Next morning was as loud and buzzing as ever as the streets in Conderica were filled with activity and talk. The next day of the Festivities was well underway as people commuted to and fro in droves. No doubt many were making their way to the shops and stores that lined every block of the city, enabling the places of gaming to be nexuses of society. Today, a majority of society was summed up into three categories: those who wished to satiate their hunger for gaming, those who were willing to satiate that hunger with their services and fruits of labor, and those who in both. But no matter if consumer or producer, everyone was in high spirits.

But within a cafe sitting snugly along the downtown street, a certain Dev was in anything but in high spirits.

Weaver let her head fall to the table with an audible thud, a sigh escaping from her lips as air would from a deflating tire. "... Why oh why did I ever bother…?" Unlike the semi-formal attire she wore back when she last contacted Bell, Weaver was back to wearing her usual clothes: a black hoodie jacket embroidered with intricate silver lines that vaguely took shape of a dragon and light-blue jeans. A dull metal-gray device was wrapped snugly around her left wrist, a faded screen housed within its bulky frame.

"'Why?' Last I remember, the whole gig was your idea," BJ bluntly pointed out as she gulped her entire drink in one swig, capping it off with rough impact of the cup hitting table and a burp. The collars of her rugged leather jacket sprinkled with loose droplets and crumbs. Though unmarred by her messy eating habits, BJ's white-gray hair remained spiky and unkempt which further contributed to her barbarous image. "Hrm, I don't remember my ham sandwich being this rough. Or dry. Or tasteless."

Weaver jerked her head up. "Ow! BJ, that's my sidetail you're trying to eat!" Weaver yanked her dark-brown strands out of BJ's munching mouth with a wince. "Dammit, BJ! Is there ever a time you're not making a mess?! First, you made that mess back at the convention in which you intruded the dining hall and tried to forcibly make the roasted chicken and turkey your hand-puppets for your so-called 'Poultry Puppet Pals', then you snuck off to write 'Potty Mouth' on all the toilet seats as some dumb joke, then you had the audacity to do the moonwalk on stage whenever one of the presenters mentioned her theme of outer space in her upcoming book, and then - to cap it all off - you were dumb enough to make inappropriate moves on the hostess!"

"Hey," BJ objected with a smug look, a toothy small grin on her face, "fine booties are fine booties no matter how you shake it. Pun intended."

Weaver sank her face in her hands as another heavy sigh escaped from her lips. "... And somehow, your upcoming project got a standing ovation over mine!"

BJ raised her hands to her side. "Hey, don't look at me. I was just doing my thing, doing what I do best!"

Weaver heaved another sigh. "'Best' my ass. After all that work I did teasing my new project I was really hoping it would be good. Maybe decent if I had to go for the low-hanging fruit." She sighed again before trying to drown out her immense dissatisfaction with an aggressive swig of the drink she ordered.

A third person sitting by Weaver shifted in her seat, having watched the whole scene. "So, uh, I take it that it was that awful, huh?"

Weaver spared a quick glance at the third person, remembering that she had called and invited her today. "You have no idea, Schwarze. I admit that some of my projects - literature or not - tend to be varying degrees of hit or miss, but today… I don't recall missing this badly..."

Schwarze leaned back on her seat, resting her head in her hands, one of which was covered in light-brown leather glove. Her shoulder-length hair shone brightly with its fiery-red pigment like her eyes, the bangs and strands flowing straight and free like a bonfire; the only attempt made to seemingly restrain the color's exuberance was how her front bangs split aside revealing Schwarze's forehead. She was dressed in her jet-black leather trench coat with a white undershirt peeking out from underneath. Combined with her brown trousers and tall slim leather boots, Schwarze carried a cowboy-like air; the kind who would drift wherever their heart or circumstances told them to.

And it just so happens that Schwarze was traveling around the PC Continent until Weaver contacted her. Of all the Devs that Schwarze known and worked alongside with as one of the land's established Prospective Devs, Weaver was among those she knew the most. Schwarze, like all of the other Prospective Devs, were goddesses but lacked the power and recognition of their greater counterparts. At least, not until they accumulated enough Acclaim to earn the title of "Dev."

"I see. So is there anything I could do for you?"

Weaver took another, more calm, sip. And about as quick as a switch being flicked, she seemed to have calm down a bit. She turned in her chair to give Schwarze her full attention. "You remember the last time you made a game that was part of my franchise? 'Atomic Aftermath: New Wegas' it was called? Even though it's been years since release, it still managed to get a persistent, stable audience and reception."

Schwarze smiled to herself as she remembered. Gently rocking her chair back and forth, she recalled how she got a chance to work with Weaver to make a spin-off bearing her franchise brand name. The circumstances had been far from ideal and she had mere months to put together a comprehensive product, and while it was far from flawless, Schwarze couldn't help but smile at how she managed to pull it off.

"Well… there's admittedly not much to work on since you should know the basics; I've read your books and played your games along with everyone else's. I can't really put it into words, but I think what you could try to improve upon are the finer details. They're small, but you know what the saying: 'the devil's in the details'."

"Uh-huh," Weaver muttered as her focus was no longer on Schwarze but rather on her wrist computer as she went to work jotting down notes. As Schwarze droned on, trying to come up with anything from her personal experience that could help out Weaver, BJ tried to amuse herself. After absentmindedly brushing her leftover scraps around in whatever conceivable shape she could think of, trying to play "Spin the Bottle" with her empty cup (with everyone in the cafe as unwitting and unaware players), and even bending her metal spoon, BJ set her sights on the prominent fish tank that, while humble, decorated the small-time cafe. It took center stage on the countertop, its view unimpeded by furniture or the cafe's layout. And to top it all off, the tank had an open roof.

By impulse (like a lot of things), BJ eyed the open fish tank with a rapacious look as she quickly scrunched some loose greased napkins. And as she raised the clump to prepare a throw -
A slender metallic form immediately snaked around BJ, constricting her as the clump slipped from her toughened fingers. Surprised - but more annoyed - BJ merely groaned aloud. "Oh c'mon Weaver!"

Weaver only gave her a warning glare as she held her sword aloft, the blade having been morphed in both shape and composition to ensnare BJ from another one of her shenanigans. "There's a huge huge reason why I gotta keep an eye on you! It's bad enough that you trash my Castle Wolf (so long as you help pay the bills) and that you make a mess wherever we tend to go. Need I remind you your laundry list of misdemeanors officially recognized by most officials?"

"Meh. What I was about to do would've been a piss in a bucket by comparison," grunted BJ, nary any fear in her voice or posture. "I can't imagine my antics being any worse than what I've done in the past. Sue me, dickhead!"

Schwarze chuckled lightly, eliciting a stern glance from Weaver. "You haven't changed one bit, have you BJ? Say, didn't the two of get involved in something a while back?"

With the change in topic, Weaver slackened her shoulders. "Yep. Long story short, I came across this stranger that roped Bell and Cog into tracking down a bunch of rats, which funnily enough was part of a quest I was doing in my spare time. The stranger was an odd sort, being a Cape-head and all, but I decided to stick around 'cause I was wanted to find something to write about."

As if a piece of Weaver's sentiment, the coils had slackened enough for BJ to wiggled free from. "Yeah! Toured the continent, saw funny stuff, killed shit; couldn't ask for more than that. Especially near the end where we all went up against freakin' robots and whatnot! But thennnn, freakin' Weaver wouldn't let me go after 'em since -"

"Since you have a felony list that's longer than some novels, BJ!" interrupted Weaver. "Having you set foot on another continent just to pursue video game pirates is a huge no-no!"

"Another continent? You mean that place?" inquired Schwarze who leaned in, interested. "I wouldn't have expected these pirates to go that far. Guess they really wanted to get away from BJ here."

"Damn straight!" exclaimed BJ before a quick slap to her mouth shut her up. Unfortunately, plenty of curious and irritable eyes were already cast in their direction. The world inside seemed to have come to a near standstill as the goddess trio found themselves now in the center of the cafe universe. With the stares came the faint tones of whispers; many of which Weaver felt was directed at her. Memories of the… not-so-well reception from earlier flashed in her eyes. It hasn't been long for the news to disseminate, but they had a nasty tendency to spread fast.

Weaver let her shoulders sag under the weight of awkward stares. "... I think we overstayed our welcome," she quietly muttered.

The cafe door jingled for the third time. "So uh, what next?" Schwarze asked.

Weaver glanced around at the busy city street. Anyone not foolish enough to stand still in the open wisely clung to the sides close to the buildings to prevent being swept up by the crowd. The city's arteries remained thick and busy. Everything was in motion; everything was in activity.

In the front, parked by the curb lay a stylish convertible, its black exterior antiquated yet polished to a near-mirror sheam, rounded eye-like headlights, a stout snout-like front section, and the magenta leather seats open to viewing thanks to the retracted roof. Everything about its appearance spoke of an old-fashioned yet enduring charm.

Weaver twirled the keys, but without a hint of enthusiasm. "Well, the day's still young, but I think I'm headed home; I could use a good break, though I'm pretty sure it's gonna be short-lived... You're free to come along, Schwarze."

Schwarze's face lit up. "Oh! Sure!" As Weaver strode to the driver's side, Schwarze eagerly trotted to the other side, followed by BJ. Swinging the backdoor open, BJ dived in and flopped prone on the passenger seat. "... Close the door and wake me up once we arrive in time to catch that wrestling program on TV, alright?"

"BJ, you-!" Weaver sighed in defeat. She motioned for Schwarze to occupy the front seat. "Whatever. While you're here, do you mind helping me out a bit longer?"

"Sure. Why not?" replied Schwarze, testing out the luxurious comfort of the seat. With a routine swift turn of the keys, the convertible's engine sputtered to life and without ado, Weaver pulled into the Conderican city traffic, being guided back home thanks to her wrist computer.

With a smooth lurch, the convertible wiggled its way out of the spot and began rolling down the streets. Through the window, the urban scenery flashed past: shops, stores, and other public spaces loaded with passerbys, all of whom were eager to spend the holidays with their time and wallets. The city spaces were not only bustling with pedestrians and vehicles but holiday decor. Posters lined along the streets at eye level while billboards and banners occupied the skies above, all animatedly advertising flashing images and footage of upcoming games and titles. Up or down, there simply was no escaping from the celebrations and uplifting mood that was sweeping the entire continent.

Schwarze took in all of it, admiring the sight and feeling the rushing air brush past her hair. "Quite a day outside, isn't it?"

"Yep. Buuuuuut I think I'm gonna hole up at my place," Weaver replied, her voice carrying an insecure intonation. "After the what's happened, I think I could use a pint and wait this out. Maybe rethink some things while I do..."

"Hmm. That reminds me, you could try shaking up the setting for your next project," advised Schwarze. "Call me biased, but you could try a more rustic Wild West-like setting. I reckon there'll be plenty of interesting stuff to work with."

"Post-apocalyptic worlds are already got the rustic charm. Though that does give me some food for thought… Perhaps subvert the norm by having the next story be a prequel? Revisit the fantasy setting? Or try a new brand that's set in outer space but combines that Wild West theme you mentioned?... On second thought, maybe not."

A look of inspiration slowly dawned on Schwarze's face. "Outer space with a western theme? That kinda sounds like a nice idea. Just need something unique yet simple to title it..."

Weaver gave her passenger an amused look. "Not going to be another one of your fan-fictions, is it? Can't say I've read the ones you've made based on the other Devs' characters but uhhhh..."

"Eh, I don't mind," replied Schwarze. "Writing is still writing. I can't imagine anyone not fantasizing about what goes on in the world made by others."

A soft chuckling could be heard from Weaver as she continued to navigate through traffic. "If you say so..."

But the friendly bantering was cut short when Weaver spotted something unusual dead ahead and stopped. It wasn't the usual dense city traffic at busy intersections that caught her attention (those were unheard of especially at this time of the year). But rather, what caught Weaver's eyes and curiosity was the small crowd that gathered off at the intersection corner, every one of them casting their own eyes and curiosity to the intersection corner. Weaver followed their gaze and saw why they had gathered.

Above the heads of all bystanders was a wide white and orange sign boldly proclaiming the corner to be one of the local Genesis Stations. Weaver personally didn't think much of the brand - backed by the powerful Habgier Corporation and all over the PC Continent, but lacking the taste and style of an intimate store aimed for simple gaming pleasures. They felt a little too sterile, too corporate, for Weaver; a sentiment that she knew she wasn't the only one (like a certain spectacled Dev she knows...).

But as she waited at the intersection, Weaver had the chance to take a closer look at the store. Upon closer inspection, the overhanging sign's purity was marred by tomato stains. As her eyes cast down, Weaver spotted what didn't belong: the glass displays, once clustered with neon signs, display shelves, and ads, had unexpectedly found themselves sharing the exhibit with the rough, undignified sprayed lines of graffiti. What it meant, Weaver couldn't know as uniformed employees were busy washing them off. But she had a feeling she might know what the intention was…

"Wow, I didn't quite see that coming. Normally, people would vent their spleen online but vandalism is something else."

"Stuff like this isn't impossible, Schwarze," Weaver said. "But at the same time, they don't happen all that often. Which makes this a little more unusual..."

Schwarze continued to watch as the hard-pressed staff worked hastily, delivering mops and buckets beneath unwanted stares and gossips. She frowned. "I've heard plenty of bad rep that the store's got thanks to who they're associated with, and I've been hearing even more bad talk about their upcoming releases. If someone really has to take to the streets to mark up a store like that, then the circumstances must be that bad."

"Hm." Weaver herself wasn't quite sure what to make of it, other it being the work of the less than slim minority of gamers being so outspoken that they would deface a store. And the thing Schwarze said, she too was aware of the news. The upcoming HabCo-sponsored "Battlezone V" had been hotly criticized as much as news and hype spread around it since its inception. She got wind of the backlash, but Weaver didn't quite expect to see the result in person - if that indeed was the case.

But alas, even if she was curious, Weaver considered letting the whole affair slide. And she would have had she not been close enough to the onlookers to hear their chatter.

"... idea who did this?"
"No clue… haters gotta hate I guess."
"Meh. That stores' never been as good as the others. Other stores I know sell a lot more things."
"Oh yeah, a lot more than just season passes. But even then I think they're a bit on the pricey side."
"Speaking of pricey, my cousin's got his hands on a copy of 'Dark Rolls' for dirt cheap! Like, literal dirt cheap!"
"Wow. You get it from the, what's their name? The Fumble Lub? The Humble C-"
"I'm not sure to be honest. He said he got it from some guys off the street around here; don't think they belonged to any corporation. The gal who he made the deal with was, well, a girl. Had a weird name, like 'Kazoo' or something."
"Really? I should try finding them out and get the hottest deals! Forget these stores - I'll go for what I can get for cheap!"

Further gossip was droned out as Weaver got all she wanted to hear. She wasn't sure what to make of it. Could this all have been the work of video game pirates? Maybe not the graffiti vandalism; that could have been anyone. But chances are, video game piracy was just part of the bigger picture. With the era of gaming at full swing, so would piracy.

Weaver turned to Schwarze, whose intrigued face revealed that she too had heard all of it. "So what's your take?"

"Probably whatever you're thinking, Weaver," she replied. "If people are going so far as to deface game stores and openly buy from pirates, then I think we're looking at a serious problem in the making."

Weaver leaned back in her seat as she thought with a soft chuckle. Hearing video game pirates again definitely reminded her of something. If piracy was indeed becoming a problem again, then it would just have to be put down again (though she quietly hoped that the pirates this time wouldn't be so well equipped). Plus, if she could pitch in and help uproot the problem, her public esteem would surely be given a well-deserved boost - Weaver felt like her Acclaim level had been slipping recently.

A soft shuffling sound could be heard from the backseat. Yawning, BJ looked around. "Yo, this still ain't home, Weaver. And what the hell is up with this traffic?"

An idea formed in Weaver's head as she turned around. "Hey, BJ. How about a little detour through Painville to go visit some pirate friends? I hear they could use a real smack up and smack down provided we can find them. Tag along with me and I'll think about getting you that new punching bag you wanted."

A wide evil grin spread across BJ's face. "Alright, you're on!"

Weaver turned to Schwarze. "You're free to join us. I don't see the harm in letting you come along."

Schwarze nodded. "I'd be glad to help out. Even if I'm still a Prospective Dev I can pitch in."

Satisfied, Weaver glanced away to update her wrist gadget with their new objective and heading. The cross-traffic finally began to die down and the traffic lights changed to let the cars pass. With a roaring purr of the engine, the black convertible eagerly drove forward before taking a turn and disappearing elsewhere into the city.

A MINUTE EARLIER…

Frost stood where she was, staring at the empty air that was, for a split-second, where the target of her pursuit was. Or where he could have been, as when she turned around, she was met with the same alleyway, containing the same emptiness and the same conclusion. She could try looking for clues, but by the time she found anything substantial, they would be far away. Frost exhaled - she would have to settle with accepting this slight loss.

Scanning her area one more time, she turned back the way she came from, the same corridor she had dashed through, her assault rifle in hand but finger off the trigger. In the back of her mind, Frost reviewed what went down.

As per her assignment, Frost had been patrolling from one Genesis Station to another, providing oversight and assistance. All the stores had been busy as bees, with all employees on deck working around the clock, tending to the register and customers, managing inventory, and even offering job opportunities to any willing talent. As an associate Dev, Frost had been working deep in the proverbial frontlines, working near the back to help direct the labor flow and intervening directly as necessary.

She had been preoccupied personally handing out copies of "Battlezone V" as part of the store's advertisement gig (as much as a straight-laced soldier could) near the back of the store when a loud clang was heard from the front. She had at first expected that maybe some of the employees had dropped something at the store front, but such assumption fell apart the moment she cast her eyes to the front. Through the display windows, non-uniformed employees crowded outside, black spray snaking over the glass. One of the store employees stumbled through the front door, and Frost was already on her way outside. The vandals immediately broke off and ran the moment they saw her before she even charged outside. Forced into a chase, Frost pursued the vandals, trying to identify whatever identity she could spot before they turned a corner in the alleyways. Shouts from her and jeers from them were the only shots fired.

And that was when she lost them, leaving behind nothing but a defaced storefront in her hands.

'Didn't get much of a clear ID on them,' Frost thought wistfully. 'I'm not sure if they were targeting any store or just me specifically. Either way, driving them off may be the best I result I can get...'

She stepped out of the alleys to be greeted by the sight of a gathered crowd, gaping at the vandals' work. Nearby, the store's shift manager was hard at work, juggling between maintaining business and the store's image. Needless to say, whatever brand the vandals' used, the paint didn't wash off easily.

As Frost made her way back to the store as discreetly as she could so as to minimize attention, the traffic along the street had finally shifted. And as Frost walked, something in the traffic caught her eye. Her eyes darted over just in time to see the various cars and trucks all trundle past with haste, but she most definitely saw something.

A certain car. Black and antiquated. An open roof with exposed occupants.

Frost did a quick mental check on where or when she had seen a car just like that. Then she tried to remember who owned such car.

… Was it really that same car?

The car had long vanished among the traffic flow, so there was no way to positively confirm her suspicions. And as it still stands, there was still work to be done before she could relocated to another store and oversee operations over there. No doubt a call would have to be made notifying all of them of the vandalism incident.

But as Frost gently pushed her through the front entrance, her suspicions only grew. Fate or coincidence, Frost had a peculiar feeling to take from it.

Something was definitely coming up.

OMAKE:

It was a simple task (for someone tall like her), but the last item from the box had finally found its intended place near the top shelf. Satisfied, Frost turned to hand the now-empty box back to the young employee who had approached her earlier, with Frost once again staring downward just to make eye contact.

"Thanks, miss!" she thanked before trotting off elsewhere. Glancing around, Frost saw nothing but business and working employees. But so far, she saw nothing that indicated the slightest hint of trouble. Before Frost could make a small satisfactory nod to herself, a pair of voices from the back of the store slowly started streaming in. She turned to see two coworkers deep in conversation, obviously not taking a break back in the staff lounge and completely oblivious to the work going on.

"... so you're tellin' me that rainbow sprinkles are the way to go?"
"Absolutely! Because with them you get to experience the texture and all the different flavors on your donut -"

A quick "Psst!" from Frost caught the pair's attention as Frost motioned them over. Confused, the pair walked over.

"Is everythin' okay, Ms. Sarge?"
"Did you drop something?"

Frost frowned. "This is supposed to be business hour!" The look that mixed apathy and bewilderment still clouded their faces, so Frost quickly continued. "Now, the front of the store could use an extra pair of hands or two to help with the customers or to pass out flyers. Move in to assist," she ordered, motioning with hand signals.

But instead, one of the employees - a rather young spectacled man - remained oblivious. "Oh, oh, charades! I know this one! Is it, uh..."
"No, no, hang on," his coworker cut in, another young man wearing a beanie hat. "It's uh, it's gonna be a -"
"A musical, right?"
"No, no. A book!"

Frost sighed beneath her face-palm. This was going to be a long shift...