The police arrived at my door, to be more precise, the cyber division, arrived at my door, at the crack of dawn to me, but actually it was nearer 10.00am, for I had only had a few hours sleep.
When I answered the door, two officers stood before me, one male and one female. Trying to break the ice, I invited them in and offered them coffee, convinced I had nothing to hide . . . which they refused.
The woman brought out a games DVD, and asked me to identify the work.
“Well yes, it is my work, produced under contract for the Farmley Corporation,” I heard myself say, hands moving over the computer keys.
“We just wanted confirmation that you designed the game,” she said.
Her partner glanced around the room, full of half-assembled computers.
“Oh, I build computers as a side line when I am not designing games,” I replied.
“As you will note on the cover, there were three others responsible for the design of the game.”
“Yes, but where did you get the idea from?”
“Oh, we were given the brief by Farmleys,” I pointed out.
“Can you confirm it is the same game?” she asked.
“Only by playing it,” I replied, sitting in front of my computer.
She smiled, and motioned me to start the game.
I activated the menu. “This isn’t my game, which I took part in designing,” I said horrified at what I was seeing.
I retrieved my copy, and fired up another computer, straight away you could see the difference, mine was a car chase game, not a military based game, advertising hardware for sale.
“Who made this recording? Where did you get it?
“You have been very helpful Mr … , holding out their hand for their copy of the disc.
I kept demanding answers from them, until they reached my front door. Then I slammed the door behind them in dramatic fashion, making my point, and went back inside, frothing at the mouth.
I should never have accepted that contract, from such a large gaming corporation. For everyone knew they had their own designers. They just wanted my name… Jason Garrard nothing else. What a fool I have been.
Copyright of one’s work is supposed to mean something isn’t it!
I rang Hero, one of the other designers, and told him in detail of my visit from the cyber police.
“I’m coming over, I also had a visit late yesterday too.”
Jason and Hero sat opposite each other thinking about their choice of options.
“We could jump one of their chief executives at Farmley’s, give him a chance to explain the whole situation, then we blow the place up,” suggested Jason.
“Very subtle,” replied Hero. “What we could do is breach their security systems, and find what they are truly about.”
“I like it, and leave them a gift, one that will remind them copyright is meant to mean something,” replied Jason. “Farmley’s, may own 65% of the world wide games market, but we have to do something, for our reputation, and other’s like us.”
“Hero looked across at him, “I am with you brother.”
Jason spent the evening, stripping down his father’s old army revolver. He didn’t have any bullets for it, but he didn’t intend shooting anybody, just wanted it for effect.
They should have sensed something was not right when they parked in the companies car-park.
The rear fire door to the offices: open. It was too easy, Clement Hastings came out, opened his car door, and seconds later I touched the back of his neck, cold as ice.
“Mr Clements,” I murmured into his ear watching his pale frightened eyes follow me in the mirror. “My name is Jason Garrard and we mean you no harm, we really do need to talk,” as he was pushed up against the car.
“Right, you think using our names and breaking our copyright, then replacing it with another game, and sales catalogue, was entertaining. Wait till you see what we have in store for you.”
Suddenly the door popped open on the lower level. “We had better get out of here Jason, let him go.”
“I suggest you contact the police and explain the whole sordid little escapade to them.”
“Farmley’s are going to fry us for this,” Hero said, when the numbness in his throat wore off, and he was able to speak clearly.
“I think we better lie low for a few days, and we better tell the officer from the cyber police division what we did.”
Jason was sitting in his car at the traffic lights, waiting for the lights to change. He heard a small tinkling of broken glass, as the screen cracked, and observed a crinkling of the screen.
The small calibre projectile had entered just below his neck. He had expected more pain.
The entry wound itself was slight, hardly a dribble of blood. Within minutes he felt his life draining from him.
He knew Framley’s were to blame, but he wouldn’t be around to prove it!