The Four Swords: A Parable of Leadership, Video Games, and Dead Dragons

By Paul Tozour

Four friends meet a mysterious stranger with a robotic voice . . . and their lives are changed forever.

Working under industry legend Mickey Whitmore, Jake and Leo have spent the last two years developing a sequel to a successful shooter and role-playing game at Scrub-Liminal Studios in Austin, Texas. Meanwhile, Tim and Allison are working on a hugely anticipated new sci-fi space-exploration game at Green Gryphon Games on the outskirts of town under the eccentric leadership of Bentley Bartle.

The friends tell the robotic voice their riveting story of teamwork, ambition, struggle, tragedy, and office politics. The Four Swords: A Parable of Leadership, Video Games, and Dead Dragons is replete with extraordinary personal suffering and the clash of expectations and personalities. The Four Swords gives a unique and entertaining "in the trenches" take on how teams succeed or fail as the friends navigate their quest to achieve video game development greatness. Revealing the critical role of leadership and values, how values drive culture, and how culture drives outcomes, The Four Swords captures the rare point of view of hard-working video game developers doing everything they can to help their teams succeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662917097

Book preview

Tell Me Your Story

IT’S GOOD . . . TO SEE . . . ALL OF YOU AGAIN.

The synthesized voice echoed from across the room. If not for the pauses, it would have sounded like a diabolical robot supervillain.

The four game developers sat uncomfortably on the two large, modern sofas. The sunset cast deep red hues into the room through the large square window on the opposite side. The office felt more like it should belong to a lawyer or an investment banker than a game developer, designed deliberately to capture the full beauty of sunsets over the curved arches of Austin’s Pennybacker Bridge. Their host was visible only as an outline against the setting sun.

They had come to discuss the future and the past, including several games released over the last year . . . one of which ranked among the most successful video games of all time.

Thanks, you too! said Tim, their leader, as he rubbed his beard. You’re looking good, man! We feel really honored that you could take the time to meet with us. I wasn’t expecting —

The host interrupted him:

THE IRONY . . . IS NOT . . . LOST ON ME.

NO ONE COULD HAVE PREDICTED HOW THINGS WOULD TURN OUT.

SO MANY SURPRISES ALONG THE WAY.

IT HAS BEEN A LONG JOURNEY.

AND I AM IMPRESSED . . . WITH WHAT YOU HAVE LEARNED.

Thank you. That really means a lot to us, Tim replied.

YOU HAD . . . A HELPER.

Yes, said Tim. The gnome.

ADAM.

HE’S TOLD ME . . . QUITE A LOT . . . ABOUT YOU ALL.

I WANT TO HEAR . . . THE WHOLE STORY.

START FROM THE BEGINNING.

"Well, it was a little over two years ago. Leo and Jake were working on Project Thundercloud 2 at Scrub-Liminal Studios downtown, and Alison and I were on the Norman’s Ark team at Green Gryphon Games way out on the outskirts of town. I think the first time the four of us got together was inside a massively multiplayer game, Dream of Dragons . . . "

Dream of Dragons

I SHALL FEAST UPON THE FLESH OF THE LIVING!

The massive skeleton swung its club toward the three small figures at its feet. It was the size of a three-story building.

OK, guys, I checked, and there’s definitely nothing under the loincloth! Tim said with a laugh.

Tim fired his crossbow from a safe distance, his bolts magically reappearing with no need to reload, and occasionally firing triple-shots that made an impressive pew! pew! pew! sound as they arced one by one into the skeleton’s loincloth.

Leo stood beside him, shooting fireballs from the tip of his wooden staff, his wizard’s robes always spotless no matter how much they dragged in the dirt.

Meanwhile, Jake swung his axe repeatedly at the Bonelord’s ankles. Jake’s face was projected neatly onto the body of a muscle-bound barbarian. A bushy mane of red hair and comically huge red beard provided a similarly stark contrast against his real-life baldness.

The game’s developers had even included a completely unnecessary lens flare effect, which left blinding circles of light waving in the air near where the sunlight reflected off the axe, pulsing on and off with each strike. Casual players might not have noticed this, but to Jake, Tim, and Leo, all experienced game developers, it stuck out like a sore thumb.

I . . . SHALL . . . BE . . . AVENGED!!!!! the Bonelord roared melodramatically as his bones collapsed in a heap.

As the heroes began to gather the Bonelord’s treasure from the bone pile, a great *POOF* of blue swirly ribbon particles appeared nearby, and a frothy cascade of golden sparkles descended in between the ribbons. The Druidess Alison shimmered into view.

Hey! said Leo. "There she is! Guys, let me introduce you to Alison. She’s my cousin."

Hi, guys! said Alison. Thanks for having me! Oh no. Did I miss the Bonelord fight?

No worries; he was easy. We didn’t even need a healer for it, Tim said. He turned to Jake and explained, Alison just started working with us at Green Gryphon Games as our PR director.

Honored to meet you! said Jake, saluting with his axe. Part of the axe went right through the barbarian’s head as he saluted, since the game had almost none of the collision detection code that was standard in other video game genres, meaning that players could walk directly through each other without bouncing off.

Really glad you could join us, cousin! said Leo.

Thanks, Leo! said Alison. I’m super excited!

And how’s it going so far? Leo asked.

It’s totally amazing! It’s basically my dream job.

Congratulations!

She’s a HUGE asset to our team, said Tim with a wave of his crossbow. We feel very fortunate to have her on board.

Aw, shucks, you guys!

So how much do you know about this game? Tim asked.

"I’m new, but I got to level seventeen over the weekend. And I’ve played a lot of Elder Scrolls Online and World of WarCraft so I know the drill."

That’s good. Seventeen ought to be high enough for what we’re doing.

Cool!

OK, so, Jake’s our barbarian; he does our tanking. Tim motioned toward the hirsute barbarian. Leo does our DPS, a wizard, obviously—that means he’s focused on doing damage—

Right, and I do the heals, she replied. I’ll focus heals on Jake.

Right! Tim nodded. Also, since I’m the Murder Minstrel, I spend about half my time invisible, and I also pick locks, detect traps on treasure chests, and all that jazz.

Wait, what’s a ‘Murder Minstrel’? Alison wondered.

The game’s developers originally intended to have an Assassin class and a Bard class, Tim explained. But they got pressed for time at the end, and with each class only half finished, they mashed them together into the Murder Minstrel. And it actually worked out pretty well. It’s fun because I can turn invisible, sneak up on monsters, stab them in the back, and then get out my lute and sing a happy song about it as they die.

That sounds just like you, Tim! Leo laughed.

How long have you guys been raiding together?

Tim and I started last weekend, Leo explained, but hopefully we can make this a weekly thing with all four of us. Leo turned to the strapping barbarian beside him. I’m really glad you could join us this time around, Jake! With everything you’ve got going on, I figured you’d be too busy for a game like this.

Jake spoke, his British accent sounding entirely out of place on this bearded, muscle-bound barbarian. Well, the wife works at the hospital Sunday nights, and the kids are off to university now, so I thought, right, why not, nothing else to do . . .

Sunday nights work OK for everybody for this?

Yeah! Sure! was the reply.

They heard a loud clanging and the beep of a car horn. Hang on a second, said Tim. I have to help the wife with the groceries. Tim’s face suddenly went blank as he walked away from his webcam. They heard a clattering sound from Tim dropping his headphones onto his desk, and then the faceless man with the crossbow stood frozen as the word PAUSED appeared above his head.

Alison turned to the others. I’ve heard so many stories about Scrub-Liminal Studios, she said. What’s it like working with Mickey Whitmore?

Jake turned to Leo and said, I’ll let you answer that one, with palpable disgust. To entertain himself, he stood behind the frozen figure of Tim the Murder Minstrel, chopping through him with his axe, which went clean through thanks to the lack of collision.

It’s, uh . . . it’s a challenge for sure, Leo clarified. Things are a little bit disorganized right now. It’s always that way at the start of a new project.

That’s one way of putting it, said Jake.

I thought you were going to let me answer—

Three weeks on the job and it’s already a bloody clusterf—

Jake was interrupted by a loud roar as an orc from the orc camp below approached up the hill behind them. YOOMANS! FILTHY YOOMANS MUST DIE!

The orc began to charge, a pair of scimitars gleaming in its muscled arms, and instantly collapsed with a puff of fire and smoke, cut down by a reflexive fireball from Leo. The wizard’s hands crackled with electricity that gradually faded out over time. The dying orc vanished after a quick groan, a small stack of gold coins appearing with a bounce and a noisy jingle where its body had vanished.

The four heroes understood perfectly well that the game’s writing and dialogue were terrible. Every time a dragon, orc, skeleton, or any other game character opened its mouth, the output was a seemingly endless torrent of childish, pretentious fantasy nonsense.

But they didn’t care. They happily ignored the convoluted story arc and the preposterous, stilted dialogue, and simply drowned themselves in the pure mind-melting fun of the gameplay. The ritualistic, meditative rhythm of the combat and the breathtaking fantasy landscapes swept them away in endless hours of virtual tourism. Nothing on earth, not even the best movies and TV shows, could drown out their cares and worries like Dream of Dragons.

Is it really that bad? Alison asked. It seems like Mickey Whitmore is in the game industry news every day. I thought he was supposed to be a legend . . .

It’s always a little rocky at the start of a new game project, Leo clarified. Lots of uncertainty. Jake’s in the middle of it all because the chaos is mostly around the tech right now. But it’ll get better. It always does. He turned toward Jake. Say something nice, Jake! I know you can do it.

"All right. Fine! Jake harrumphed. The first Thundercloud game did all right, so we ought to be able to make a decent sequel. And I’ve finally got the authority to run an engineering team and make sure that we make good decisions, so that’s a good thing."

Alison continued: It’s basically a whole new development team, though, right?

Yeah, pretty much, Leo replied. All the coders and most of the artists are gone, so I think it’s just Mickey and maybe like four of the old team members . . . everybody else is new. He did not stop to reflect on why so many members of the previous team hadn’t stayed on for the sequel. "But Thundercloud 2 has INCREDIBLE potential, and I’m super excited to be able to work with Mickey. He’s my childhood hero. I would take a bullet for that man. Anyway . . . how’s everything going with you guys? I feel really good that I have a cousin in the game industry now!"

Yeah! she said. I’m super excited! I finally broke into the game industry. I can’t believe how enthusiastic the community is about this game, and we haven’t even released any demo videos yet.

I’m back! said Tim, as the word PAUSED vanished and he picked up his crossbow again. What did I miss? His face reappeared on the Murder Minstrel, his real-life beard blending uneasily onto the virtual beard his character wore. Tim had initially made his character with no facial hair but had quickly realized that the way the beard cut off so suddenly on his face where the webcam’s oval was projected onto the character’s face looked ridiculous. So he had added a beard to his avatar in the game so that the real-life beard would blend neatly onto the virtual one.

Just talking about how excited I am for this job, Alison replied. And Bentley seems like a super smart guy.

Yeah, he’s whip smart for sure, said Tim. In a way. Like, engineering smart. But he’s also, uh . . . a little weird . . .

How so?

Well, he has some really strange behavior patterns he falls into like a broken record. Like, he has this crazy imitation he does of one of the weird alien characters in the game. It’s the creepiest thing ever. You’ll see what I mean.

I’d love to hear that! laughed Alison.

Careful what you wish for!

Leo interjected: And how’s the game coming along?

"I gotta be honest, Leo, it’s fan-freaking-tastic, Tim said. You can fly around the galaxy, land on different planets, and we have some really jaw-dropping tech for procedurally generated planets and creatures. We’re going to put out some teaser videos in a couple weeks that I think are really going to knock people’s socks off."

Well, what kind of game is it? Leo asked.

So, it’s, umm . . . Well, yeah, honestly, that’s something we’re still trying to nail down, Tim admitted sheepishly. It’s a space exploration game and a planetary exploration game but it’s also a crafting game and kind of an adventure game and a survival game. I’m working with Dexter to try to nail down the core gameplay loop, Tim sighed. We don’t really have that figured out yet.

Jake tilted his head to the side in a quizzical look, and said: Two years seems like enough bloody time to figure out what game you’re making.

Yeah, the focus has been mostly on the tech up to this point, Tim said. But I’m not worried. There’s just a ludicrous amount of potential here. You’ll see what I mean when we push out the demo videos.

Well, one thing I know for sure, Leo replied, "Between the four of us, we’re working on two projects that both have a ton of potential. And for my part, yeah, Mickey’s got his quirks for sure, but I grew up playing his video games. He’s like my idol. I feel like there’s so much I can learn from the guy."

If there was a way to put a positive spin on something, Leo would always find it. But a day would come when Leo would remember those words.

And he would indeed learn a great deal. But he could never have imagined that what he would learn from Mickey would be completely different from anything Mickey had ever intended to teach him, or how much pain those lessons would carry.

The four heroes began marching down the hillside.

So what are we aiming for with this? asked Alison. I mean, what’s the endgame here?

Well, we get to level fifty, which doesn’t take long, and then we get some decent gear, said Leo. And then there’s a quest to get the Four Swords of Destiny. There’s a sword of earth, air, fire, and water, and each is guarded by a dragon.

"Oh, bollocks, Jake shook his head. Does every single role-playing game have to have the stupid ‘earth, air, fire, and water’ theme?"

Yeah, it’s dumb, Tim agreed. It’s such a tired game design trope, to the point where it’s like a declaration of creative bankruptcy when game designers have to resort to the ‘four elements’ bullshit.

Jake shook his shiny axe and said, "If I ever get my hands on a time machine, first thing I do is murder that Greek philosopher who came up with that stupid shite. And the payoff comes two thousand years later, when literally every game ever made is better for it."

He paused, noticing that the other three were staring at him.

"What? All right, fine. The second person I kill. Or the third. Point is, he’s on my time-travel hit list."

They were now approaching the orc camp at the base of the hill. All right, let’s get some buffs up. Leo made some quick gestures to cast various helpful enchantments on his friends, and a series of glowing symbols appeared over their heads. Alison, do you have any—

On it! she said. With a wave of her hand, she cast a Druidic blessing spell, and a glowing claw symbol appeared briefly over each party member and faded out.

They had reached the encampment. The orcs, startled all at once, blew their war horns, roared, and charged. Leo waved his hands, and a small but potent thundercloud quickly formed over the orcs, drowning them in rain and lightning.

You’re a Wizard, Jake

You realize what you do is magic, right? Mickey Whitmore marveled.

He was watching a tech demo over Jake’s shoulder while rubbing his great white beard. Jake was giving him a guided tour of particle effects in one of the technology engines his team was evaluating for Project Thundercloud 2, the sequel to Scrub-Liminal Studios’ successful game Project Thundercloud.

Mickey was tired. He looked every one of his fifty-nine years and then some. But the excitement of starting a new game project had lit a spark, and he was trying to use that spark to kindle a fire of enthusiasm in his team. The King of Cult Classic Video Games wondered if he had finally found his Merlin.

Admit it, it’s magic, OK? he continued. You just dream something up, type in some magic symbols, and it comes to life. You’re basically a wizard. You see that, don’t you?

I’m more of a barbarian, actually. Leo’s the wizard, Jake replied, pointing to Leo, who stood silently behind Mickey.

Mickey gave him a blank, uncomprehending stare, as the beard-rubbing stopped. Leo laughed, not sure if he was laughing at Jake’s joke or Mickey’s reaction.

Am I missing something? Mickey wondered, mystified.

Sorry, Jake said, deciding suddenly that it wasn’t worth the trouble to explain their weekly Dream of Dragons gaming habit. Inside joke.

Jake had noticed Mickey’s tendency to refer to software development as magic, and it made him uneasy. No question that Jake was an excellent programmer, easily one of the best in the industry, and was legitimately a technology wizard. But this was just a simple demo of particle effects from a licensed video game engine his technology team was evaluating. He’d done almost nothing here except to open the box and show Mickey what was inside.

But then Leo gave him a look, and Jake knew immediately what it meant: You’re being too cynical, my friend.

Leo wasn’t the only one who had pointed it out. His wife constantly nudged him to be less cynical. He took a deep breath, and thought: All right, he doesn’t get technology at all, but that’s all right, isn’t it? Mickey’s a manager, not an engineer. He doesn’t HAVE to understand all of this. He has an entirely different job role, and THAT’S why he delegates the technical wizardry to me and my team. And as long as I can make the decisions around the tech, I can steer the ship away from any icebergs.

And there was another reason to be optimistic. There could be no denying that this nascent game franchise was full of promise. The first Project Thundercloud game had brilliantly built upon classic first-person shooter gameplay by adding innovative role-playing elements. It turned out that running around in a video game and shooting things could be even more fun when you turned the player into a time-traveling secret agent who could use advanced technology AND cast spells.

James Bond was cool, but time-traveling James Bond who also uses magic was even cooler.

Leo, standing behind Mickey, couldn’t help but pinch himself. He felt deeply grateful to be a designer on this project. Unlike Jake, he hadn’t yet had his dreams shattered, his heart broken, his soul gradually incinerated down to coal and then finally into a perfect lattice of hard diamond cynicism by the heat and pressure of game development.

To Leo, Mickey was more than just the King of the Cult Classic Video Game. Mickey’s early cult classics were a part of his childhood, ancient role-playing games full of swords, dragons, orcs, and goblins. Those long-forgotten classics were ancient ancestors of Dream of Dragons, and Leo still looked back on those days as a treasured chapter of his childhood, a mystery garden no one else knew about, a secret world that had let him be a hero at a time when the world around him was doing everything in its power to stuff him into a tiny box and demand that he accept it as his mediocre place in a mediocre life.

Leo thought back to the day Mickey offered him the job. He had wanted to get down on his knees and thank him for the opportunity he’d just been granted. And Mickey had chuckled and said, I gotta warn you, OK? You might not fully appreciate what you’re getting yourself into here . . .

But Leo ignored the warnings and hadn’t asked for clarification. Mickey was a video game Santa Claus, a man who deserved far more success than he’d ever received. This was his childhood hero, and he wanted to don a suit of armor and rush into battle and fight by his side as they slaughtered all the dragons of game development together.

Seriously, though, guys, isn’t this awesome? Mickey continued. "I mean, yeah, it’s hard a lot of times, but look how much fun our jobs are. We get to make video games for a living! Think about it. How cool is that?"

At that moment, a skinny white kid walked past in the hall, wearing a baseball cap backward. He seemed to be rapping:

Walk into a dairy just to get some dairy air

I’m creepin’ in so stealthy like I wasn’t even there . . .

This was followed by strange rhythmic guttural sounds.

The bloody hell was that? Jake wondered aloud.

Oh, that’s Weasel, said Leo. We just hired him on the design team. He likes to rap, apparently.

The rapping suddenly stopped, and they heard the same voice now speaking to someone in the hall:

Hey bro! Bro. I just had a BADASS idea. Check this out!

So, like, what if we used the four elements to differentiate the four factions in the game?

Like, Manderson and the NSX are fire, TimeCorp is water, the Hong Kong Triad are the air, and then earth could be, like—wait—c’mon man, this is a good idea, hear me out!

Kill me now, Jake said softly.

For the record, they didn’t let me in on his interview, Leo clarified.

There was a gentle knock on the open door. A large man stepped into Jake’s office.

Bill’s real name was Bill Dahler, but everyone called him Dollar Bill. He had earned Mickey’s trust as the executive producer on the first Project Thundercloud game, Mickey’s first and only game to ever turn a profit. Bill knew exactly what to say to Mickey to make him happy, and, more importantly, what not to say.

This was an art that Jake knew he had not yet mastered, and he wasn’t sure if he particularly cared to master it, either. Putting things delicately was not one of Jake’s core competencies.

Good news! said Dollar Bill. That coder from Paragon Productions accepted our offer.

Fantastic! said Mickey.

Wait, WHAT? exclaimed Jake. You hired a programmer?

He’s great; you’ll love him, said Mickey.

I’m the bloody LEAD PROGRAMMER! roared Jake. The retort was loud enough that surely the entire studio had heard him. Now he truly did sound like an axe-wielding barbarian. You’re going to hire people behind my back and not even let me interview them?

Mickey was caught off guard and raised his hand toward Jake in warning. Stay calm, OK? This guy is top-notch.

You were out of the office yesterday, Bill added. So we made the decision without you.

Jake fumed. You CAN’T be bloody serious. You didn’t even TELL me you were going to—

Jake, calm down, OK? Take it down a notch. Take it down like five or six notches, said Mickey sternly. This guy has a great resume. Super senior. I know he can do the job. And if he doesn’t, we’ll fire him.

What on EARTH possessed you to hire someone without telling me? Am I not the head of the programming team?

Mickey bit his tongue. Jake— Bill began.

Jake continued his rant. You hired a coder based ENTIRELY on his CV, and you didn’t even let me bloody interview him. That’s bloody BONKERS!

Jake— Mickey began to warn him, even more sternly.

Bugger all! Literally HALF the coders I’ve interviewed in the last twenty years don’t belong anywhere near a game project. A CV means NOTHING! Did you at least check his references?!?

"He’s GREAT, you’ll LOVE him, and please CALM THE FUCK DOWN," said Bill sternly. Everyone in the studio definitely heard that.

OK, look, Mickey interjected, now trying as hard as he could to defuse the situation. I’ll send you his resume, and let you meet with him tomorrow, but we WILL hire this guy, OK? He’s too good to pass up.

Jake fumed. I get to interview EVERY bloody programming hire from now on. EVERY BLOODY ONE. You can’t expect me to be responsible for the performance of this team if we’re hiring random tossers because we’re stupid enough to believe that their bloody CV is any sort of reflection of their engineering skills.

He was a lead at Paragon. And if he doesn’t work out, we’ll fire him, Bill replied. No problem.

"‘No problem?’ Did I really just hear you say that? And how much damage does he do to our codebase in the meantime if he doesn’t work out? How much time and money does he waste before we get to that point?"

It’s worth the risk, said Bill blithely. Good engineers are hard to find, and he already had offers from two other studios on the table and was about to make a decision.

"Yes, brilliant, let’s hire a random wanker off the street because he knows how to use an amateur negotiation tactic and we’re too bloody stupid to see through it!"

Mickey gave Jake a sour look and lowered his forehead like an angry bull about to charge. "You’ve got a real attitude problem, Jake. Do yourself a favor and think very carefully about what you’re saying today, OK? We’ll discuss this later." He exited the office, and Bill followed on his heels.

Jake buried his head in his hands and groaned loudly. He had almost forgotten that Leo was still in the office with him, his back against the window.

I gotta admit, Jake, said Leo, I do see where you’re coming from. That’s definitely not cool of them to cut you out of hiring the engineers on your own team. We need to fix this hiring process.

It’s rubbish. Absolute rubbish, Jake groaned.

Jake already wanted to quit. He knew that this was a terrible omen of things to come, and he should walk out on the spot. He was, after all, the one who was always telling people to vote with your feet.

But his wife had become annoyed with his constant job-hopping and had declared in no uncertain terms that he should settle down and commit to something. On top of that, she had a new job in the ER at Saint David’s and the kids loved the expensive new home in Austin. The family was finally happy. And their financial situation was precarious. One wrong move would collapse the whole thing.

And no other studios in town were hiring except for Green Gryphon Games . . . and Jake knew he had no chance of getting hired there after he’d told off Bentley Bartle to his face at last year’s Game Developers Conference.

Jake rubbed his eyes. He turned to the coffee machine that sat on the desk next to his computer and pressed a button. A cup filled with hot water, and Jake placed two tea bags in it. He held out the cup to Leo: Tea?

Oh, no thank you, Leo replied. I’m more of a coffee guy. Is that green tea? I thought British people always drank black tea.

No, I drink the green stuff now. It’s for health reasons.

Oh yeah? I heard it’s really good for you.

It has a significant calming effect on the nervous system and a lot of other health benefits, Jake explained.

Really? Tell me about that . . .

I suppose you could say it reduces the risk of early death. In fact, I know several individuals whose lives were saved by green tea.

"Wow, for real? You’re saying you know for sure that green tea saved specific people?"

Abso-bloody-lutely, Jake said, nodding sagely. I could give you the names of at least six or seven people who would’ve died horrible, violent deaths if I hadn’t been drinking green tea at the time.

The Mona Lisa of Video Games

Theron stood before the assembled team of Project Thundercloud 2 game designers. He was skinny with long curly hair and covered in tattoos. He wore metal earrings in both ears, and a third one through his nose. Leo assumed that other body parts must be similarly adorned.

Thelma, the associate producer, or ass prod, as she proudly called herself, sat nearby. It was an oddly old-fashioned name for such a thoroughly postmodern individual. She had nearly identical nose rings and tattoos. Her hair was cropped short and was dyed an incandescent shade of pink.

The five designers listened intently as Theron pontificated.

In Zen Buddhism, there’s a story of an old monk, Theron began. He spoke dramatically, rhythmically, as if attempting to hypnotize the listeners subtly enough that they wouldn’t notice it happening.

The monk lived alone, and one day he hired a carpenter to hang a lantern from the ceiling. Now, the carpenter decided he was going to put the old monk to the test. He got up on a ladder with the lantern he was going to hang, and the monk told him, no, a little left, and little right, and so on until he finally got the lantern to just the right spot. And then the carpenter used a pencil to secretly mark the spot on the ceiling where the monk wanted him to hang the lantern.

He paused dramatically.

"So he’s marked the spot on the ceiling, and he knows the monk didn’t see him do it. And then he gets down and he says, oh no! I forgot where you told me to hang it. Would you mind showing me again? And he has the monk show him where to hang the lantern, and sure enough, the monk guides him to the exact spot he had marked with the pencil."

There was silence.

Are you following me? Do you understand the purpose of this story?

Uh, noooo . . . replied Feather.

"The point is this: that level of awareness should be our goal, he continued. Our job as designers is to notice things. It’s about the quality of your awareness. We need to notice EVERYTHING. Every character in our game, every crate and barrel and ammo box in every level, every sound effect and particle effect, every line of dialogue in every conversation, every last little bit of damage from every weapon. The goal is complete perception of every part of our game, perfect game balance."

They nodded. All of them could see the wisdom in this. Being a Zen master of game design seemed like a worthy goal to aspire to.

"If all we do is make a sequel to Project Thundercloud, we’ve failed, he continued. ‘Good’ isn’t good enough. We’ve GOT to do more than that."

He walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and wrote one word in enormous letters:

A R T

Games are ART, he continued. "Some people see that. A lot of people don’t. Most people who play games, and I don’t want to use the term ‘gamers’ because fuck those people. But most people who partake of this art form DO understand, at some level, that this is the art form of the twenty-first century. This is the first and only art form that’s interactive, that can talk back to you, that has a mind of its own in a certain sense. Our goal here should be to make the game that makes the WORLD understand that."

Leo understood that Theron wasn’t referring to the game’s graphics. There was a team of seven professional video game artists just down the hall—concept artists who drew illustrations of all of the characters and robots and guns and everything else, modelers who created the three-dimensional models of all of those things, animators who made the characters walk and shoot and jump and run, and texture artists who painted the surfaces.

Rather, he was referring to the game as a whole, and especially to the craft of game design. The art of creating interactivity—designing the weapons and all of the player’s special abilities, presenting the player with endless