He typed away at his computer, the rhythmic clicks of the keys filling the air, each press deliberate and urgent.
His eyes were locked on the screen, scanning lines of code that seemed to stretch on forever. The soft glow of his monitor illuminated his face, but it was mostly obscured by his unkempt black hair, which had fallen over his forehead in messy strands.
He didn't seem to notice or care about the disheveled state of his appearance. His mind was elsewhere — on the code, on the game, on the problem he was trying to solve.
His fingers never paused, not even once. Not to scratch an itch, not to take a breath, not for anything. He was in the zone.
He wasn't the only one in the room. There were countless others, their faces similarly hidden behind screens, their hands moving in sync with the clattering noise of the keys.
A few desks down, another programmer hunched over, eyes bleary from hours of work, fingers flying across the keyboard like a machine.
In the far corner, someone tapped furiously on a mechanical keyboard, the sound louder than the rest.
It was all part of the same rhythm. A classic 9-5, if you could call it that. But here, there was no "five."
Time seemed to blur as the team worked tirelessly on a game they believed would change the gaming world forever.
It was the biggest project any of them had ever worked on.Conqueror's Evolution.
It wasn't just another game; it was going to be the game. The one that would set new standards, the one that would redefine the industry.
The company had spared no expense, ensuring every line of code, every design element, and every feature was perfect. At least, that's what they hoped.
They were days away from the grand launch, but there was one last hurdle to clear before they could celebrate their success — or face disaster.
A bug. Two bugs, actually.
The first bug was relatively simple but dangerous. It had been reported by one of the beta testers: the game allowed players to achieve a 100x multiplier for their Conqueror Points, far exceeding the intended 10x multiplier.
If left unchecked, it could completely unbalance the game's progression system. Players could breeze through content, leaving others far behind.
It was a bug that needed fixing, but it didn't seem like it would be too hard to find and patch.
The second bug, though, was a real problem. A boss monster, placed near the starting town of one of the game's starting zones, was ridiculously strong — far too strong for a low-level player to handle alone.
The boss could wipe out any new character in seconds, making the game nearly impossible to play for beginners.
It wasn't just an inconvenience; it was a deal-breaker. Players wouldn't stand for it. It had to be fixed, or it would cost them everything.
At first, they thought it was a simple fix. Just a quick scan through the code, tweak the settings, and they'd be good to go.
But this was no ordinary bug. The code was massive, sprawling across endless lines and layers. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, and with the clock ticking, they had no time to waste.
As the hours passed, the room became quieter, save for the sound of fingers striking keys and the occasional frustrated sigh.
Some had already given up on lunch, their stomachs growling quietly in the background. There was no time to eat, no time for breaks.
Everyone was glued to their screens, working as fast as they could, hoping they would find the problem before it was too late.
Then, the door to the room swung open, breaking the silence with a loud creak. The sound echoed across the room, drawing the attention of a few tired eyes. The man who walked in was unmistakable.
A tall, portly figure with a broad frame, dressed in an ill-fitting suit that barely contained his bulging belly. He had a face that seemed to always wear the same smug expression, as though he knew something everyone else didn't.
His eyes flicked from one monitor to the next, scanning the room as if he were some sort of overseer.
The faint smell of coffee and stale cologne followed him in, mixing with the sweat-soaked air of the room.
His nose wrinkled slightly as he took in the scent. He didn't care much for the staleness of the air or the disheveled state of the team.
They didn't need encouragement — they needed results.
Still, he walked in with purpose, holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand like a trophy. He wasn't there to get their work done for them; he was there to make sure they knew how much he appreciated them, even if he had a funny way of showing it.
"Hey, team! How's it going?" His voice boomed across the room, too loud for such a late hour, but that was the way he liked it.
He wanted to inject some energy into the place, make them feel like they were part of something big. "Looking good, everyone! You've been working hard, huh? A little less than 24 hours to go. Push through, and we all get paid!"
Most of the team barely acknowledged him. They didn't need hyping.
They had one goal, and that was to fix the bugs and getConqueror's Evolution ready for launch. There would be time for celebration later, that was if they made it.
The manager's eyes drifted to the young man with the unkempt hair. He was a standout coder on the team, one of the best. His reputation had preceded him, and the manager had come to offer him a little encouragement, though he didn't think it would be necessary. The young man had always delivered.
"Here, have some coffee," the manager said, extending the mug toward him.
The young man barely looked up, his eyes flicking briefly to the cup. His hands were shaking slightly from the strain of hours spent hunched over the keyboard, but he reached out with trembling palms and accepted the mug.
The manager smiled, satisfied with himself. "You've earned it," he said, giving him a pat on the back before turning to leave.
But just as the coder adjusted his grip on the mug, disaster struck.
The cup slipped from his hands, the sudden motion too much for his exhausted fingers to handle. Time seemed to slow as the mug tumbled through the air. The sound of it hitting the desk was a horrible, gut-wrenching noise.
The coffee splashed out, a scalding stream of liquid landing directly on the keyboard. There was a brief moment of silence before a series of electrical sparks erupted from the computer, followed by a loud, violent crackle.
The lights flickered.
The young man froze, horror spreading across his face.
He didn't know what had just happened, but he could feel it — his hands were shaking, his stomach twisted with dread. He had just ruined everything. The system, the code, the hours of work — all of it could be gone in an instant.
The manager turned around in surprise, his eyes widening. "What the hell?"
The room fell silent.