By mid-July the team was still on a high–both metaphorically and literally. CEO Lawrence Cassidy had spent a little over half of his inheritance in two and a half months (with approximately half of that spent on Rayful Edmond’s cocaine).

Cassidy wasn’t really counting because he was incapable of it. For him, reality had turned into a swimming pool of gloop. Other than party runs and monthly office space bills, he didn’t really know where his money was going and cared even less.

Between rallying the Give Me Head troops and surviving on a diet of Silicon snow and tomato juice, Cassidy had begun to believe his own hype. He already thought he’d struck a deal with some Californian cable channel that doesn’t exist. The conversation he had had was likely with himself while on a backbreaking comedown in the small hours, chatting to a detuned television.

A team was already working on the collectors’ cards along with some merchandise designs and promo material. Another team was editing scripts and holding auditions for parts in the TV series. What was sorely missing was a video game. Or so thought Dmitry Parsons.

Parsons had managed to slide into the role of script writing. However, his background was developing video games until the industry imploded in ’83, forcing him to get work wherever he was able.

One afternoon Dmitry went into Cassidy’s office and found him crashed out on the table, his nose and cheeks caked with powder. He would’ve appeared dead if it wasn’t for his slow motion snoring.

Dmitry shook Cassidy awake and watched as he bolted up right, frantically fiddling with blank printer paper on his desk.

Unable to open his eyes, he said, “Just a moment please. I’m busy on an important call.”

“I’m sat right in front of you, Cassidy.”

“Oh well,” he said. “I just finished talking to another network interested in running us. What can I do for you?”

“You know how my background is in video game design?”

“Is it?”

“Can’t you remember us talking about the Unholy Roadhogs franchise you love so much during my interview? The one I helped to create with my good friend Riku Rogers?”

“No but go on.”

“I just think now that Cyberia is on the move, it’s ripe for a video game to coincide with the TV series release. It’d be criminal to miss such a lucrative business opportunity. We’re talking multimillions.”

“How much will it cost?” Cassidy said, slightly opening his eyes for the first time.

“Well I’ll try get Riku for nothing, if only for a month, and then we just need some software.”

“Five grand do?”

“Maybe as a start.”

And that was the beginning of flushing more money down the toilet.

It’s likely that Cassidy had misunderstood what Dmitry had asked because, after reading the minutes for a future meeting, all hell breaks loose.

Emotional Blackmail Can’t Fail

Dmitry called his buddy Riku the next day and gave him the lowdown. Riku was planning a summer vacation to Japan to see his folks.

“It’ll be like old times, Riku,” he said. “And we have full creative control.”

“I don’t know, man,” Riku said. “It could be the last chance I get to see my folks for a good while. And my Mom broke her hip last winter.”

“Just give us two weeks, man. The boss said he’ll cover your transport and rebook your flights to Japan. And you can crash at my place rent free.”

Dmitry was hearing none of it.

“I really think Japan is calling me, man.”

“Please, Riku,” Dmitry pleaded. “I really need your guidance on this one.”

This boring conversation went back and forth for another half hour before Riku caved into some emotional blackmail about Dmitry’s dermatitis problems.

Three days later Riku arrived in Silicon Valley looking regretful. But as soon as Dmitry picked him up in a taxi paid for by Cassidy, the fun and games began.

First Impressions of the Working Sessions

From the moment the two buddies arrived at Give Me Head HQ, Riku’s jaw hit the floor. He looked around at what can only be described as a yuppy-style penny dreadful.

There was one guy wearing his red tie as a Rambo bandana (we think Mickey P.), snorting a line of coke while several office goons stood around, cheering him on. Another fella was walking around wearing half of a shit robot suit asking if anyone had seen his gold plated stapler (Fergus O’shea) while another with a big beard (Noddy) was chucking penuts at somebody who was lying in his own vomit (could be anybody).

“What the fuck is this?”

“I know right, ” Dmitry said. “These guys are crazy.”

“Crazy or just plain unprofessional. Let’s go meet the head of the Head.”

“I don’t think he’ll be around.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me. Where is he?”

“At this time he’s probably on a party run.”

“A party what?” Riku said, scratching his temple.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Team Work With Some Real Jerks

It was clear to Riku from the get-go that this operation was one big practical joke. Riku had worked with some of the best video game producers in both America and Japan. He had won the prestigious Sea Spray Employee of the Year Awards in ’85 and ’86 for his contribution to the 8-bit video gaming world. He knew a video game development team when he saw one. Even a shit one.

The next morning Riku asked Dmitry to call a team meeting. The problem was that there was no team. Cassidy was also nowhere to be seen so Dmitry nearly had a stroke trying to recruit a team in record timing by asking two people to come sit in and just pretend they’re on board.

Worse than this, Riku opened the meeting by boasting about his many accolades and explaining where his passion for gaming came from for about twenty minutes. He then took everyone through an anecdote about meeting Mr Big of the Japanese gaming world who, if you were even mildly interested in video games, you’d know who he was. It was a solid anecdote, but the two make believe team members were zoned out on a dose of acid, staring into deep space nine.

After wrapping up an impressive introduction, Riku asked if there were any questions.

But nothing. Not even a burp or a fart to fill the excruciating silence.

“Well, I have some questions for you guys if I may.”

“Of course,” Dmitry said to Riku, fearing that he was about to get busted for recruiting two space cadets from the Planet Numpty.

“Tell me about the Cyberia Universe. What’s it all about?”

“Well,” Dmitry said.

“Not you, bro. I want to hear it from these guys.”

Even if these guys were compos mentis, they wouldn’t have had a clue. Regardless, one attempted to answer while the other stood up and began to clean the office window with his pinky fingernail.

“It’s, like, Plato’s cave analogy but set in the future.”

“You mean the allegory,” Riku said.

“Yeah, dude, like that, but better in some ways.”

“Better than the allegories imagined by one of the forefathers of Western philosophy?”

“It’s more relatable,” the fella stood by the window said.

“And it’s also a comment on shit like how McDonald’s is provoking the ancestors of the Amazon rain forest by putting fast food restaurants in the jungle.”

“Fuck you talking about?” the window fella said, sounding offended. “What’s wrong with McDonald’s?  I take my son there every Saturday.”

“Guys, guys,” Dmitry said, rolling his eyes as if this was all just banter. “Perhaps go back to your desks and I’ll sit down with Riku.”

The two fellas floated off like ghosts, mumbling to each other.

“What the fuck is going on, Dmitry?”

“It’s just a bit unconventional around here. You know, that whole Steve Jobs vibe: zen, death, the meaning of life. Let’s save the trees with technology. That kind of thing.”

“This isn’t fucking that, Dmitry, and you know it. This is a joke and I’m feeling like the punchline.”

Dmitry didn’t have the balls to agree even though deep down he knew Riku was right.

“Relax,” he said with a stupid grin. “You’ll get it soon enough.”

Riku Go Cuckoo

Later that day, Riku met Cassidy for the first time. Dmitry was desperate to demonstrate that this operation was legitimate and that Riku’s decision not to visit his ailing folks was worth his time.

When the two entered his private office, Cassidy was as manic as ever, yelling at someone over the phone before throwing it at the wall

“Do I still have a mouth?” Cassidy said, looking up at his two visitors. “Because I can’t feel my teeth.”

“Cassidy, I want you to meet my good friend Riku who is helping us with the video game design.”

“That’s right. Good to meet you. Was the flight okay? I hate that fucking airline even when it’s first class. So what did you guys decide on in the end? Is it a fighting game? Something like Karate Champ?”

“This is what we want to talk to you about,” Dmitry said.

“Fuck that, do what you want. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. No offence, but this project of yours is about colonising kids and their pocket money. Does your friend want a pick me up or a beer or something? Where’s he gone?”

Dmitry turned to see that Riku had already scarpered.

“You’ve gone and fucked it already, Cassidy.”

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”

As Dmitry went to look for Riku, Cassidy continued to babble. “Tell him to put his order in for the 6 o’ clock pizza run.”

The Greek Goes Total Postal!

Dmitry tried to catch up with Riku but he had already jumped a taxi to the airport and then the trail for him goes cold. We hope that the two buddies managed to kiss and make up once Riku was back from Japan.

Either way this tale doesn’t end there for Dmitry. He tried to draw a line under it and cracked on. At this point we believe he began to design the above video game characters to distract himself from the cognitive dissonance chewing up his faculties.

But as he tried to bury the truth, the truth picked up a shovel and dug its way back out. He tried ignoring all the evidence: the passed out zombies he had to step over in the morning; the shifty fella who dressed like a Native American and carried strange-looking instruments; the drunk puke splattered all over the gents’ toilet; the endless petty bickering; the drugs; the idiot boss Cassidy.

Cassidy.

It was all about Cassidy.

“Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaassidy!” 

Dmitry slammed his fist down on his office desk. He then flipped it over like a huge Sumo guy and grabbed his gun from its concealed shoulder holster. He looked around to see that only a few people were sober enough to notice.

Some yuppy within slapping distance said, “Would you like to huff the peace pipe to ease the tension?”

Dmitry held the gun to his face. “Fuck off, idiot.”

“Peace and love, brother.”

Dmitry stormed towards Cassidy’s office door before barging right in, pointing his gun. Some goon was sat cross-legged in front of an electric fan, eyes shut, throat singing Aztec lullabies, his long blonde hair lightly blowing behind him.

“Where the fuck is Cassidy?”

“With his spirit animal.”

Dmitry aimed at the fan, shot it dead and stormed out of the building. He then shot an office window and the rear tyres of a parked car while growling like a hungry panda.

He then heard: “What’s going on, man?”

Dmitry turned to see Cassidy carrying a rucksack which was probably stuffed with drugs.

“You’re lucky I’ve run out of bullets, you fucking yuppy dumbo cunt,” Dmitry yelled, waving his gun around.

“Relax, man,” Cassidy said, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. “I’ve just picked up some good shit and it’s got your name on it.”

“Fuck you!” Dmitry hissed as he ripped the backpack off Cassidy. Without another word, he stormed off, muttering obscenities.

“That’s my backpack!” Cassidy said as he watched Dmitry disappear. “Okay, you can borrow it. Just bring it back tomorrow.”

Cassidy stood in front of Give Me Head HQ for several minutes, scratching his head, trying to work out what just happened. But there was nothing there.

He walked into the office saying, “Hey, guys, I managed to get more of that El Chapo strain but it’s all gone. Can someone remind me who the fat fella with the beard is. We need to buy him a birthday cake or something. Anyway, I’m heading back to El Sapo’s for some party supplies and then I have a meeting with Kentucky’s biggest buck dancing channel.”

Dmitry is Actually a Video Game Visionary

It’s true. This giant grizzly bear is seriously talented. Please see here for confirmation.

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