Daily Archives: November 9, 2017

Uber Return Trip

The squawking stopped when the door opened. The biggest crow stared with its mouth open, then hopped in. It saw a grain of rice on the floor; it ate it. Two males walked closer, then flapped their wings to get inside.

Seven loud crows are now in the car. There are no more grains of rice. The door closes. The car’s voice sounds like a smiling British actress, "Good morning! Where shall we go today?” Beaks become fast yellow scissors, cutting the air into shrill shreds of anger, hunger and fear. The car drives off.

At the border, the scanners, scales and sensors work perfectly: the car is determined to be empty. The car heads towards Kallang.

Fortississimo: Caw! Caw! Caw!

The crows' fury, the driver's perfection: Singapore.

Seeing things

Last night, an old woman's shaking hand pushed my nose towards fish bones and lemongrass. One of the rats ran over the sparkly shoes of a woman from The Golden Palace. She screamed. The man who sells pens came by, so did the man with the folding rattan chair. I stepped on a hot cigarette butt, caught off balance by the hisses of a male intruder. The friendly man with burnt skin sold perfume from a new duffel bag. The monk walked through and studied everyone, offered his bronze bowl to a few. I listened to happiness, drunkenness, boredom, suspicion, lust and a fight. A barefoot boy snapped his fingers, hit me with a bottle cap. Little radios played Cantonese music all night.

Now I’m lying in the sunrise shadows of the red plastic chairs. Coins are being counted on a metal table. The man behind the Apple Daily smokes and drinks coffee.

When I lived in the place with big windows I only worried about rainy days. I had no scars, no friends and two eyes.

Bif “Graybox” Enum: Invisible Game Developer

Powerfrog Troopers Revolution Quest 2: The Croak Goes On (100 million units sold). Who wrote it? Me. Is my name on it? No. Tungsten Fortress Golf Romancer III.  Seventy-five million units. Eight months of my life, a nice chunk of change and another iPhone, but did I get any work because of that? NO. Alekhine Defense of Immortal Soccer Regends: Twenty-three million units. Nonstop rewriting to meet that deadline nearly blinded me. After we launched, was my inbox flooded with job offers? No, no and no.

Hi. My name is  Biff Enum and I’m a game designer. “Graybox “is my middle name and scripting addictive interactive stories is my game.

I've contributed to projects that have sold over 585 million cross platform units and yet you’ve never heard of me? Why? Cause I’m a secret agent man. White labellissimo. Ghosty stylee. Incognito. That’s me.

Let’s pretend you are in Kyoto, visiting an “entertainment company” and you are escorted into a room to “have a cup of tea”. You are left alone in a room that looks like the  Videogame Hall of Fame. You have a sense that if you take a photo, your broken camera and/or body parts will remain in the room. Before you can memorize anything, a uniformed kawaii "office lady" enters and says, "I am sorry. It is mistake of room, you can drink with tea upstairs. If you are mention this room to anyone, it is your time of disembowelment, regardless of your GPS location. Shall we go?”

My CV is something like that. Guys who are ethically challenged would like to “have a word with me” if I tell anyone about the complete list of projects I’ve worked on. I have been called a “game developer’s game developer” which means my ideas are uncredited and stolen. It’s not always a problem, this whitelabel business. When that bulging diaper called Revenge of Epic of Bloopy Babies hit the fan, I remained search engine safe.

Why do I work so hard for no recognition? Money! I am a narrative artist and since I was in primary school I wanted to write, with passion, stories that shake and explore the emotional blindspots of people. I want to fundamentally compel readers to confront our modern world with all of its contradictions so as to engage better with their fractured lives. My literary sensibilities are most apparent in Quest of the Galaxy Beach Volleyball.

My ghostwriter earnings have allowed me to self-publish a speculative fiction novel that combines elements of GTA with Switezianka, an Undine legend about a boar hunter and a water nymph. Visit my blog for updates on this unforgettable postmodern tale of fickle love, European women wearing wet clothes, gunfire and ultrahighspeed Pegassi car chases.

Thank you for stopping by.

Biff