Sheila stared at the messy boy standing on her front porch. Her right eyebrow twitched in obvious irritation.
"What?" Sheila demanded, her voice sharp. "You're kidding."
Carlo leaned casually against the doorframe, a wide, satisfied grin stretching across his face. "I'm not."
Shifting her cold gaze toward the stranger on her driveway, Sheila crossed her arms tightly over her chest and looked him up and down, evaluating his worth in a split second.
"Hey, you," Sheila snapped. "What's your rank in Neon Fracture?"
Mark stood perfectly still on the concrete path and stared back at her.
"I have never heard of it," Mark responded flatly.
Sheila's eyebrows shot up. She spun her head back to Carlo and glared at him like he had just brought a stray dog into her house.
Carlo just chuckled and waved a dismissive hand. "He's a natural. You won't believe it until you see it. Let him prove his skills. I know! Let's have a tryout right now, shall we?"
Suspicion clouded Sheila's features. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and weighed the options, before letting out a harsh, defeated sigh. She stepped back and gestured for them to come inside.
Walking through the heavy front doors, Mark kept his eyes focused straight ahead. The situation was entirely out of his control. He was dragged to a stranger's house without any prior warning, suddenly facing a mandatory tryout for a video game he didn't even know existed.
He shot a quick glance at the boy with glasses. Carlo simply grinned wider and flashed two thumbs up.
The interior of the house was staggering. High vaulted ceilings and polished marble floors replaced the boring suburban aesthetic of the neighborhood. Potted plants that looked incredibly expensive lined the wide, spotless hallways.
Mark was genuinely amazed by the sheer extravagance. He had never expected the quiet girl from the university gaming club to live in a mansion.
They arrived at the end of a long corridor. Sheila pushed open a set of heavy double doors.
Stepping over the threshold, the atmosphere shifted entirely. It did not look like a residential bedroom or a standard living space. It was a massive, professional-grade studio.
Rows of heavy metal desks lined the walls, each supporting a high-end customized PC tower. Triple-monitor displays glowed brightly in the dim light.
Glancing around the vast room, Mark noticed the other occupants.
At a desk near the far corner, a girl sat staring intensely at a screen, rapidly scrubbing through the timeline of an animated video file.
On the opposite side of the room, a boy wearing thick, noise-canceling headphones was manually adjusting a large audio mixing board, his fingers sliding across dozens of switches and volume dials.
A few feet away, another girl typed furiously on a mechanical keyboard, lines of dense code reflecting in her glasses.
Carlo caught Mark staring at the busy group.
"Here, we are not just playing games," Carlo said, keeping his voice low. "We are also making games."
Mark froze.
He stared at the glowing monitors. That's amazing.
A cold realization hit his mind. Their university courses were all related to computer science and digital design. They weren't just a casual club of teenagers playing shooters on the weekends.
They operated like a small, highly functional indie development studio. He watched the group move with the practiced, efficient speed of industry professionals.
Carlo pointed a finger toward the girl editing the video. "That one over there. She is an expert in visuals. She knows instantly if a video layout is bad, catching even the tiniest details in a bad camera angle. She builds the visual framework."
He shifted his finger toward the boy with the headphones. "That guy, his ears are top-notch. When it comes to mixing or producing music and sound effects, he is the best we have. He is in charge of all the audio elements for the games we create."
Lowering his hand, Carlo smiled. "You see, making games requires different roles and a very specific skill set."
"Then what is your role, Carlo?" Mark asked.
Carlo puffed his chest out, a smug look washing over his face. "I'm the beta tester."
Mark's eyes widened. "That's not a real job at all."
"It is a job," Carlo laughed loudly while slapping his knee.
"That's enough," Sheila shouted, cutting their conversation dead.
She walked to the center of the room and clapped her hands together twice. The sharp sound echoed off the high walls.
"Let's get this tryout over with," Sheila announced, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Let's see what this new recruit you dragged in actually has. Everyone, stop what you are doing. We are going to have our practice match in a few minutes."
The rapid clicking of keyboards and the sliding of mixer dials halted instantly. The entire studio fell silent as the group saved their files and turned their chairs around.
Mark watched them obey without a single complaint. He noted the heavy, undeniable influence Sheila held over the entire faction. She was the absolute authority here.
Sheila turned her sharp gaze back to Mark.
"Newbie," Sheila stated coldly. "I'm going to be the one to test you."
Mark stared at the glowing monitor assigned to him.
I did not technically sign up for this. I came here to convince Sheila about the street dance competition. But rejecting the challenge now would burn the bridge permanently.
He looked at Sheila
If I can impress her, he calculated silently, maybe she will actually listen to my request later.
But he was a complete novice. The controls were alien and he had no idea how to showcase a high level of skill in a game he had not even played for a full hour.
Then, he looked over his shoulder. Carlo was already standing right behind his expensive leather chair, smiling a wide, confident grin.
"I'll be your coach again," Carlo whispered.
Oh well, whatever.
Mark grabbed the plastic mouse. I guess I have no choice.
The screen flashed red and blue. The digital tryout against Sheila began.
---
Monday afternoon brought a harsh, dry heat.
Walking down the cracked concrete sidewalk, Mark headed directly toward the heavy iron gates of a high school located three blocks away from their university.
Anna hurried to keep up with his long, steady strides. She looked around at the younger students in their uniforms, a deep frown pulling at her features.
"What are we going to do at a high school, Mark?" Anna asked, her voice tinged with frustration. "We are college students. You asked me to come with you all of a sudden. At least you have to explain what we are doing here."
Mark ignored her completely.
He kept his eyes focused on the crowded exit. Hundreds of teenagers poured out through the main gate, heading home for the day. He looked the moving sea of faces and filtered out the boys and the loud groups of younger girls.
He had already scouted this exact location late last week. He knew exactly what his target looked like because he had tracked her movements from a distance.
"Hey Mark," Anna complained, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. "Are you even listening to me?"
He did not answer. His eyes locked onto a specific target near the brick wall.
It was a girl. She stood alone, fixing the strap of her expensive leather bag. She was very pretty, wearing her high school uniform with an air of practiced, untouchable confidence.
Mark adjusted his trajectory and walked fast toward her.
Anna let out a sharp sigh of irritation. She was clearly confused and annoyed by his silent treatment, but she followed him anyway, her shoes clicking quickly against the pavement.
Closing the physical distance, Mark stopped about three feet away from the pretty girl.
"Good afternoon," Mark said, his voice polite and steady. "I'm Mark, a college student. Do you have a moment, Ms. Eliza?"
Eliza flinched slightly. The sudden ambush caught her off guard. Confusion and surprise washed over her pretty features.
She looked at Mark's face, assessing his plain clothes and neutral expression. Then, her eyes shifted to the right, landing directly on Anna standing right beside him.
Mark stood perfectly still while watching her assess the scene.
I brought Anna here for this exact, highly specific reason. If a lone, older male college student approached a high school girl outside her campus gates without any prior warning, her biological threat response would spike immediately.
I would look exactly like a dangerous stalker if that happened. She would raise her guard, shut down the conversation, and likely walk away before I could even pitch my request.
But bringing Anna, a female companion, completely altered the social geometry of the encounter.
It provided a huge psychological advantage. By placing a girl next to him, the perceived threat level dropped to zero. Eliza's brain automatically assessed the situation differently.
A guy with a female friend does not look like someone with ill intention. He looks like part of a harmless, socially vetted group.
I used Anna as a human shield to force Eliza to let her guard down. The tactic seemed to be working.
The rigid tension in Eliza's shoulders melted away.
Eliza finally spoke, her voice recovering its usual confident tone. "Mr. Mark. What can I do for you?"
Mark did not waste her time with polite small talk. He did not invite her to go somewhere quiet like a cafe or a park. He dropped the objective right there on the busy sidewalk.
"You see, our school will have a dance contest in three months," Mark stated.
Eliza tilted her head, waiting for the rest of the pitch. "Okay?"
"I want you to post on your I-Gram account," Mark said, his voice dropping into a serious. "I want you to announce that you will personally watch the videos of the top three winners of our university dance contest."
He took a half-step closer and locked his eyes onto hers.
"And you will also mention that whoever wins—the overall champion—you will hire that specific dance group to perform at your upcoming birthday party."
Eliza froze completely.