How the Xbox One80 came to pass

Well, what utter poor timing. I actually had an article mostly written, ready to go up early this week and maybe get a double week in just cause, when Microsoft couldn't hold off the screaming any longer and actually reversed it's god-awful DRM polices. Which, while being great news for people who like to own things that they pay full retail price for, it completely made my original article irrelevant. Arseholes.

So instead I wrote how I imagined the meeting must of gone to get them to reverse something Microsoft clearly had a giant boner for.

'Sir, we have a problem.'

The nervous voice quavered once into the silent shadows. It was mid-June, yet the shutters were drawn in the conference room creating a stifling heat. The words were quickly swallowed by the oppressive silence; too quickly, like having your ears stuffed with cotton wool. It was too dark to see clearly; ahead was the impression of a long table, with tall, overarching chairs hiding any number of potential occupants inside. The chair at the head of the table was a clear two feet taller than the others, and it's features blurred in the darkness, but somewhere, at the edge of your vision, suggested cruel, carved spikes.

Jeffrey shuffled to himself awkwardly. It's okay, he told himself. I have my notes, he consoled, clutching them to himself like a shield.

But it wasn't going to be okay. And he knew to think otherwise was madness.

'Sir? Are you her-ARGH.'

Jeffrey threw himself backwards as Don Mattrick suddenly stood before him. No, not suddenly, the word 'suddenly' implies a quickness. He wasn't there, and then he was always just there. No movement, just a certainty of being, standing less then a finger's width from Jeffrey's face, like someone had misplaced a few frames of the universe. Jeffrey climbed to his feet, slowly, gathering his scattered notes as he did so. Mattrick stood unmoving the whole time, watching Jeffrey's scrabbling with his head cocked to the side like a curious vulture.

This article may of been entirely influenced by how creepy I find his eyes. It's like he sees you already dead.

'There are no problems, minion. All is well, minion.' Jeffrey winced as thirteen voices spoke as one, as unseen occupants of the chairs suddenly spoke in unison. Each time Mattrick made them do that Jeffrey could feel his soul ache.

'Sir, I'm Jeffrey. We've talked about that. You can't call us minions.'

'Then what are you?' Mattrick hissed into his left ear, now standing at his side. Somehow, Jeffrey knew he picked that side because as he was right handed, and so his left was his weaker side. Mattrick was always the predator.

'The intern. I've served with you for three months. It's the longest anyone's ever managed to do that, sir.' Jeffrey's voice spoke not with pride, but with resignation and a quiet horror. Without seeing Mattrick's face, he knew he smiled a gimlet grim of victory at that.

'Yesssss... the intern. Trusted... servant. But we have no problems. All is well.' A red light bathed the head chair, and Mattrick was standing on front of it. On the plus side, he was further away from Jeffery. On the negative side, the blood-red light brought the chair into focus, and seeing it in the light made Jeffery's eyes hurt.

'It's about the Xbox One...'

'Ingenious. I have created the ultimate product. Do you not agree, servant?'

'Well, it's going to be very good sir, but-'

'It is perfect.' In Mattrick's hand was now a small recording device, circular, like an eye, spinning in his palm seemingly of it's own free will. Mattrick stroked it, and crooned at it like a child. 'A device where we will sell the... games... and yet we still own them. They are ours. It is... perfect.' The last word, was again, was delivered in a hiss from thirteen throats.

'They're still complaining about that. And when I say they, I mean, everyone sir. And it's starting to hit mainstream media.' As Jeffrey spoke, Mattrick drifted to the shuttered windows, legs still as the grave, but gliding across the floor. He came to the window, and placed his hand in the centre, before grasping the blinds in a tight grip. Jeffrey know from experience that grip was like iron. He shuddered in recollection of that buried memory brought to the surface like the rising of bile, but persevered, and ploughed on.

'The military sir, they are set against it. They're afraid of it's country restrictions, it's internet requirements, and  potential to pick up idle chatter.' At each point, Mattrick's smile widened impossibly, until his month became no more then a slit in meat extending to the jawbone. 'And, well, everyone likes the military, sir, we look bad. It's...'

'Soldiers.' Mattrick spoke the word like he had never said it before, turning it over in his mouth like a sweet. Apart from that, he didn't even appear to register Jeffrey any more, only the spinning camera in his other hand. Then, for no discernible reason, he crushed it, and a pitiful whine came from the device as it died.

'This whole thing... the used game fee, the Kinect watching issues, the internet check ins, no backwards compatibility... it could hurt our bottom line, sir.' At this, Mattrick's head snapped to face him, without turning his neck or shoulders, just a head facing backwards obscenely.

'They are the ones who are backward. But it must be done. For us. Did we not invent a justification? We said ... sharing? Sharing is... good?' Mattrick's voice hissed, like the act of forming such a sentence offended his very being, 'Whatever it is we decide to... allow to be... shared. And they whine. They cry. They. Will. Submit. And later, they will all rot. Everything rots in the end, servant. You rot now, in front of me, as a trillion, billion bacteria eat you from inside out, as your cells wither away. You cannot see it yourself, but my cameras, my Kinect, they see it all.'

Jeffrey shivered despite the heat. Shadows on top of the chairs shifted, as on top of each one, a Kinect whirred and spun to face Jeffeye. In front of them, he felt naked. In his mind, he could hear them laughing mirthlessly.

'Sony's E3 performance suggests-'

'JACK TRETTON IS A FOOL!' At once Mattrick was in front of Jeffrey, seizing him like a vice. He picked him up like it troubled him no more than Jeffrey would shift a piece of paper, and whipped towards the window. Taking one hand off of Jeffrey, yet still holding him up in defiance of physics, Mattrick threw open the blinds, heedless to the cries of panic from the unseen inhabitants of the chairs. As sunlight streamed into the room, an almighty cheer rose.

At the window, Jack Tretton was pressing his bare buttocks up to the glass, holding his trousers up with one hand and a microphone in the other, facing a crowd of staggering proportions. The cheering rose to a deafening degree as Jack, noticing Mattrick's presence, flipped him the bird with the hand holding the mic. Swiftly pulling up his trousers, Jack rose his hands for the adulation of the crowd.

'We love you Jack!'

'Drop that mic, Jack!'

'Jack have my babies!'

'Fuck the Xbox! PS4, baby!'

Jeffrey closed his eyes in sheer terror as Mattrick hissed at Jack through the glass besides him.

'AND NOW, FREE ICE CREAM FOR EVERYBODY!' Opening his eyes just a crack, Jeffrey saw Jack Tretton leap into the crowd, and be carried away. In a few minutes, the crowd dispersed with him, leaving the silence behind, interrupted only but the gentle rustling of litter. A lurching sensation in the pit of Jeffrey's stomach was the only warning he had of gravity re-asserting himself as Mattrick moved away.

'IMBECILE. HE KNOW'S NOTHING! NOTHING!' At the table, Mattrick seized an unseen occupant of one of chairs, pulling him into the light. Jeffrey, catching his balance had a glimpse of a balding, blank faced man in a plain suit before Mattrick lifted him above his head. With no visible effort, Mattrick tore the man wetly into two different halves.

Blood soaked the room, coating Mattrick and the table, and barely missing Jeffrey bar a few splats to his notes. A almost gentle thud/slap came as Mattrick dropped the two halves of the man, seemingly forgetting about him.

'HE THINKS THIS A GAME? WE SET THE PATH!' Now Mattrick walked towards Jeffrey, the first time Jeffrey could ever recall him deigning to use his legs. He walked stiffly, raising and and lowering his legs in a jitter, like a puppet. Blood made Mattrick shine red, and with every shrieked word, blood ran down and flicked off his lips, towards Jeffrey, who was too paralysed with fear to move.

'GAMES WE SELL BUT STILL CONTROL. HE SHOULD HAVE FOLLOWED. HE SHOULD HAVE FOLLOWED, AS IT HIS PLACE, MINION. INSTEAD HE STANDS AGAINST US. NO CONTROL OF THE CATTLE. NO DEMANDS OF THE CATTLE. NO CHECKS OF THE CATTLE. NO WATCHING, NO LISTENING OF THE CATTLE. JUST HIS SILLY GAMES AND SILLY PRICES. ALL WILL FALL. ALL WILL ROT.

'INSTEAD HE LET'S THE CATTLE ROAM FREE. MADNESS. THEY WILL BUY, THEY WILL SUBMIT, THEY WILL-'

'They won't sir.' Jeffrey's voice was no more then a breath, as he watched, transfixed, as with each word, the torn apart man mirrored Mattrick's rant through blood slick lips. As shocked silence reigned in the room, the torn apart man eyes cleared as he stared deep into Jeffrey's eye, as he was finally released from his hold long enough to expire. His last breathe gargling out was swallowed in the hush of the furnishings.

My god, thought Jeffrey. He was smiling at me. He was crying. Oh god, he was thanking me... with effort, he put the dying man out of his mind and continued.

A small part of him dispaired how quickly he now could do that.

'It's too far. If... ah, 'all will rot?' These people, they, ah, 'all will not buy.' It is too much. We've done it sir. We've finally asked them too much. It'll be... a disaster. Even the publishers who want it, well, with the PS4, it'll expose them when they do thier own control. They'll have to distance themselves from us. We'll... we'll lose money, sir. And it's not like Windows 8 is doing that well... Microsoft has money. But we can't keep doing this forever. Okay, we could probably continue down this path for a one hundred more years with the sheer amount of money we have, but people are competing with us. And they're gaining ground. And the Xbox One? It's a joke. A mockery. The Xbone.'

Jeffrey let the most blood splattered notes fall to the floor. His head was swimming, and he didn't care any more. He could feel the rage, sense Mattrick's face purpling behind the sheen of red, and he didn't care. He hadn't felt any emotion other than resignation and various states of terror in months. Let it end.

And just like that, an arm appeared around his shoulder, in a grotesque parody of friendship, like a CEO eschewing a tie.

'Jeffrey, you've done so well. The numbers must rise. We must sell a billion consoles. We... will give the cattle a treat. We will... allow them to own their precious games.' Jeffrey, eyes closed trying to block out the sensation of the wetness seeping into his own clothes from Mattrick's outstretched arm, could picture Mattrick's face twisted into a rictus snarl of disgust all too clearly in his mind's eye. 'If we must... even if our idea was for the best. Even if we must now drop the sharing, and we're only doing it because the cattle are too stupid to recognise greatness. It will be a terrible step backwards, for the whining, foolish cattle.'

'Yes sir. Uh, the word 'cattle,' is just as bad as 'minion,' in that context, sir.'

'Besides, we could always bring it back later, once the money is in our hands.'

'Yes... okay. Fine. About the Kin-'

'-the camera stays. I like to watch.'

'Fine sir. Just fine. Can... can I go, sir?'

'Very well. We release you, servant.' The final sentence was rattled by the now twelve throats, and the pressure around Jeffrey's shoulders eased. As the arm lifted, Jeffrey nearly heaved in relief. The last of his pride slithered away when he knew he wasn't leaving the office, he was fleeing. I have to get a new job, thought Jeffrey. No matter how morally dubious, he could put up with it.

Maybe the NSA was still hiring.