On the fourth floor of Wonder Corp Incorporated was an upside down gallon of liquid that dispensed dribbles of water to parched visitors. The average visitor to the upside down gallon of liquid was a thirty-year old brown haired, pink skinned, male who’s final layer of skin was a white polo shirt. If the upside down gallon of liquid had eyes, it would need to take a night course in English language so it could read the badges on each of the polo people, otherwise it would be lost as how to distinguish them. The number of pink skinned polo people only grew over the years at Wonder Copr Incorporated because pink skinned polo people had started the company. They liked the way pink skinned polo people behaved, they felt trustworthy, they felt safe and familiar. Looking in the bathroom mirror each morning and being surprised that the face there is unfamiliar certainly sounds scary.

Yuka had been working at Wonder Corp Incorporated for ten months. At his interview he’d worn a blue button-up shirt with a flower pattern which looked like a seventies paperer had mistaken his torso for drywall. For the past ten months Yuka has worn only white polo shirts.

At the upside down gallon of liquid, Yuka was having a casual conversation with a work colleague who happened to also be parched. “It’s always this, sorta, moral thing. Like there are certain things I enjoy doing – I’d do them every day if I could – but they just don’t make money. You know?”

Kip knew. He wasn’t really parched, but went to the upside down gallon of liquid to procrastinate from the document templates he had to prepare for the newest round of acquisitions. Wonder Corp Incorporated were going to buy two companies this time, Half-Laughter Lingerie and Outergalactic Occupation Managers. Willow the Woodlouse and Fizzup would be designed into a new line of ladies underwear and sewn into furniture for low-income student housing, the board members were giddy in their boots at the profits that would flow into their face holes from slapping their IPs all over their newest acquisitions.

Kip felt immoral, but he didn’t have the confidence to speak his distaste for it like Yuka did. Instead he let Yuka say what he wanted to say and just nodded or said, “Yea, yea. Yea.” Sometimes Kip would pull at the white collar of his white polo shirt which meant he was nervous and the moisture between his neck and the shirt was making him hot. Kip never liked getting in trouble.

Today was different because there were cheers coming from the room above them which meant Kip didn’t have to worry about the floor directors. They were emotionally jacked up on younger days of shoving small kids around high school. Fifth floor was celebrating the new acquisitions, pouring prosseco in fragile glasses so delicate that if you sneezed you’d castrate your fingers; they were also shooting air out of their lungs so that it made hollering and cheering noises. Shooting air out of the lungs is what humans do when they are about to acquire something, like a lingerie company, a large amount of cash, or a new mate.

“Yea, yea. Yea” Kip affirmed again. Yuka had just been talking about how his department was recently put in charge of designing new video games for the Wonder Corp Pleasure Console XY (WCPC-XY). “The XY,” Yuka had said, “doesn’t really make sense. I’m not sure what it’s for, but, like, morally, I’m concerned it might come across as very, like, very male focused. You know?” This is what Kip had said “Yea, yea. Yea.” to. The Kip inside of Kip was fuming because he knew that was exactly why XY had been added to the console, with Wonder Corp Incorporated upper management brandishing a staggering ten-to-one ratio of men to women, the whole thing smelled of a testosterone ploy. Kip knew this, and so he said, “Yea, yea. Yea.”

In upper-management there are eleven members, ten of which have voting power and ninety-percent shares in the company split nine-percent a head. The other ten-percent of the stock is traded publicly. In upper-management, one person is in charge of organizing meetings in the calendar, contacting restaurants for lunch reservations, and handling the dry cleaning bills for all the white polo shirts. That person has a portfolio consisting of zero shares of Wonder Corp Incorporated and wears a different coloured button-up every day.

“I’m excited about the opportunity to make games though, I mean isn’t that what every guys dream job is?” Yuka was asking Kip just in case he happened to have the statistics on every guy. “I mean, so much to learn. I’m not too upset about what they want us to do with the game, like, I mean morally, it’s a bit fudged up if you know what I mean?”

“Yea, yea. Yea.” said Kip.

“But who cares? Right? I can get out of this job easy after this and go on and make something big, like the next Lost Souls VVI or Latrop 3!” Yuka raised his voice because his mind had made such a vivid image of his future that he already felt he was there.

“Yea, yea. Yea.” said Kip. “But,” he continued, “What’s it they want you to do?”

“Games. As. Jobs.” Yuka was segmenting it out like he was reading a banner in the air above him. “Haven’t you heard them sipping from each other brains up there about how excited they are over this?? They’re saying it’s the future. Everyone and anyone, all playing games and making money while playing those games. No more work, only play. I didn’t really believe it when I heard it but these guys know these things, they can see the future, Kip. It’s crazy you know?”

“Yea, yea. Yea.” said Kip. More water dribbled out of the upside down gallon of liquid and into Kip’s paper cup, Yuka’s excitement made him parched. When his cup was full, he looked up at Yuka and asked, “How?”

“Oh just all that IP they’ve been buying up lately,” said Yuka. “Like you could win some, I don’t know, some Willow the Woodlouse stuffed toy – digital right – and maybe sell it on their market. If everyone wants your Willow the Woodlouse than you could pick a pretty high asking price. Bing bang, easy money.” Yuka snapped his fingers to the bing band he was making. “I mean, the more I think about it, why would games not do this. Who’s going to just play a game for fun when you could play and make cash.” The paper cup in Yuka’s hand was empty, Yuka hadn’t drunk a sip but watered the carpet below him in his passionate monologue. “Man,” he said, labelling Kip as the ‘man’, “the more I’m talking to you about this, the more I’m sold on this whole idea. Everyone’s going to be a streamer, not just the lucky ones with mummy’s and daddy’s monthly allowances to get them by. Man, oh man, forget morals, if I’m at the frontier of this new wave, if I’m the one making the games that people play for their livelihood, I’m going to be r-i-i-i-i-CH.” A fist punched the air when the ‘CH’ sound was made, to Kip it sounded like the noise in those retro video games when a player collects a gold coin.

“Yea, yea. Yea.” said Kip.