The release party for Sparkle Dungeon 5 was an astounding feat of creative opulence.
The party wasn’t open to the public. Only elite influencers and media stars and the stray celebrity venture capitalist were invited, because Cameron Kelly couldn’t just open his enormous two-floor penthouse condo in a downtown high-rise to the riffraff, the hoi polloi, the teeming masses of those (like me) who actually played Sparkle Dungeon with more fervor than any of these spotlight-seeking moths.
“Costumes!” had been my Big Idea for the release party. “Costumes will be fun and engaging!” I’d said. “We’ll get great photos out of it for social media!” Yes, I was actively promoting what in practice might veer toward extremely highbrow, borderline parody, if you wanted to frame it that way. But these people’s costumes had that extra something something that indicated highly paid costume design professionals from the motion picture industry had been consulted early and often.
I recognized a minor TV star making a play for headlines by arriving as the Mighty Mirrored Paladin, clad in an absolutely glorious mirrored suit of armor, with an enormous glowing sword that changed colors and patterns in time with the music. She had two squires who followed her around, bouncing the beams from handheld lasers off her armor, and periodically she’d stop and they’d hand her a microphone and hold a mirror ball over her head as she sang the Mighty Mirrored Paladin’s theme song.
Another woman came as the Marquess d’Ambient, wearing an astounding wig that was five feet tall and soaked in glitter. She was carried through the extremely crowded party in a pillow pit palanquin, on the shoulders of four burly Deep House Dandies, an obscure set of mysterious oracles who wore holographic pantaloons and ruffled, skintight muscle shirts.
Squadrons of Kaleidoscope Keepers wore prismatic attire that interlocked to create brilliant patterns when they stood next to each other. A Guardian of the Black Light Gate wore an elaborate helmet that bathed his entire suit of armor in black light, causing him to glow an eerie purple as he threaded his way through the morass of people.
Sophie Brodeur, the game’s lead visual designer, came dressed as the classic version of the Dauphine of the Shimmer Lands, in a gorgeous fiber-optic ball gown that was covered with hundreds of tiny LEDs, creating a mesmerizing star field effect.
A group of six puppeteers controlled a gigantic, articulated, internally illuminated Dubstep Dragon, one of the most loathed villains in the series, largely because the soundtrack changed to dubstep when you fought it.
A conga line broke out, a recreation of a celebratory cutscene from SD2, where you’re rewarded with a giant shindig in your honor after saving a family from the no-good dirty rotten Hard Candy Heroin gang. The encounter was a fan favorite due to the family’s cute little puppy doggo, whose adorable catchphrase was “Subwoof!”
I was completely invisible at this party, surrounded by so many truly elaborate outfits and scenes and displays. That suited me just fine. I was satisfied to be one of only three people I saw who had chosen Graziella von Groove as their costume; the three of us even posed for an excellent selfie together. The costume included a half mask, so later on, it would probably be impossible to tell us apart in the picture.
The world-famous DJ Luscious was stationed in the loft balcony, providing beats for the evening. DJ Luscious was infamous for the sexy club jams “Getting a PhD in Getting Off” and “Sex You in the Sex Place (Enthusiastic Consent Mix).” The loft balcony provided a good view of the giant main room, where furniture had been cleared away to make room for a raised dance floor, with glorious colored panels that lit up from underneath.
Somewhere in this condo lurked Sparkle Dungeon’s creator, Cameron Kelly.
His personal wealth undoubtedly outstripped everyone else here. Oh sure, he was one of the “good” gazillionaires. He was notably philanthropic: funder of several technology programs for underprivileged cohorts; designer and funder of an experimental STEM-focused school for inner city kids in his hometown, Chicago; funder of major UBI pilot programs throughout the United States and Canada; prominent supporter of the EFF and the ACLU; skeptical critic of the value that social technology brought to modern culture, who took an outspoken stand against harassment on his own platform; and of course, enlightened monarch of the Sparkle Realm, may his reign never dim.
You wanted to root for Cameron, even if you also desperately wanted to burn down the capitalist society that built him.
Just before midnight, the music stopped, and from a small burst of fog, Cameron finally appeared up in the loft. Tall, Black, a gaming world paragon fully embracing the costumed theme of the night, the Sparkle King himself held court above his fawning subjects.
His crown was festooned with giant, gaudy, incandescent colored lights. It must have been hot and heavy to wear around, but truthfully it was kind of charming to see old-school lightbulbs in the midst of this ocean of blinking LEDs, this fiber-optic frenzy. He wore a custom-tailored purple jumpsuit with elegant silver trim and metallic threading, and a cape that was bejeweled top to bottom, front and back. He stood in outrageous silver platform boots with small swiveling spotlights attached to the toes. And he carried a long glowing scepter, as tall as he was, that seemed to leave visual trails in the air when he waved it around.
DJ Luscious handed the Sparkle King a microphone.
“Loyal citizens of the Sparkle Realm, thank you all for joining me here this fine evening! I propose a toast!” He handed his scepter to DJ Luscious, who smoothly handed him a golden goblet in return, and then he said, “Here’s to us, the Elite Adventurers of the Diamond Brigade, Sworn Protectors of the Sparkle Realm! May the crystalline lattice that brings us together never shatter!”
The entire party cheered.
The room suddenly fell dark and a dozen projectors lit up around the perimeter of the room, creating a 3D holographic image floating above the heads of the crowd. Sick beats faded in and then a woman’s voice began speaking.
“I was desperate, lost, alone … but I never gave up hope.”
A chill ran up my spine. That voice was the Dauphine of the Shimmer Lands.
An image came into focus: the Dauphine in her tattered ball gown, dirty, disheveled, roaming the desert she had patrolled since her introduction to the series. In the foreground, an ancient pedestal came into view, which she cautiously approached. A close-up of the pedestal revealed an ancient spell book, in the form of a booklet of CD liner notes, with the title: Crossfade Chronicles, Volume One: Litany of Loops.
“At last I found a weakness in the alchemy that had trapped me here for so long.”
She recited lyrics from the booklet, which we saw but couldn’t hear, and suddenly a vast ragged wormhole tore itself open in front of her. With nothing to lose, she leapt through the wormhole …
… and emerged into a bleak, gray, industrial dystopia. She herself became black and white as she entered this new environment.
“The Sparkle Realm was not as I left it.”
Suddenly a gigantic black skyship soared past above her head, a steampunk-themed armored vehicle in the shape of a sleek dirigible, powered by a dozen tiny rockets scattered across its hull. It was terrifying at that size, and the sound system had sufficient bass that you could feel the entire room vibrating.
“Spacecraft traveled between stars. The kingdom was now an alliance of planets. And I realized that something was terribly wrong. There was no sparkle to be seen. It was completely missing from reality.”
We cut to an establishing shot from high atop a mountain cliff, where the sun in the sky seemed to be slowly shrinking and shadow swept across the Realm.
“We were approaching the sparkle death of the universe.”
Suddenly we cut to a dramatic close-up of the Dauphine, standing tall on the bridge of a skyship, wearing the steampunk leathers and goggles that I had seen in my private encounters with her.
“I had to find a way to bring the sparkle back.”
Dramatic scenes followed of the Dauphine flying through the air with her jetpack, pursued by same-day delivery drones firing volleys of dead glowsticks and empty Whip-It chargers at her; spacecraft above the planet festooned with the logos of competing streaming music services, battling to acquire the last exclusive content in the Realm; DJs falling prey mid–live stream to snarling algorithmic takedown notices that violently enforced the copyright claims of long-dead rights holders; and threaded through it all, the Dauphine punching, kicking, shooting, leaping, standard game maneuvers that were vastly more impressive when viewed in giant holographic format.
“The royal family is gone, the Diamond Brigade is nothing more than a myth. Am I a prism of hope in this future world, or a tarnished paladin on a doomed quest? Why was I brought to this time and place, and why am I still alone?”
The Dauphine’s face filled our field of vision, bleeding and bruised, goggles cracked and hanging around her neck as she stared directly into the camera.
“But maybe I’m not alone. Maybe you can help me stop sparklegeddon.”
A sudden explosion of color startled us, visions of the Realm in previous games, to remind us of what was at stake. Maybe this was an alternate timeline we were seeing; maybe this grayscale outcome could still be avoided. Then a title card locked on screen:
SPARKLE DUNGEON 5: ENGINES OF ELECTRO. COMING SOON.
The lights came back up to the absolute roar of the sycophantic crowd. Even my cold dead heart stirred at that trailer. DJ Luscious “dropped the beat” as the kids say, and the party kicked back into gear. I glanced up to the top of the stairs.
Cameron Kelly had disappeared from the loft.
I circulated slowly and methodically from room to room.
We’d turned most of the main-floor balcony into a pillow pit for folks who were overheated from dancing inside, but you could still find standing room near the outdoor bar to lean against the railing and peer out over the city skyline. That’s where I found Cameron, chatting with a hip young startup founder, Tad Garrison, he/him, the young and sanctimonious white guy who invented the productivity app BlankChat. On the free tier, BlankChat locked you out of your phone for twenty-four hours, or you could pay a recurring subscription fee to be locked out of your phone for longer increments.
Tad had his arm around the waist of a gorgeous young individual in costume as the Faerie of Future House, painted blue from head to toe underneath an absolutely beautiful, wispy, sheer blue minidress, and a bright blue wig; the effect was very alluring, as it was in the game. Tad was just wearing khaki shorts and a BlankChat T-shirt. He was that strain of entrepreneur whose narrowness of focus and confident indifference to the world outside his target demographic drove him to heights of social obliviousness. He’d probably never played Sparkle Dungeon. Cameron clearly wanted to throw him off the balcony.
I stood in line for the outdoor bar, which steadily took me past Cameron’s conversation. The Faerie of Future House was trying desperately to flirt with Cameron, but he maintained a neutral affect as he politely listened to Tad, nodding periodically and saying nothing as Tad tried to offer him a free subscription to BlankChat.
“You’ll get a coupon code on parchment,” Tad said, “hand signed by our CTO.”
Seemed like Cameron was trapped in that conversation, honestly. What I really wanted to do was get Cameron somewhere private, which the Faerie of Future House obviously also wanted. But I figured someone as inherently delightful as myself could plausibly swoop in and try to save him from his interaction with Tad. I asked the bartender what Cameron was drinking and he said, “Diet Coke.” I got one and meandered back toward Cameron.
Tad was still talking when I got back.
“BlankChat is running on all my devices,” he said. “I haven’t used a phone for the last four years. I didn’t get to be the most productive CEO in Silicon Valley by wasting time on phones or computers.”
Cameron nodded sagely.
“Do you know how many productive hours have been wasted on your game?” Tad said. “Countless productive hours—”
“No, they’re countable,” Cameron interrupted. “We log session times back to the server.”
“We could feature your game as a case study on our marketing site—the perils of Sparkle Dungeon addiction.”
“Probably not too many case studies on BlankChat addiction though, yeah?”
I nudged Cameron and offered him the Diet Coke. He smiled and accepted it, and as he did, I said, “There you are, Cameron! You said you were going to give me the tour, and I’ve been waiting downstairs for an hour!” I wasn’t using power morphemes; I was just super charming in that way that comes naturally when you’re in an outstanding costume.
“Oh,” he said, quickly catching on to my rescue attempt, “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot about that! I’ve just been so busy hosting tonight, but that was very rude.” He turned to Tad and said, “Would you excuse me? I’ve been delinquent in my obligations to Graziella von Groove.” He gave the Faerie of Future House a small bow and said, “Please send the Sparkle King’s regards to your family and everyone in the Needle Drop Downs.” Oh what fun!
I took his arm and led him back through the grand dining room. Along the way he said, “Thanks for the save. I will admit I don’t recognize you with that mask on.”
“I’m Isobel Bailie,” I said, thinking he might recognize the name of his coordinator from Jenning & Reece. He shook his head slightly, so I added, “I’m the Queen of Sparkle Dungeon.”
He stopped in his tracks and said, “Get out! Seriously?” Then he paused, and his face became instantly serious, “Ohhhh, so you’re—you reported the Dauphine problem.”
“Can we talk somewhere in private?” I ventured to ask.
He said, “I don’t have anything to say about that issue.” Impressive how fast his whole demeanor became subtly hostile to me.
“I have another issue to report,” I said.
“I’m the CEO. I don’t work support tickets.”
“I was attacked last night at Violet Parker’s fundraiser. By Maddy Price.”
He seemed to freeze for a moment. I let my statement hang there, offering no further information to satisfy his hopefully dawning curiosity.
Finally, he said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Were you hurt?”
“Lost a few hit points but I’m recovering.”
“Good. Isobel, I don’t know what you’re expecting from me tonight, but I’ll just say I’m sorry to disappoint you and we’ll have to leave it at that. I’ll give you a piece of unsolicited advice, though. If you’re somehow mixed up with Violet Parker and Maddy Price, you might want to reconsider your career trajectory.”
He started to walk away from me. Apparently my natural charm wasn’t sufficient for this encounter.
I knew it was probably a bad idea, but I launched into an improvised sequence of power morphemes all the same. I didn’t want to hurt him, or brainwash him to do my bidding, or insert some elaborate lattice of ideas into his mind. I just wanted him to take me seriously. I didn’t know how to mask them, so I had to deliver them right out in the open, taking the risk that others in the dining room might also hear them. It didn’t matter to me. The improvisation was meant to just gently induce a slight euphoric sense of wonder, or curiosity, and I was hoping he’d associate that curiosity with my tantalizing mention of Maddy.
The improvisation took me maybe ten seconds to deliver. That’s a damn long time when people are starting to stare in your direction with a vague sense of expectation that you will not be able to satisfy whatsoever.
Slowly Cameron turned back toward me, displaying no sign that the power morphemes had affected him in the slightest. Then he closed the distance between us, so that no one else could hear him, and said, “Very well, Queen of Sparkle Dungeon. You’ve won an audience with the Sparkle King.”