“And that’s Donkey Kongus,” Sadie said.
“How lucky we are to see the ethereal necktie of the sky!” Marx said. “But I think technically, it’s known as Donkus Kongus.”
“Donkus Kongus. I always mess that up,” Sadie said.
“I didn’t want to correct you,” Marx said.
“No, it’s good you should correct me when I’m wrong,” Sadie said.
Without warning, Zoe kissed Sadie on the mouth. “Is this okay?” she asked. Zoe ran her fingers through Sadie’s hair.
Sadie looked at Marx. “Is it okay with you?”
Marx nodded, and Zoe said, “We don’t believe in ownership.” Zoe kissed Sadie again. “Your lips are so soft. Marx you have to feel Sadie’s lips.”
Marx shook his head. “I’ll watch,” he said, with a sly grin.
“My favorite two people on the planet,” Zoe said. “I’m so in love with both of you right now.”
Zoe pulled Marx to her, and she held each of her friends’ heads in her hands, and then she pushed the two of them together like dolls, and then she made the dolls kiss. The kiss lasted seven seconds, though it seemed longer to Sadie. Marx tasted like mint and the fruity Hefeweizen beer he’d been drinking and himself. She had expected kissing Marx to be strange, but it felt entirely natural, as if they kissed all the time. Sadie pulled back first, and Marx was laughing in his gentle way and covering his mouth with his elegant, long fingers.
“Was that weird?” Marx said.
“It was,” Sadie said. “But we’re on drugs so it doesn’t count.” （Marx hadn’t been.） “It felt like kissing my brother.” （Sadie didn’t have a brother, just Alice, and it did not feel like kissing a sibling.）
“We won’t even remember it in the morning,” Marx said. （They did.） Marx sighed, as if resigning himself to something. “I love you, Sadie,” Marx said.
“I love you,” Sadie said. She turned to Zoe. “We love you, Zoe.”
“You guys, I’m so in love with both of you right now,” Zoe said. She put her arms around them. “I wanted to know what that would look like and now I do.” She nodded to herself. Her eyes looked enormous and moist, and then, Zoe started to cry.
“No, Zoe!” Sadie said. She took Zoe in her arms. “You’re not supposed to cry on X,” Sadie said.
“Happy tears,” Zoe said.
5A
Although professional reviews did not entirely determine a game’s fortunes in 2000, the reviews for Both Sides ranged from mixed to bad:
“For those of you who have been eagerly awaiting the next release from Mazer/Green, let’s get this out of the way: Both Sides is not a game for fans of the delightful Ichigo series.”
“Some of the graphics in Myre Landing are among the most beautiful visuals I have ever encountered in a game, but unfortunately, Myre Landing shares space with the maudlin Mapletown.”
“While I enjoyed aspects of my play, the game is twice as long as it needs to be.”
“Both Sides suffers from a major identity crisis.”
“Ichigo fans should skip it.”
“…the game seems schizophrenic, as if it has been designed by two different people, and the play is unsatisfying.”
“The weather in Myre Landing is the best character in it.”
“The game’s ending is twice as clever as it needs to be.”
“We can all agree that we need more games with female MCs, but I didn’t like either Alice Ma or Rose the Mighty.”
“Ichigo is so different from Both Sides that it is hard to believe that the same set of designers made it. Maybe Ichigo is more Mazer’s game, and Both Sides more Green’s? Mazer, usually the more public of the team, was curiously absent during the promotion, while Sadie Green was definitely front and center. Maybe Mazer knew he had a flop on his hands?”
“Both Sides thinks it’s blowing your mind, but mainly what it induces is a minor headache.”
“I guess I was expected to feel emotion at the end of Both Sides, but the only thing I felt was the strong desire to throw my controller across the room.”
“There is so much technically right with Both Sides. Amazing graphics in the Myre Landing section, a haunting score by Zoe Cadogan, great sound design, a reasonably clever concept. So why did I hate it so much? Because it’s pretentious, it’s boring, and it’s not that fun. Better luck next time, Unfair.”
During its first week of release, Both Sides sold approximately one-fifth of the units Ichigo had sold in its first week. Marx was still optimistic. “It’s a great, special game,” Marx said, going into Sadie’s office. “Maybe it’ll take longer to find its audience?”
“People hate it,” Sadie said.
“They don’t hate it. They just don’t understand it. They expected Ichigo, and marketing and publicity didn’t do a good enough job telling them that it wasn’t going to be Ichigo,” Marx said. “And I haven’t given up yet. We’re going to buy more ads. We’re going to send out more copies to gamers and reviewers. The retailers are still excited about it and you guys. It isn’t over yet.”
“They hate it.” Sadie put her head on her desk. “I’ve got a headache.”
Marx bent down, and he lifted Sadie’s chin up. “Sadie, this isn’t over. Believe me.”
She did not. “It might be a migraine. I think I’ll go home for the day.”
“Okay. Take the afternoon. I’d come with you, but I’m having lunch with the boys,” Marx said. The boys were Antonio “Ant” Ruiz and Simon Freeman. While Sadie and Sam had made Both Sides, Marx had begun expanding Unfair’s producing efforts. The first team he’d brought on was Simon Freeman and Antonio Ruiz, who were both juniors at CalArts. The boys—as Marx called them—were making a Japanese-style RPG, inspired by their favorite game, Persona. The game took place in a high school, and each character could summon alternate versions of themselves through a complicated system of wormholes. Love Doppelg?ngers, its tentative title, was part romance and part science fiction. “Do you want to come? Sam said he was going to try to join.”
“No.” Sadie took the Dead Sea disk from the shelf. Dead Sea was her comfort game. She decided she’d go back to her apartment and kill zombies for a while.
Sadie left the office and walked home to Clownerina, who now seemed to be mocking her with his foot that wouldn’t kick. She drew the curtains, and she got into bed, without taking off her clothes or her shoes. She felt ashamed and foolish. She felt covered in failure and she felt sure that people could smell and see it on her. The failure was like a fine coating of ash, after a fire. But it wasn’t only on her skin; it was in her nose, in her mouth, in her lungs, in her molecules becoming part of her. She would never be rid of it.
Dov called her and she let it go to voicemail: “Critics are vile,” he said. “The game’s brilliant. The atmospheric effects on Oneiric are fucking great. Hope you’re doing okay. Call me.” Sadie listened to the message, and then she hit delete.
Sam called her, and she let that go to voicemail, too: “Sadie, pick up. We need to discuss this. This isn’t just happening to you.”