The Hotel room of Rockstar's representatives didn't look like a conference room. It looked like a caffeine crime scene.
Whiteboards were cluttered with scribbled equations, flowcharts of mission logic, and production milestones in red marker that had long since passed. Screens flickered with gameplay captures, debug windows, and a looping playlist of internal QA footage. Somewhere near the door, two slices of congealed pepperoni pizza sat untouched on a cardboard lid.
Patrick stood front and center, laser pointer trembling in his hand, eyes twitching behind thick-rimmed glasses.
"Look at this!" he barked. "Pedestrian 1 crosses the street. Car slows. Pedestrian 2 panics. Car keeps moving. It works. Technically. But does it feel real?"
Susan sat at the table, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Patrick didn't wait. "It's polished. Polished to hell. But under it, it's still procedural templates and behavior trees. We've hit the ceiling, Susan. RAGE can't fake soul."
