You turn to Black Bandanna. “And you? Why are you here?”
“Because I don’t think it’s right,” Black Bandanna says. “Little kids play Mapleworld. I’m not prejudiced, but why should all this gay stuff be forced on kids?” He looks at you to see if you’re agreeing with him. You keep your face impartial. “Also, I’m his best friend since kindergarten, so I had to come.”
You nod. These guys are saying this like it’s perfectly reasonable to show up at an office with two guns and demand to shoot a game designer. They’re acting like they’re on a fishing trip, a groomsmen’s weekend to Vegas. You imagine them choosing the bandannas they’re wearing before they left the house, debating whether bandannas set the right tone for shooting up an office. “So, what’s the plan?” you say.
“I want to kill Mazer,” Red Bandanna says.
“But Mazer’s not here. So, maybe the best thing for you to do is go home?”
“Fuck you,” Red Bandanna says. He pushes the barrel of the gun into your cheek. “This is taking too long. I want to see the office now.” He moves the gun to your spine, and you lead them up the stairs. It sounds promisingly quiet on the second floor, but you’re still holding your breath when you go to open the fire door.
The entire floor is empty, and you try not to look relieved.
“Did you lie to me?” Red Bandanna says. “Where is everyone?”
You make up a story about a company retreat. “Look, Sam’s office is right over here.”
“If you’re important, then why aren’t you on the company retreat?” Red Bandanna asks.
“Because someone has to mind the farm. I’m an NPC, right?”
The Bandanna Boys begin to knock things off Sam’s shelves. Ichigo memorabilia everywhere. “I hate that game,” Red Bandanna says. “Fucking little boy in a dress.”
The phone rings. Red Bandanna tells you to answer it: it’s the police. They’re outside, and they have a hostage negotiator with them. They want to speak to Red Bandanna. But before you hand over the phone, you cover the mouthpiece. “You should decide what you want out of this,” you tell Red Bandanna. He has light brown eyes, and you can see fear in them. “No one’s gotten hurt yet, and that’s in your favor. So, ask for what you want, and move on with your life. You’re not going to be able to shoot Mazer today.”
Red Bandanna reaches for the phone, and then he hangs it up. He starts to weep, and he takes off his bandanna to wipe off his eyes, and for the first time, you can see his face and he looks like a boy. He looks like Sam the night he shaved his head. He looks vulnerable and, despite everything, you want to help him.
“It’s okay,” you say. You try to put your arms around Red Bandanna. This is a mistake. He pushes you against the wall with both of his hands.
“Get off of me, you goddamn queer.”
“Jesus, Josh,” Black Bandanna says.
“Don’t say my fucking name,” Red Bandanna says.
At that moment—what could he possibly be thinking?—Ant comes down the stairs into the office. He has his hands up. “Marx,” he calls, “It’s Ant. Are you all right?”
Red Bandanna points his gun at Ant.
“Is that fucking Mazer?” Red Bandanna says. “Did you lie to me?” He turns to you. “Has he been here this whole time?”
“That’s not Mazer,” you say. “That’s another one of our employees. His name is Anthony Ruiz.”
“It looks like Mazer to me,” Red Bandanna insists. Maybe he truly believes that Ant is Sam. That day, Ant is unluckily wearing a red plaid shirt like the Samatar in Mapleworld. Sam and Ant don’t look that much alike, other than being slightly built, dark-haired, and olive complexioned. They aren’t the same races. You realize that, to the boy with the gun, it probably doesn’t matter what particular “other” he is looking at.
Or maybe he doesn’t mistake Sam for Ant. Maybe he just doesn’t like the look of Ant. With his Mohawk and his tight jeans, Ant instantly becomes a symbol of the liberal agenda of game companies.
Maybe he just wants to shoot someone.
You hear Red Bandanna’s finger move the trigger, and you jump between Ant and the gun. “Josh, don’t shoot,” you say.
You’re too late. Red Bandanna fires the five bullets in his round. One hits Ant—you don’t know where.
Three hit you.
I felt
SHOOT
a Funeral,
SHOOT
in my
SHOOT
Brain
SHOOT
The last one, Red Bandanna uses to shoot himself in the head.
“Oh my God, Josh,” Black Bandanna says, “what’d you do? What’d you do that for? We said we were just gonna scare them a little bit.” Black Bandanna falls to his knees, clasps his hands, and begins to recite the Lord’s Prayer.
A few seconds before you pass out…
Your phone rings. It’s Sadie.
Sadie, by the way, is pregnant. You thought you wanted the baby, but it’s her body and you followed her lead. You discussed the impedimenta: what it would mean for work, for life. You are a game producer, and so you drew up a spreadsheet, the same way you would for a game you were thinking of producing. You listed pros and cons, divisions of labor, potential hazards, costs, benefits, dates, and deliverables.
You showed her what you had worked out on your laptop. “Our theoretical baby can’t be called Spreadsheet1.xls,” she commented. She retitled the spreadsheet “Green Watanabe Summer 2006 Game.”
She requested a printout, and a day or two later, she said she wanted to have the baby. “It’s never a good time, but it’s also a good time,” she said. “Master of the Revels is done. I can work on the expansion pack through the spring, and the baby will drop in the summer. With any luck, it’ll fare better than your Tamagotchi.”
You and Sadie began referring to the baby as Tamagotchi Watanabe Green.
* * *
—
You are in a hospital.
Down the hallway, carolers are singing, but you can’t quite hear the song. As they travel closer to your room, you determine it’s that Joni Mitchell song that makes everyone want to kill themselves, and if anything, the song is even more depressing when sung by carolers in a hospital. You can’t remember the title, and this disturbs you. You always remember the title.
Someone has decorated the hospital room with a single string of star-shaped Christmas lights. You can’t imagine who that could be. Everyone close to you is Jewish, or Buddhist, or atheist, or agnostic.
If it’s Christmas, that means you’ve been in a coma for three weeks.
If it’s Christmas, that means you didn’t call the Worths.
If it’s Christmas, that means Master of the Revels is in stores and available for download.
If it’s Christmas, that means Sadie is almost in the second trimester.
Your mother and father are here. They are so rarely together that you know your condition must be grave.
You remember that the song is called “River.”
Your mother is in the bedside chair. She is wearing a dress printed with strawberries and birds. Using a long needle, she is stringing brightly colored origami cranes into garlands. You know what she’s doing: It’s a Japanese custom called senbazuru. If you make one thousand paper cranes, you can restore someone to good health.