users’ interest.”
“Then it’s not that bad?” Agasyan interrupted the analyst.
“I doubt that. The majority of players bringing in steady revenue are the so-called carebears. These players need a comfort zone and stable gameplay. The ongoing chaos hurt them the most. So far, most of the users are content. New twists, a non-linear plot... Still, farmers won’t tolerate constant changes. They don’t want to lose their achievements, but the game’s getting more and more hardcore. They’ll have to spend more and more time online to survive and keep their progress, forcing them to make a choice. This choice won’t be in favor of Sphere. That’s why the procedural generator’s actions are so dangerous. To sum it up, in light of the upward trend in the company’s numbers and knowing the potential problems, you should get rid of your assets.”
“Get rid of them? I know that myself,” Agasyan grumbled. “It’s not that easy. The circle of potential buyers is pretty narrow, thanks to the government projects connected to Sphere’s virtual reality.”
“Yes, those projects require getting access to top-secret information,” Sarik replied, nodding. “It will scare off serious players, but finding a buyer is possible. I have some insights. Should I prepare a report?”
“Please do.” Agasyan poured a glass of water and put his lips on it. The analyst waited, unfazed.
“All right, so let’s go back to Yamato. Any thoughts?”
“I think we should part ways with him,” Sarik replied after a second of hesitation. “He’s too unpredictable, too ambitious, too emotional. He might make an even bigger mess. You’re the one to decide, of course. It shouldn’t influence the project — any of his deputies will do. We’re already picking a new candidate.”
“The boy’s gotten too carried away with the game...” Agasyan muttered. Then his
