Armchair Safari (A Cybercrime Technothriller)

by Jonathan Paul Isaacs

  “We get a cut? How much?”

  “Ten percent. So if someone gets fifty dollars taken from them, we make five.”

  Derek was having a hard time understanding how the figures he was hearing would be attractive to a typical gamer. “Roger, you’re throwing around some hefty pocket change. A hundred dollars, fifty dollars... I mean, what size is an average account?”

  “I think about three hundred dollars.”

  The average player kept three hundred dollars tied up in an online game? And kept dumping more money in after that?

  He sat and stared out the window. “And how often does someone get broken into?” Derek asked finally.

  “On average, about twice a month.”

  Outside, a lone power boat buzzed faintly on the river far below.

  This was crazy.

  “Okay, let me get this straight,” Derek said finally. “If I want to play this game, I’m going to put three hundred dollars into an account for which I’m going to pay twenty dollars for the privilege of having it exist in the first place. That privilege is prone to risk of loss, which happens every other week. When it does happen, not only do I need to replenish my own capital, I need to go rob someone else just to get back to even—only I have to rob more than what I lost because there is immediate shrinkage of ten percent. Is that about the gist of it?”

  Roger nodded. “Hmm. Pretty good summary. Yep, that’s it.”

  “I would never play this game in a million years.”

  “I guess a little adventure isn’t for everyone,” Roger replied.

  “Everyone? You mean, anyone. I can’t believe anyone would shell out that much money for an online game. I’m struggling here. I know what our revenues are but I can’t see how we’re getting there. How many players do we have subscribed?”

  Roger shrugged. “We have two hundred thousand as of last month. But remember, we’re still early.”

  Derek was dumbstruck.

  The powerboat buzzed around the bend in the river, out of sight.

  Derek saw that Roger was staring at him. Only gradually did he notice the twinkle in his eye.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry. I can see what’s going on in your brain—it’s all over your face. And I can’t decide if what I’m about to tell you will let you off the hook, or make your head explode.”

  “Speak.”

  Roger polished off the last of his water. “Okay. Let’s talk about averages first. When I tell you that the average account size is three hundred bucks, that’s just the math. The dollars are really skewed. A typical player’s account is only about one-fifty. Break that out over twelve months and your members are basically paying twelve-fifty a month. That’s dinner at McDonald’s. It’s on par with what other online games charge for monthly membership. So from a cash outlay standpoint, most players are just shelling out the market rate. And we thrive because we aren’t designing the adventures, but making the players do it as a matter of course. Infinite content and a more efficient operating model.”

  Derek was scribbling more notes, hoping that seeing figures in writing would help him understand. “So how does the average up to three hundred, then? Surely, you don’t have—”

  “Yes, we do. You’re absolutely right. Our biggest high rollers have account balances of, I don't know, maybe thirty grand or more.”

  “Thirty thousand dollars?” Derek squawked.

  “Yep. Those are the power players, the professionals. For some of them, our little game represents a way to make a living. Please understand that they didn’t put that much of their own money in at the beginning. They’ve accumulated it over time from being successful, and regularly harvest some amount of their earnings and cash out.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  “Hey, you create an environment, and somehow, somewhere, the environment attracts a sort of person that is going to figure out how to make a buck. How many people make their primary income from selling second-hand junk on eBay? You and I might just unload an occasional discovery from our attic. But believe it or not, there are people out there making a living as e-Sanford and Son.”

  “Incredible.”

  “Of course,” Roger added, winking, “the thirty grand is an average, too. There’s a range there as well.”

  Derek finished writing. “Okay. Man, this is crazy. We should have had this talk weeks ago.”

  “You’ve only been here a month. I knew you’d find me when you were ready,” Roger said. “Until you were, it wouldn’t have been as relevant.”

  “All right. So, you’re saying that all of this just is, like it’s a fact of nature along with gravity and the sun rising. Now tell me how it came to be. How can a player grow a pile of cash like that when everyone is out to take it? Why wouldn’t they withdraw all of it and invest it in their favorite stock pick? I still don’t quite see how this all comes together.”

  Roger looked down at the table, grinning. “Well, we can’t make it too easy for a player to get cleaned out. They’d never come back. So we have a trick.”

  “What? Is there some sort of cap?”

  “Simpler. Weight.”

  “Wait for what?” asked Derek.

  “No, no. Weight. Heaviness. Everything has weight. Including, in this case, money.”

  The light bulb went on. In most adventure games, character equipment like armor and weapons were given a certain mass to not only provide a little bit of realism in how much a character could lug around, but also to force upon the player the dilemma of having to make tradeoffs when they were at their carrying capacity. Do I keep the enchanted shield, or drop it in favor of the bejeweled sword? A player would have to decide which was more valuable to them because they couldn’t carry it all. But money—coins, jewels, gemstones, treasures—were typically made to be weightless as part of the game mechanic.

  Not in Netertainment’s world, it seemed. If a player could only carry a certain amount of weight, then naturally there would be a limit as to how much could be robbed.

  “How much can a character carry?” Derek asked.

  “Oh, let’s see. It probably works out to about sixty bucks.”

  “Huh.”

  “See, not so bad, is it? The market seems comfortable with that level of table stakes—especially when you’re a more optimistic sort and are thinking of the potential gain, not the loss.”

  It didn’t sound so bad now, Derek thought. But what about those power players? “How did the folks with the big balances get such large hordes if they have to build it from such miniscule quantities?”

  “Usually donkeys.”

  Derek squinted, uncomprehending.

  Roger seemed disappointed that Derek didn’t get his brand of humor. “What I mean is there are ways to increase how much you can carry, especially if you have resources and a willingness to spend. Your character can buy a donkey, for example. Buy a whole damn caravan if you want, and you can haul quite a bit away—a lot more than sixty dollars. But, again, we add balance to the game. Donkeys aren’t cheap. They’re slow. They aren’t exactly known for being particularly defensible. I’ve seen some of the death animations that Manmeet and team have put together, and they're pretty ghastly. I’m not even sure where they got the sound effects to go with it.”

  “Donkeys,” Derek repeated.

  “Just one example. We have other artifacts available in the game that help players carry more loot. Sometimes a lot more. It’s all part of selling the dream of a big payoff. But every choice has a drawback or limitation.”

  “And it sounds like reality sets in more often than not, right? You grab all this loot—and then Marty’s mobile app alerts the owner of the stronghold that they’re being robbed.”

  Roger nodded. “Then the hunt begins. You get a really pissed-off robbery victim who logs in and is ready to play vigilante. Now remember, the victim trying to get his stuff back is going to be weaker than before the break in. He has less treasure in his vault after the robbery, and Saf
ari’s core incentive to put money in is that the bigger your account is, the more powerful your character. But the robber is going to be weaker, too, after overcoming all of those defenses to get at the loot.”

  “Does the robber get the benefit of the extra treasure increasing their abilities?”

  “Nope. It’s not your money until you get it home. It’s nobody’s money.”

  “Oh. So it’s an even match up then.”

  “Er... yes and no. Maybe a straight-up fight would be even. But all the robbery victim has to do is slaughter your little caravan there and all the money sort of evaporates back home.”

  Roger cleared his throat again. “Look, Derek, this can all sound a little overwhelming until you’ve played the game. But the important takeaway is this: the game is balanced. Players do not, in fact, lose their shirt overnight except in very rare circumstances. On the contrary, game play usually ends up being much more snatch-and-grab, which is what we want. Those types of excursions make for exciting game play but don’t hurt our clientele. It’s a stable environment.”

  “And,” Derek added, “we take our fee of ten percent regardless.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do players ever pull together as a group?”

  Roger nodded. “Absolutely. They form quest parties, or even clans. We see neighborhood watches to protect fortresses while the occupants are away. In a few cases there have been full-blown alliances that go to war against each other. All kinds of things that are only limited by the imaginations of our player community.”

  Once again, Derek was writing furiously in his black notebook. This was a lot to absorb. He had gone from being skeptical to fascinated in about fifteen minutes. But what was more, he thought he finally had his finger on the math.

  “If I take three hundred dollars, robbed twice a month at a twenty percent max, and we take ten of that, that’s twelve... add ten to build your stronghold—let’s just say, ten every month to rebuild and provide maintenance, that’s another twelve... twenty-four dollars a month over the player base makes for about $5 million in revenue per month. Which works, since that’s about what we did last month. So we’re trending to about $60 million a year if I project it out linearly. Right?”

  “Wrong. Our growth is accelerating,” Roger replied.

  “So I’m being conservative.”

  Roger smiled broadly. “That’s your prerogative as the finance guy.”

  “But where’s all that money on the balance sheet?”

  The smile slipped from Roger’s face. “Huh? I don’t understand.”

  “Roger, if our user community has three hundred bucks each, times two hundred thousand users, that means there should be sixty million dollars of cash parked somewhere on our balance sheet. It’s not. Where is it?”

  “All that money is deposited at Bermuda Bank of Commerce—BBC.”

  “But it’s not on my balance sheet.”

  This time, it was Roger’s turn to wear the mental struggle on his face. “It’s... it’s not under us. It’s under all the individual users.”

  “Why isn’t it under us?”

  “Derek, we’re an online game company—that’s our core competency. We’re not a bank. Why would we need to build out that capability when BBC, who has a ton of e-commerce experience, can do it for us and we can focus our resources elsewhere?”

  “I’m not suggesting we go into the banking business. I am suggesting that we act as an intermediary.”

  It was clear Roger didn’t understand. Derek leaned back and took a deep breath. Now it was his time to be the professor.

  “Roger, do you know what our percentage of operating income is?”

  A pause. “I didn’t think we were making any profit yet?”

  “That’s right. We have $60 million in revenues and we’re underwater by a couple points. But I also see our players circulating $60 million within the game, just based on how much money is on the table and completely independent of what our fees and ‘taxes’ are. Do you know how much I can make in interest on that cash, simply by holding the paper?”

  Another pause. “No.”

  “Probably six percent with good commercial rates. So I can make us profitable—overnight—by basically doing nothing. All I need to do is own that paper instead of making it a pass-through.”

  Roger wrinkled his forehead. “That might necessitate a change to our End User License Agreement.”

  Derek tapped his index finger on the tabletop. “Don’t care. We need to do this, Roger. I’m going to talk to Jim.”

  The sun outside broke free of one of the few clouds hanging in the sky over the river, and filled the break room with its warmth.

  “Derek,” Roger said appreciatively, “I guess that’s why you’re here. To take us to the next level. I can already see why Jim likes you.”

  “Well, I don’t have your way with words, so I need to show other redeeming qualities. By the way, you haven’t dropped an F-bomb in this whole conversation. I think that’s a record.”

  “If you make my stock options double by doing ‘nothing’ as you described, Derek, I will string together a tapestry of cussing that will make you avert your eyes, it will be so beautiful.”

  “Challenge accepted,” Derek said, and the two men gave each other a fist bump.

  5

  The Haagenan, Armchair Safari.

  The massive sentry stopped and readied his pole axe.

  Megan crouched behind her rock and waited. Had the soldier heard her? She dared not peek around the side of the boulder that kept her hidden. It was nerve racking. The soldier could be readying a charge to end her life, and she would not even realize it until the end came. Megan closed her eyes and kept listening.

  The sudden jingle of chainmail caused her to clench her teeth. But then she realized the noises were fading. Megan peeked around the boulder to see the sentry running towards where she had thrown the rock a moment before. Her distraction had actually worked.

  Without wasting another moment Megan was on her feet, crouching low, silent, covering the distance between her hiding spot and the stronghold as fast as she could. She got to the wall and immediately set to climbing, practically leaping like a cat from the rocky ground to the carefully fitted bricks of the keep. The iron climbing claws sewn across the palms of her gloves grabbed hold of the rough rock easily and made scaling a simple matter. Within a minute she was at the top of the stronghold’s first line of defense.

  Only now did Megan pause and reward her progress with a moment to take in the view. The wide, rocky hills surrounded Hutto’s stronghold, extending in all directions until they eventually met the purple-shaded mountain range far off in the distance. Thin, wispy clouds gently drifted past the face of the full moon above. She loved looking at the vistas around her, and it was a beautiful night. And it would be even better yet if Megan accomplished what she had come for.

  Back to the task at hand. No time for messing around.

  The inner keep was right before her, a great square tower standing some twenty yards from the outer wall that she had just scaled. Shrugging off the coil of thin burglar’s rope that she had draped across her chest, Megan tied a loop around one of the wall’s crenellations and let the other end fall to the ground inside the compound. She rappelled briskly down to the courtyard and slipped into the shadows. There were only two sentries that she saw, twins of the monster outside, but they were resolutely guarding the main entry gate to the keep and were facing away from her. Their presence didn’t matter. Megan wasn’t going to enter through the main gate.

  Instead, there was a small, rectangular window up three stories on the keep wall that looked particularly inviting.

  She tied the burglar's rope through the shoulder straps of her backpack and left her unneeded supplies against the wall. Then she dashed across the courtyard and started scaling the inner keep. She reached the window and wriggled her way inside. The stronghold belonging to Hutto, Lord of the Haagenan, Destroyer of the Triple Cities, Maste
r of the Northern Hills—a castle that no one dared to assault or challenge—had been breached by a thief. Easily.

  It took a moment for Megan’s eyes to adjust. She appeared to be in a bedchamber. The walls were adorned with elaborate tapestries and a lacquered wardrobe full of women’s clothes stood opposite an ornate mirror in the corner.

  There was a single wooden door as the exit. Footsteps were rapidly approaching from the other side.

  Megan looked around in a panic. Had she been spotted by one of the outside sentries? She had to find a hiding place. Megan dashed to the side of the wardrobe and slipped behind the open door. Maybe, just maybe, she would go unnoticed if someone came inside.

  The door flew open and there were rapid footsteps over to the bed, then sounds of rummaging through a drawer. More footsteps to the wardrobe and clothes pushed violently aside. Then the wardrobe door closed suddenly and Megan was face-to-face with a young woman. The heavy white makeup and ornate jewelry clearly marked her as a courtesan. The girl blinked at the sight of Megan and took a step back, nearly tripping on her pink silk robes. A scream began to work its way up her throat.

  Megan punched her in the face.

  The courtesan’s expression changed instantly to indignation. She bared her now-bloody teeth and lunged forward at Megan to do battle over the terrible insult to her honor and standing. Slap, slap, slap.

  Really?

  None of the blows hurt, although the sounds might have made anyone in the corridor wonder what sort of fantasy was being fulfilled here in the bedroom. Then an errant fingernail clawed Megan’s cheek. Enough was enough. Megan pulled the girl close by her wrist and head-butted her on the bridge of her nose. The courtesan fell immediately to the flagstone floor, unconscious. Megan took her jewelry and crept into the corridor.

  The magical globe lights in the ceiling made it difficult to melt into the shadows. Megan searched through a number of hallways until she found a spiral staircase that went down several flights to another narrow hall. There were unusual sounds down here, sort of like kitchen utensils clanging on each other. Megan ignored them and tried creeping past two large double doors when they suddenly opened with a loud creek.