Making Game: CH 161 – Sunk Cost Fallacy (Patreon)

The digital channels of the Avalon forums and every major social feed across the galactic net lit up simultaneously. A massive, elegantly designed banner featuring a gleaming silver sword resting against a wooden table appeared on Round Table Studio's official pages.

The text below it was written with their signature charm.

–––

Hear Ye, Hear Ye! The Round Table is Officially Expanding!

Calling all digital artisans, code-smiths, bards, and dreamers. Round Table Studio is opening its gates for our Third Wave Recruitment! This is our largest call to arms yet. Our upcoming quests are growing grander, and we need fresh champions to help us forge new worlds.

We firmly believe that true creativity requires freedom. We offer a fellowship dedicated to ending industry crunch, providing a sanctuary where your craft can truly flourish. Whether you wield a rendering stylus, a digital soundboard, or a heavy programming compiler, there is a seat waiting for you at our table. Come join our crusade and help us shape the future of gaming!

–––

The announcement spread like a wildfire fueled by pure oxygen. Within hours, the post had accumulated millions of shares. It was the talk of every academic cafeteria on Luprime and the main topic inside the breakrooms of massive corporate tech conglomerates. 

High-ranking developers who had spent decades chained to rigid, soulless production pipelines found themselves quietly downloading the application forms.

The hype hit a fever pitch when an old VGN interview article suddenly resurfaced. Fans and eager applicants began re-sharing the piece, plastering the attached photographs all over the public boards.

All of a sudden, the visual reality of the Round Table Studio headquarters became the most tempting song in the ears of overworked developers. The images showcased a working environment that defied every standard corporate rule in the Stellar Accord.

The central atrium looked like a lush planetary conservation preserve. Giant, sunlit trees grew straight up toward a massive glass dome, with gentle streams of water flowing past comfortable lounge areas. There was no sign of a single gray cubicle. 

Each department possessed its own unique flair and architectural layout. The Art Department was housed in a massive, warehouse-sized hall with towering ceilings. Artists were captured freely walking around open-air holographic sculpting bays, working together in a communal, brightly lit space that looked like an absolute dream for any visual designer.

The developer hubs on the Avalon forums completely exploded.

[Avalon Forums]

>: CodeMonkey99 "I'm literally crying in my two-by-two gray box right now. Did you guys see those VGN photos? Their central atrium looks like a nature preserve. There are literal trees inside the building! My office doesn't even have a window."

>: PolySculptor "The Art Department setup is making me hyperventilate. A warehouse-sized studio with open-air holographic projection bays? No cubicle walls? I would gladly trade my left arm to work in a space like that. It's a dream for anyone doing 3D modeling."

>: SkepticalDev_88 "It sounds too good to be true. No crunch? Open schedules? Beautiful indoor atrium? It has to be a corporate trap. They will bait you in with the nice aesthetics and then grind you down just like any tech firms always do. Don't fall for the PR talk."

>: PraiseTheSun "@SkepticalDev_88 RTS always delivers. Look at their track record. Stardew Valley, Assassin's Creed, Hades. You simply can't make games with that much soul and polish if you are locked inside a miserable place. I'm applying today."

>: AudioWeaver "I'm updating my portfolio tonight. I don't care if I have to fetch brewka for Gareth for the next five years. I just want to be in the exact same room when he mixes a soundtrack."

>: GreatCouch "Quick question for the hiring team. If I submit my lazy husband's resume, will you please give him a job? He already spends twelve hours a day sitting on the couch playing Monster Hunter. He might as well get paid by the people who made the game. Please take him off my hands."

>: PixelPusher "@GreatCouch Hahaha! Best of luck to your husband. Honestly though, the competition is going to be brutal. I heard senior leads from many triple-A studios are quietly dropping their portfolios into the RTS inbox."

>: BugHunterSupreme "I just submitted my application. I'm ready to swear my oath to the Round Table. Let's go!"

The threads refreshed by the second. The mixture of unhinged desperation, wholesome excitement, and skeptical debate kept the studio trending at the absolute top of the galactic net.

For thousands of brilliant minds suffocating under the weight of the Accord's rigid corporate structure, the silver sword of Round Table Studio represented a beacon of genuine hope.

…

Zoye Raves pressed a single finger against the polished obsidian surface of the conference table. The holographic report puck in the center of the room whined down to a dull hum, and its glowing blue projection of the Clarent Engine flickered out of existence.

The boardroom of Heliotronic Arts fell completely silent.

Seated around the expansive table were the company executives and majority stockholders. Most of these individuals possessed zero concept of how a video game actually functioned. They lacked the most basic knowledge of what made a game enjoyable for a player. Yet, they sat in the highest seats of power, brought together entirely by the shocking technology Round Table Studio had just unveiled.

RTS had sent a preview package of their revolutionary Clarent Engine to every major studio in the Accord. It was an open invitation to develop titles on their groundbreaking platform, and the implications were staggering.

Lord Vexen, a stockholder wearing a tailored suit worth more than a developer in the building makes in a year, steepled his fingers. "The level of physical immersion is unprecedented. Just think of the monetization avenues. If a player truly feels the cold metal of a weapon in their hands, their willingness to purchase cosmetics will skyrocket."

"Exactly," agreed Madam Kalil, adjusting her jeweled cuffs. "The more seamless the virtual reality system becomes, the less friction there is at the checkout interface. We can integrate real-time transactions directly into their line of sight. If they want to cross a bridge in this new game, they simply blink to authorize the credit transfer."

The room murmured in wealthy agreement. They were fully in favor of shifting their massive development pipelines to this new platform immediately.

Director Favis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As the sole individual at the table who actually understood the grueling ins and outs of game development, he felt a knot tightening in his stomach. He cleared his throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we must consider the core product," Favis said, trying to keep his tone even. "A seamless payment system is useless if the core gameplay loop feels hollow to the consumer. A fun, engaging game is absolutely essential to the overall lifespan of the product."

Vexen waved a dismissive hand, letting out a dry chuckle. "Lifespan is a concern for historians, Director Favis. We operate strictly on fiscal quarters. If a game generates a staggering surge of profit within its first three months, a short lifespan is entirely justified."

Kalil offered a cold, predatory smile. Favis knew the look, once the initial profit spike inflates corporate valuation, most of them will simply sell their shares and rotate their capital into the next trending company anyway. The long-term retention of a player base is completely irrelevant to their portfolios.

Favis tightened his grip on his datapad under the table. Internally, he was pleading for a lifeline. This was his absolute last stance. He knew the breaking point of his development floor better than anyone. 

Some of his senior staff were already working hundred-hour weeks just to meet current deadlines. A few had recently been hospitalized from physical exhaustion and were unceremoniously replaced by the following morning.

If these executives greenlit a massive transition to a brand new VR engine today, the resulting crunch would break the rest of his team. It would inevitably lead to mass layoffs by the end of the fiscal year once the rushed game shipped. He desperately needed his staff to get their bearings first.

"Can we at least wait to see if this hardware actually hits the consumer market?" Favis asked, his voice strained with hidden desperation. "RTS hasn't even provided an official launch date yet. Committing our entire operating budget to an unreleased platform is a massive fiscal risk."

The mention of fiscal risk finally gave the wealthy investors pause. The stockholders murmured among themselves, exchanging cautious glances across the obsidian table. They eventually nodded, heeding his words for the time being, even if they were reluctant to delay their profit margins.

At the head of the table, CEO Zoye Raves remained perfectly still.

A subtle, sharp smile touched his lips as he read a glowing notification on his personal datapad. It was the massive third wave hiring announcement from Round Table Studio that was currently setting the galactic net on fire.

Zoye's mind raced with cold calculation. The perfect opportunity had just presented itself. With RTS opening their secure doors to a massive influx of new developers, he could easily slip someone onto their payroll. He could place a loyal mole deep inside their highly guarded studio walls to feed him the exact technical secrets Heliotronic Arts needed.

Zoye locked his datapad screen and looked up, projecting absolute corporate authority.

"Director Favis raises a valid point regarding the timeline," Zoye announced smoothly. "We'll hold our decision on the development shifts for now."

Zoye stood up, straightening his immaculate suit jacket to signal the end of the meeting. "However, we will be in direct contact with Round Table Studio immediately. We will find out exactly when they plan to launch this hardware, and we will uncover the exact details of our profit shares."

…

A week flew by in a blur of data slates and applicant portfolios. The screening process for the first phase of the studio's massive third-wave hiring remained in full swing, keeping the senior staff occupied around the clock. Yet deep inside the design bay at the rear of the studio, Arthur and Logan sat huddled over an entirely different beast.

Logan leaned back against his hover chair, his face a vivid mixture of technical fatigue, stubborn curiosity, and quiet ambition. It was the expression of an engineer staring down a puzzle so daunting that figuring out the opening move seemed impossible, yet knowing that reaching the solution would be the crowning achievement of his career.

Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a tired sigh. "Even under the most optimistic scenario, Arthur, we still have to divide the server infrastructure across individual galactic sectors."

Arthur understood the hard physical limits of their current environment all too well. A real-time, galaxy-wide MMO game had never been attempted in the history of the gaming industry. Standard interstellar relays and orbital repeaters lacked the raw throughput to process trillions of concurrent player interactions without collapsing under massive signal delay.

But the Caliburn VR seat changed the fundamental rules of that architecture. Each unit contained a dedicated neural coprocessor capable of operating as an independent, decentralized node. With enough seats active within a given sector, the units could ping one another in a dense mesh network, creating a self-sustaining regional server cluster.

Yet the dilemma lay in basic logistics. The Caliburn had yet to launch on the commercial market. Without a critical mass of hardware active in living rooms and gaming lounges across the stars, running a unified galactic platform at maximum capacity remained impossible.

Arthur leaned over the glowing drafting table, letting his thoughts drift through the mnemonic echoes stored in his mind. Final Fantasy Online, known in his memories as Final Fantasy XIV.

In his previous world, the original 1.0 launch of that legendary title had been an unmitigated disaster, an experience so broken that the team had pulled off a genuine miracle just to earn a second chance with A Realm Reborn.

Arthur had zero intention of shipping an unpolished game to the public. Every combat class, questline, and graphical asset would arrive in immaculate condition from the very first hour. At the same time, the tragic, unforgettable history of that original catastrophe offered the exact narrative framework they needed to conquer their server limitations.

"I have an idea," Arthur said, sat upright with a sudden spark in his eyes.

He swept his fingers across the central interface, pulling up a holographic projection of the galaxy's major trade routes.

"We structure the initial launch so that every galactic sector runs on its own isolated regional realm," Arthur explained. "Players will level their classes, explore their continents, and build their player communities within their localized space."

Logan tilted his head, watching the glowing sectors rotate. "Go on."

"While the players immerse themselves in their regional worlds," Arthur continued, "we let the Caliburn seats spread through regular commercial sales. We wait until our manufacturing lines catch up and the hardware reaches critical density across every sector. The moment the distributed network can finally support a fully synchronized, galactic-scale environment, we initiate the Seventh Umbral Calamity inside the live game."

Arthur tapped the core of the projection, bringing up the crimson concept art of a red moon descending from a burning sky.

"An apocalyptic world event brings down the old realm," Arthur said, his voice carrying the weight of the vision. "A coordinated, full-scale maintenance shutdown follows. When the servers come back online, the major update deploys, and the entire galaxy awakens inside a single, united world."

Logan stared at the glowing red moon, his mouth slightly open.

Through an engineer's lens, Logan recognized a brilliant technical roadmap. It disguised a staggered hardware rollout as an intentional, jaw-dropping narrative progression.

Through Arthur's eyes, the plan represented an iconic historical spectacle. It was a shared cultural event that would permanently etch itself into the collective memory of the galaxy.

Logan blew out a slow breath, shaking his head with a low whistle. "If that transition misfires during the final phase, Arthur, this game will turn into the largest money sink in corporate history."

Arthur met his gaze with absolute confidence. "It will succeed."

Logan chuckled, resting his chin on his palm. "If I were a shareholder looking at these conceptual operational expenses right now, I would already be drafting warnings about the sunk-cost fallacy."

Arthur laughed heartily, leaning back in his seat. "Good thing we are an independent studio with no plans to ever go public."

Their laughter echoed through the quiet design room, sweeping away the lingering tension of the technical roadblock. As the holographic documents for Final Fantasy Online shimmered between them, the monumental project felt less like an impossible gamble and more like an inevitable destiny.

…

The workday at Round Table Studio drew to a close with each department submitting their final dossiers of screened applicants. Two days from now, the next stage would begin. 

Arthur wouldn't have to sit through every single interview himself this time. The department leads, accompanied by their trusted senior developers, were scheduled to handle the interviews directly through secure holo-calls.

Dorian steered his hover bike along the winding country roads of Friton, letting the cool evening air wash over him as he crossed into the Kepler pasture. He slowed the engine near the paddock fence, kicked the stand down, and pulled off his modular helmet.

A chime sounded on his holo wrist. He glanced down to see a priority ping from Ratik, asking for an update on the second album concept and the raw demo tracks for the Percival identity.

Dorian winced. Between the aftermath of the Luprime expo and the hiring preparations, the studio audio files had completely slipped his mind.

He tapped a quick reply into the interface: Sorry, I forgot! (ehe)

A moment later, Ratik sent back a brief message: Just don't push yourself too hard.

Dorian smiled, tapped out a thumbs-up icon, and closed the channel.

As he clipped the helmet to his belt, the sound of wooden blades clattering against armor caught his ear. Dorian looked toward the estate's private training grounds.

Marcus was sitting slumped against a low wooden bench at the edge of the ring, his chest heaving as he wiped sweat from his eyes. Resting in his hand was an insulated flask filled with the restorative blend of ambrosia and vitality draught that Levi always mixed for post-sparring recovery.

Dorian walked over to the ring, leaning against the fence rail. "Sweating that much against Levi?"

Marcus turned his head, groaning with a tired grin. "Brother, you have to be joking. Levi is ten times more ruthless than any combat instructor I encountered at Aethelgard."

A light rustle sounded in the grass as Levi trotted up on two hind legs, holding another chilled flask up with both paws.

"Nya!" Levi chirped proudly.

Dorian took the container and patted the Palico on the head. "Thanks, buddy."

He popped the cap, took a cool sip, and looked back at Marcus. "I still can't believe my own little brother betrayed me and picked the very academy that kicked me out."

Marcus let out a chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. "Come on. I picked Aethelgard because I wanted to avoid running into Sister Lyra every single time I headed to the sparring fields. Astra Nova's law department sits right next to their Solar wing."

Dorian reached down and vigorously ruffled Marcus's messy hair. "I'm only teasing you. Choose whatever academy suits you, as long as you give it everything you have."

Marcus smiled, his expression resolute. "Of course I will."

Dorian was about to take another drink when a massive shadow fell across the back of the pasture.

He turned his head and froze.

Standing near the perimeter fence was a colossal, quadrupedal beast. A broad, blue-green hide rippled beneath the evening light, supporting a thick, wooden trunk that blossomed into an enormous pink tropical flower surrounded by broad palm fronds.

Dorian's eyes widened. "Whoa. When did Carrot evolve into a Venusaur?"

Marcus set his flask down, looking over his shoulder with a shrug. "Oh, that happened an hour ago. He was clearing out the corn rows using his moves, and the next thing we knew, he was glowing then evolved."

Dorian pulled his Pokédex scanner from his pocket and stepped toward the massive creature. Venusaur let out a deep, rumbling growl of contentment, lowering its broad snout so Dorian could pat its rough skin.

Dorian raised the device and clicked the shutter.

The scanner hummed softly, drawing in the biometric data and logging the final entry into the Pokédex.

A sudden chime rang out. A glowing azure interface materialized directly in front of his eyes, pulsing with bright text:

[CONGRATULATIONS. Profile Completed: Champion of Kanto.]

[Following Pokemon FireRed and LeafGreen mechanics, Kanto region is authorized to materialize...]

Dorian stared at the floating notification, feeling his pulse jump.

"Well," Dorian murmured under his breath, "here it comes."