Espector Studios — Late-December, 2010
It was supposed to be a quiet Thursday.
James was reviewing bug tickets from the beta launch of the Christmas update. Airi was asleep at her desk with her sketch tablet still glowing. Yuri was on a Zoom call with their CDN provider, negotiating better server throughput. Sam was lounging with her legs on the couch, one AirPod in while listening to a podcast that was, ironically, discussing "the rise of indie game studios."
Then the landline rang.
It never rang.
James answered, confused. "Hello?"
"Good afternoon, this is Joanne from the front desk. There's a Mr. Devon Kellerman here to see you. He says he's from… Titan Forge Interactive?"
James tilted his head to the side. Titan Forge?
That name didn't ring a bell.
Not in this world.
Not in his previous one, either.
He had memorized every major player in the gaming industry—past and present—from the EAs, Ubisofts, and Activisions of Earth to the smaller studios that came and went like tides. But "Titan Forge" wasn't on any of those lists.
And that made it worse.
"I'll be down," James said, voice guarded.
He dropped the phone, grabbed his hoodie off the back of his chair, and turned to Yuri. "Heads up. We've got a walk-in. Claims to be from a studio called Titan Forge."
Yuri narrowed her eyes. "Never heard of them."
"Exactly."
James left the office and rode the elevator down to the small lobby, where a man in a gray tailored suit was waiting by the café. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a fintech magazine, not in game dev.
Slicked-back blonde hair. Polished shoes. A leather briefcase. And a smile that was just a bit too perfect.
"Mr. Reyes," the man greeted as he stood. "Devon Kellerman. It's a pleasure."
James shook his hand but kept his expression neutral. "Likewise."
They sat down in one of the lobby lounge chairs.
"I know the drop-in was sudden," Devon began, "but my team and I have been tracking your studio for a while now. Furious Birds is trending across multiple regions. FlapFlap Hero has serious momentum. You're on a rocket—just like we expected."
James gave a polite nod, still trying to place the guy. "And Titan Forge?"
"We're a global publishing and infrastructure firm based out of Singapore, recently expanding into North America and Southeast Asia. We specialize in helping breakout studios make the leap from indie to international."
James folded his arms. "I see. And how exactly do you help?"
Devon smiled. "Funding. Infrastructure. Global distribution. Access to our analytics teams, monetization experts, marketing support—everything you need to scale without burning out."
He placed a folder on the table and slid it forward.
James hesitated, then opened it.
The first page was a term sheet. It was dense with legal and financial language, but the core numbers were clear.
An acquisition offer.
Upfront cash: $9.8 million USD.
Royalties: 15% net, post-expense.
Retention bonuses for core staff.
A guarantee of continued creative leadership.
James blinked. It was a golden parachute for a team that hadn't even crashed. On paper, it was insane not to take it.
But as he flipped through the contract, the red flags started showing.
Buried under "operational alignment" was a clause stating Titan Forge would gain majority control of future product decisions after a 6-month "transition period."
Another page detailed how IP rights would transfer under Titan Forge's "protection."
Then there was the fine print about post-acquisition restructuring—standard boilerplate, but vague enough to allow for firing and replacing staff.
And the final nail?
A monetization roadmap that involved introducing a premium currency, timed loot crates, and an "aggressive ad strategy across all Espector titles, existing and future."
James closed the folder slowly.
Devon was still smiling.
"You guys are talented," he said. "But talent without guidance? Burnout. Chaos. We've seen it before."
James raised an eyebrow. "And you're the solution?"
"We've helped dozens of studios grow beyond their limits," Devon replied confidently. "You don't have to struggle through the growing pains. Let us help you get to the next level."
James stood. "I appreciate the offer. But we're not looking to sell."
Devon also stood, but the smile faltered ever so slightly. "Think about it. Growth is coming whether you're ready or not. Better to have a partner when the surge hits."
"We'll take our chances," James said, voice firm. "Thanks for stopping by."
Devon's eyes sharpened for just a second before he smoothed out his expression. "Of course. If you change your mind, my card's in the folder."
With that, he turned and walked out, his polished shoes clicking against the tile.
James stared after him for a moment, then picked up the folder and rode the elevator back up.
When he stepped back into the studio, he tossed the folder onto Yuri's desk.
"Titan Forge," he said. "Predatory. Wrapped in gold foil."
Yuri skimmed the front page and made a face. "Yep. This is a trap."
"What kind of trap?" Sam asked, walking over.
"Corporate honey trap," James replied. "They give you just enough rope to tie yourself up, then walk off with your IP and your soul."
Airi raised a hand. "But… 9.8 million dollars."
"Isn't worth destroying what we've built," James said firmly.
Yuri nodded. "We'd lose control within the year. They'd have us pumping out reskinned games with gacha mechanics and a battle pass."
Sam grimaced. "I can already see the pop-up ads: 'Unlock the golden raccoon for just $9.99!'"
Airi groaned. "Ugh. Kill me."
James sat down and took a breath. "Look, we're getting attention now. And that's what we need from the global players. That 9.8 million dollars they are offering, it's going to be a drop in the ocean compared to what we can build if we play this right."
Yuri leaned back in her chair. "So what's next?"
"We continue as it is. Do what we have planned for our studios, and then reap the benefits at the end. Furious Birds's popularity is skyrocketing, so we will go with the flow."
"Understood, we remain independent."