Written by Paul Vardaris

"So, you will hire everyone here, then?" He had set his doughnut down to clear his throat. I shrug.

"Why not? We learn as we go, too. The community development program will allow access, as each group permits, for the community to discuss everything from processes, content, service standards, to timeliness."

"Timeliness? Oh, relevancy. Yes. Demographics." Sandy nods.

"Sort of. Relevancy of events, not just age groups. Crysis had North Koreans as the enemy at first, and look what's going on there now. Fallout has the end-of-civilization genre cornered. I could go on. As events shape our lives, like the World Trade Center disaster, we shift our perspective. The closer games are to these events, the more relevant and timely they become. Even Lucas harped on Democracy during a presidency bent on imperialism for the United Sates."

Butler coughed gently. "All well and good, and we're beginning to repeat ourselves. By making two plates of similar presentations, are you indicating that the developers resemble the gaming community, but have remote connection?"

I nod sadly, knowing that even prestigious colleges which are training game development with legendary professors from the field can't see everything going on much less predict the future. Who could have known that the Xbox would be developing no-remote gaming consoles or that streaming gaming technology would remove the need to install games on your computer entirely? I needed someone who would take these ideas and make it happen. I'm not a business major, Jim, I'm a journalist!

I hear a strange thump, unlike the footsteps of the occasional developer walking by to the fridge or the snack table. A scuff-thump, almost. I look up and see a fellow ambling his way over, in a black baseball hat, black vest on white shirt, a tattoo on his rugged cheek, and jeans. I guess he's wearing boots or something, and he sits at our table. The guy's got an eyepatch. He looks cool. I cover my plates protectively. Before  I can ask who he is or what he wants, he leans forward and speaks.

"Hello lads and lady, I hear from Research that you're looking for me."

My eyes open wider. "Oh my god. You sound just like..."

"Yep." He smiles. "I get things done around here. Call me Gentleman Jack. People know me, and I know them. What need's doin, Orlando?"

I cough once, getting my bearings. This guy can't be real, can he? "You just walk up, tell us your name, and get things done?"

Sandy grins. "Don't worry about ol' Jack, Mr. X. He'll make it happen. Here's the good news- he'll do exactly what you tell him, right or wrong. You just have to make sure you're doing what's needed, and you'll be fine."

Jack extends his hand. "Mr. X, ey? Sounds a bit like a critic. Good enough, we need some perspective sometimes. So, tell ol' Jacky what's on your troubled brainbox. We've got work to do."

I shake his hand, and square up my shoulders. Fine, if a pirate can't do it, it probably can't be done, right? I look down at my plates, and grin.

It's time to get down to business.

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