Friday morning.
The download counter had stopped being funny and started being a war crime.
**Lonely Desert Highway**
**Downloads: 1,047,229**
**Gross revenue: $732,000+**
**Steam, Xbox, and PlayStation front-page features: all ironic, all permanent**
Peyton hadn't slept. His eyes were redder than the negative balance he wished he had.
The system panel floated in the corner of his vision like a smug loan shark.
[Current company profit: $682,160 (after platform cuts)]
[Personal cash incoming at settlement: $6,821.60]
[Money you will never see because the game won't stop printing cash: $675,338.40]
He wanted to throw up.
He wanted to delete the game from existence.
He tried.
The ESDH dashboard had a big red warning:
"Due to viral performance and media coverage, removal requests are frozen for 30 days to prevent abuse."
He was trapped.
His phone buzzed again. An email from the ESDH partner team.
Subject: Congratulations! Featured Creator Spotlight + Revenue Bonus
Body: "We've never seen organic growth like this. Expect interview requests from IGN, Kotaku, and Good Morning America."
Peyton screamed into his pillow until the pillow surrendered.
Mason kicked the door open holding two Starbucks cups.
"Dude, you're famous! Some kid in my econ class just asked if I know the guy who made 'Desert Depression Simulator.' I told him we share a bathroom. He looked like he saw Jesus."
Peyton's voice was gravel.
"Tell him Jesus is busy burning in hell right now."
Mason handed him an iced coffee. "Look, I don't know why you're having a mental breakdown over making bank, but you need to chill. People are saying this is the funniest thing since Goat Simulator."
"That's the problem," Peyton whispered. "It was supposed to be the worst thing since Superman 64."
Mason blinked. "Wait… you made it bad on purpose?"
Peyton didn't answer. He was too busy staring at the new notification that just slid in.
**Old Joe just announced a charity speedrun marathon.**
**Goal: raise $1 million for mental health by suffering through Lonely Desert Highway 100 times back-to-back.**
Current pledges: $412,000 and climbing.
Peyton's eye twitched.
Mason patted his shoulder. "Bro… I think you accidentally invented performance art."
Peyton stood up, wiped his face, and made a decision.
If the universe wouldn't let him lose fifty grand, he would lose five hundred grand.
He opened the system panel and slammed the button he'd been avoiding.
[Request new System Funds? Y/N]
[Approved. $500,000 transferred to SkyHigh Games LLC account.]
Mason whistled. "Where the hell did you get half a million dollars?"
"Magic," Peyton said, voice hollow. "Dark, evil magic."
He opened the ESDH editor again.
New project title: **The Lonely Ocean.**
Game concept:
- You are a plastic straw drifting in the Pacific Garbage Patch.
- Gameplay loop: float aimlessly for 72 real-life hours while seagulls scream at you.
- No controls.
- No ending.
- Only a slow zoom-out revealing how small and meaningless you are.
He looked at Mason with the dead eyes of a man who had nothing left to lose.
"Round two."
Mason took one look at the screen and slowly backed out of the room again.
"I'm gonna… go to class. You do you, king."
Peyton cracked his knuckles.
This time, he would make something so unfun, so existentially dreadful, that not even irony could save it.
He didn't finish the thought.
Because in the back of his mind, a tiny, terrified voice whispered:
What if it sells even more?
He shoved the thought away.
No.
This time he would win.
This time he would lose everything.
He opened the asset store and started shopping for the most depressing sound effects money could buy.
Seagull screams: $4,999.
Ocean plastic crinkling SFX pack: $9,999.
Ambient despair drone bundle: $14,999.
The cart total climbed like a stock he desperately wished would crash.
He smiled for the first time in 48 hours.
It was the smile of a man marching happily into hell, convinced the devil would finally give him a refund.
The universe watched.
And it laughed harder than ever.