Chapter Text
Kim Dokja is a man of many virtues. He’s patient enough to hold in a dying scream as the company executives propose ideas that would absolutely butcher his passion project—Sunfish Survival, a rising indie game that was recently acquired by the conglomerate. He’s kind enough to refrain from telling the higher-ups exactly where they should stick their objectively terrible ideas. Most importantly, though, he has enough professionalism to wait until after he clocks off to get absolutely fucking plastered.
Kim Dokja moans into the bottle of half-empty peach soju; he’s far gone enough that the alcohol dulls his senses to a pleasant thrum.
Han Sooyoung stares at him in distaste before taking her own shot in a gulp.
“So what did the corporate bastards want this time?” she asks, surprisingly clear for how much they’ve drunk.
“You know the usual. Add in tons of paywalls and impossible levels. Kill the casual playerbase. Hide everything behind expensive as fuck payments.” Kim Dokja takes another long gulp of his drink. It burns the back of his throat.
The pleasant thrum sharpens into more of a burning fever. It’s a familiar feeling, and with his mind pleasantly silent for once, he makes grabby hands towards his phone, already knowing what he’s going to do. Han Sooyoung sighs, but makes no move to stop him.
For all his virtues, Kim Dokja has one small flaw: his favorite drunk pastime is texting random numbers increasingly ludicrous scam texts, and the only reason his friends haven’t put a stop to it yet is that they also think it’s funny as fuck. Some people are angry drunks, some are sad drunks, Kim Dokja is a Grade-A menace drunk putting telemarketers and call-center scammers to shame. He considers the texts an exercise of his creative writing degree that he paid too much for to never use again.
He passes the phone to Han Sooyoung, and with practiced ease, she types in their area code followed by a random string of digits. Kim Dokja smiles, types in a nice blurb of text, doesn’t bother rereading, and hits send.
Kim Dokja:
Hello. I am Demon King of Salvation. I am stuck in hell. Please send $999 so I can save your soul.
Attached: Scary_Demon.jpg
He then puts the phone back and proceeds to aggressively down another shot, while interspersing increasingly unintelligible complaints towards his higher-ups.
Kim Dokja wakes up to a terrible banging in his head, some aspirin on his desk, and a promise to meet up and complain about their jobs with Han Sooyoung again next Friday. As he grasps randomly for his phone on the side of the bed, he sees an unfamiliar message.
He clicks it, confused, only to see his… unconventional hobby on full display. Then he blinks again at the new notification.
< Unknown Number has sent you $999>
What the fuck, he thinks blearily. He’s too hungover for this. Nevertheless, his fingers hastily type a message back.
Kim Dokja:
Hello???
Why wodul u believe that lol
And because, despite his drunk hobbies, Kim Dokja isn’t actually a scammer, he sends the money back.
<You sent $999>
The response is near instantaneous.
< Unknown Number has declined>
Unknown number:
When do you plan on saving my soul? Next Tuesday would be preferable.
This is it, Kim Dokja thinks. He’s finally met someone who’s lost it more than he has. He has to stare at his phone for a couple of seconds, blearily watching the pixels blur and merge into new shapes in his hungover mind. As is in his nature, though, Kim Dokja adapts remarkably fast—which is to say he completely ignores it.
He puts the phone facedown and heads back to sleep.
The notification is still on his phone when he wakes up, and when he checks his bank account, he finds himself a whole nine-hundred ninety-nine dollars richer. He refreshes, to double-check. It’s still standing there, all three digits of its glory. Well, he’s never been one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, and with that, he starts typing up a response.
Kim Dokja:
soooo u just got money to waste or somthng
Unknown number:
I am paying for a service. It is a long-term investment.
Ah. So he’s a rage-baiter. This man doesn’t know who he’s messing with.
Kim Dokja:
Perfect, and can I know my client's name?
A brief pause. The typing symbol appears momentarily before disappearing.
Unknown number:
No.
Kim Dokja:
Bro whose soul am i supposed to grab then. I’m gonna get get some guy off the street?? Guess and check??
Unknown number:
Shouldn’t your omniscience ability allow you to know?
Kim Dokja blinks at that. He hadn’t expected this guy to have known the character Demon King of Salvation; his game was popular, sure, but this was the first time someone had recognized it during his fake texting sprees. Granted, most people made the more logical decision to ignore these messages, but still.
Kim Dokja:
nuh uh
keep up with the times
New patch notes Demon King got nerfed
trust the develop[er just called me
Unknown number:
Oh yes.
You and Kim Dokja are on a talking basis.
Kim Dokja flinches. See, there’s always a certain sort of anonymity when he pulls this shit. In the sea of digits and telephone numbers, he is simply one of millions—but to see his full government name listed by this unknown number gives him a little whiplash, like when the fourth wall breaks for just a second, and a character is allowed to peek through. It’s enough to make him pause.
Kim Dokja:
you could say that
Just as Kim Dokja’s about to type more, he gets another notification. It’s from the company executives demanding another meeting. He groans. These are genuinely a waste of time; it’s excruciating watching people who have never even seen a console absolutely butcher his creation, like sending his child to its execution. No, he does not want to add a new OP character that can only be unlocked by paying and will promptly be nerfed once early access is over, and everyone can play it. What he wants to do is wrap his hands around the guy who suggested this’ neck. Unfortunately, he has rent to pay, and so he needs the job, and he blearily gets himself ready for the meeting scheduled for an hour from now.
He arrives two minutes late, cursing the subway (it was on time; he was the one late, but taking accountability is bad for his mental health, and really, it’s all just semantics). He swings the door open, perhaps a little harder than he should, and just as he puts a foot through the door, he sees a massive, projected image of the most attractive man he’s ever seen.
Yoo Joonghyuk
The screen displays the name as well.
“Ah, just the man we were looking for,” the chairman announces from beside the projector. “This is our new marketing effort; we’re having popular streamers compete in a tournament.”
What the fuck, Kim Dokja thinks, Sunfish Survival isn't even a PvP game.