Peyton Holt jolted awake when a flip-flop smacked the underside of his bunk bed.
"Peyton! Get your lazy ass up! Professor Ramirez is doing roll call, and if you make me look bad again I swear I'm selling your Xbox on eBay!"
The voice belonged to Mason Parker: six-foot-three, always starving, future esports commentator in his own mind, and currently Peyton's roommate from hell.
Peyton sat up so fast he almost knocked himself out on the top bunk.
"…Mason?"
He blinked hard.
Six bunk beds. A mini-fridge that sounded like a jet engine on its last legs. A peeling Halo 3: ODST poster. The unmistakable cocktail of Axe body spray, stale pizza, and unwashed laundry.
This wasn't the penthouse in Santa Monica.
This was freshman dorm, West Coast State University, Los Angeles, California.
2009.
He was nineteen again.
Before the full-blown panic attack could kick in, a translucent blue panel popped into existence right in front of his eyes.
[Loss Conversion System binding in progress…]
[Binding successful!]
[Host: Peyton James Holt]
[Age: 19 | Location: Los Angeles, CA]
[System Funds: $50,000 (business use only, non-withdrawable)]
[Personal Cash: $443.12]
[Profit → Personal conversion rate: 100:1]
[Loss → Personal conversion rate: 1:1]
[Settlement cycle: every 14 days]
[Next settlement: 14 days]
Peyton stared at the numbers until they burned into his retinas.
He had died (well, technically he hadn't, but the last thing he remembered was nodding off at his desk after a 90-hour crunch in 2019). Ten years of soul-crushing corporate jobs, three layoffs, one boss who made him redo spreadsheets for fun.
And now the universe had hit the ultimate reset button and handed him the most broken cheat code in existence.
Lose fifty grand for the company → get fifty grand in his own pocket, tax-free, spend-it-on-a-lifetime-supply-of-tacos money.
Make fifty grand profit → get five hundred bucks.
He almost laughed out loud in the middle of the dorm room.
Mason was still yelling from the hallway. "Ten seconds, dude! I'm not waiting!"
"Go ahead!" Peyton shouted back. "I'm sick!"
Mason flipped him off and vanished.
The second the door slammed shut, Peyton lunged for his ancient Dell laptop that wheezed like an asthmatic chainsaw. He opened California's brand-new "Start-a-Business-in-30-Seconds" portal (thank you, post-2008 stimulus package) and filled out the form with malicious glee.
Legal name: Peyton James Holt
Business name: **SkyHigh Games LLC**
Industry: Video Game Development
Registered agent address: Dorm Room 412, West Coast State University (because why not?)
Click. Click. Done.
A new line appeared on the system panel:
[Company registered: SkyHigh Games LLC]
[System Funds transferred: $50,000 → Company Account]
Peyton leaned back against the cinderblock wall and grinned like a supervillain.
SkyHigh Games.
Because the only direction he wanted this company to go was straight into the ground.
He opened the federal Entertainment Software Development Hub (ESDH). In this timeline, the government had dumped billions into indie-game stimulus after the crash. They built an official asset store and a drag-and-drop editor so powerful that any college kid with a dream and a credit card could ship a game in a weekend.
Peyton had played hundreds of games in his previous life.
He knew exactly what players hated.
And he was going to give it to them in the purest, most concentrated form possible.
He cracked his knuckles.
Time to burn fifty grand in one afternoon.
He opened the asset store and started shopping like it was Black Friday and the credit card belonged to someone he hated.
- "Realistic Vehicle Physics – Highway Edition" – $20,000
- "Endless Procedural Desert Highway Pack (dynamic sandstorms, day/night cycle, tumbleweeds)" – $23,000
- "Royalty-Free Lo-Fi & Elevator Music Mega Bundle – 100 tracks" – $6,000
- "Global Leaderboard & Stats Module" – $1,000
- "Premium Sandstorm Intensity Slider" – $999
- "Desert Radio Station Add-on (randomized songs + static)" – $1
Total: $50,000 exactly.
System Funds: $0.
Peyton cackled.
Phase one complete.
Now for the fun part: building the most unplayable game in human history.
He dragged the driving template into the editor and got to work.
Eight real-time hours to the finish line.
No pause button.
No checkpoints.
One tiny mistake → instant restart.
He was going to make the player suffer.
And he was going to love every second of it.Next chapter: Peyton finishes his masterpiece and hits publish… completely unaware that a certain YouTuber is about to ruin his perfect plan.