Steal the enemy's base at the start and build a technological empire.

Chapter 210 Developing Cheats

At 7:40 p.m., in Redmond, Seattle, most of the lights in Microsoft Headquarters Building 3 were off, with only a few windows still lit. On the eighth floor, east side, the door to Ballmer's office was tightly shut.

Jim Olson stood at the door, taking a deep breath. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, his tie was loose, and there was a faint red mark on his right cheek—the indentation from sleeping on the plane that afternoon. He had barely slept during the four-hour flight from Irvine back to Seattle, spending the entire time organizing the key points of his report.

The key points are no longer needed.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door twice, with just the right amount of force.

"Come in," Ballmer's voice came through the door, deep and muffled.

Jim pushed the door open and went in.

Ballmer's office was large, but it felt crowded at the moment. Seven or eight newspapers and magazines, all business or technology sections, were spread out on the long table by the window.

The San Jose Mercury News's report on "StarCraft Ignites Silicon Valley" was placed separately at the very top, its edges wrinkled.

The whiteboard on the other side was covered with messy handwriting—market share, release schedule, competitive analysis—some words were circled and marked with question marks in red pen.

Ballmer stood by the window, his back to the door, looking out at the dark parking lot. He hadn't turned on the main light; only the table lamp on the corner of the desk and the floor lamp in the corner of the wall were lit, casting long shadows on the oak floor.

"Close the door," Ballmer said, without turning around.

Jim closed the door, walked to his desk, but didn't sit down.

Ballmer turned around. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket; the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his collar were undone. His face appeared bluish in the dim light, and he had prominent eye bags, but his eyes were bright, almost eerily so.

"Say it." Just one word.

Jim draped his coat over the back of the chair and stood up straight: "Blizzard insisted on a three-month exclusivity period. The agreement was signed firmly, and there was a deep technical tie-in. I proposed a compensation plan and engineering support, but they didn't accept it."

"What's the reason?"

"Mike Morwami said that StarCraft provided kernel-level support. They have had two kernel engineers stationed at Blizzard for the past six months to solve performance issues. We can't do the same level of depth."

Ballmer didn't speak. He walked to the long table and picked up the Mercury News. His fingers gripped the edge of the newspaper, his knuckles turning white.

"What else did you find out?" he asked, his voice low.

"StarCraft has signed contracts with more than just Blizzard. id Software, Epic, at least five studios. The approach is similar: exchanging technical support for exclusive periods or priority compatibility." Jim paused for a moment. "Starfire Internet Cafes already have seven locations across the US. After StarCraft was released, their hardware sales tripled. They're integrating online and offline channels."

Ballmer tossed the newspaper back onto the table. The pages scattered and slid to the floor.

He walked to the whiteboard and stared at the red circles. After a while, he picked up the eraser, erased a section in the lower right corner, then grabbed a red pen and wrote a few words heavily:

Game popularity → System market share → Hardware sales → Ecosystem closed loop

The pen tip tore through the whiteboard membrane, making a piercing sound.

"Three months," Ballmer turned to Jim, "This game is so popular right now, give StarCraft three months, how many more users can they attract? 100,000? 500,000? 1 million?"

Jim remained silent.

“They don’t just want users,” Ballmer continued, “they want word-of-mouth. Once the impression of ‘Choose Star for gaming’ is formed, no amount of money can change it. Jim, do you know what that means?”

"I know," Jim said.

"No, you don't understand." Ballmer took a few steps closer. "This isn't a browser war. Browsers can be free, pre-installed, and monopolistically crush competitors. Games are different. Games have stickiness, communities, and cultures. If StarCraft builds a player community through games, all game developers will prioritize them. What will we do then? Make games too?"

His voice grew louder and louder, the last word almost a shout. Spit splattered on Jim's face, but Jim didn't dare wipe it away.

Ballmer took two steps back, rubbed his face, then walked behind his desk and sat down. He opened a drawer, took out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses, poured about two fingers' width of it, and pushed one glass to the edge of the table.

"Let's have a drink together."

Jim walked over, picked up the cup, but didn't drink it.

Ballmer took a swig, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Jim," he said, "I don't care what method you use, we can't let the stars rise up through this game. Three months is too long; we can't wait."

Jim held the glass, its rim cold. He looked at Ballmer: "The agreement can't be changed. Blizzard won't breach the contract; the penalty is too high, and it would ruin their reputation."

"Then let's start from somewhere else." Ballmer stared at him.

"We tried the media. We published a few analyses saying that the security of the Starry Sky system was questionable and that the open-source kernel might have been implanted with backdoors. It didn't have much effect; the players didn't care."

"Then let them care," Ballmer said.

Jim didn't reply. He looked down at the amber liquid in his glass, where the ice was melting.

After about half a minute, Ballmer spoke again: "Jim, you've been with this company for twelve years. From product manager to VP of Operations. You've seen how we won battles, and you know how we lost—when we lost, it was because we were too slow and had too many concerns."

Jim looked up.

"Now," Ballmer leaned forward, elbows on the table, "I need you to solve the problem. Not by conventional means. We've already tried conventional means, and they didn't work. I need you to think outside the box and use every available method to smash through this three-month window."

"Everything?" Jim asked.

"Everything," Ballmer said, "as long as it doesn't leave any evidence and doesn't implicate the company."

Jim fell silent again. He turned the glass, and the ice cubes clinked against the glass.

The sound of a car passing by came from outside the window, getting closer and then fading away.

"The game," Jim said suddenly, his voice low. "The game itself."

Ballmer squinted.

"StarCraft is popular now because it's fun, balanced, and highly competitive," Jim said, his pace quickening. "But what if the game environment falls apart? What if cheating is rampant, the balance collapses, players complain endlessly, and the community becomes a mess... How long can that popularity last?"

Ballmer didn't say anything, but leaned back in his chair.

"Cheats," Jim continued, "auto-aiming, resource modification, map reveal. In a competitive game, once cheats become rampant, core players will quickly leave. The reputation will collapse, the media will follow up with criticism, Blizzard will have to spend a lot of energy dealing with it, and the game's popularity will naturally drop."

"Where do cheats come from?" Ballmer asked.

"Find someone to develop it," Jim said. "The Astral System has an open-source kernel, and its anti-cheat mechanism is imperfect. We can create a batch of targeted cheats and distribute them on the Astral Edition first. Once Blizzard is overwhelmed and players are complaining, who will care about system optimization? They'll just think the game is ruined."

Ballmer tapped his fingers lightly on the table, once, twice.

"How big is the risk?" he said.

"The cheat developers have nothing to do with us," Jim said. "They outsource, operate anonymously, and use cash transactions. The cheats are distributed through underground forums, making it impossible to trace their origin. Even if Blizzard or StarCraft suspects something, they can't get any evidence."

"How long will it take?"

"Two weeks. The cheat technology isn't difficult, especially for open-source systems. I can find someone; if things go smoothly, it'll take ten days."

Ballmer poured himself another glass of wine, this time without ice. He took a sip and looked at Jim.

The office clock ticked.

"Jim," Ballmer said slowly, "you know the consequences if this gets out of hand."

"Know."

"The company won't protect you, and neither will I."

"clear."

"You'll have to find the people yourself, make the arrangements yourself, and use other channels for funding."

"Yes."

Ballmer put down his glass. He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Jim. Outside, only a few cars remained in the parking lot, one of which was Jim's silver Toyota.

"Go do it," Ballmer said, his voice calming. "Don't let me down."

Jim nodded, though Ballmer couldn't see him. He put the unfinished glass back on the table and picked up his suit jacket from the back of his chair.

As he reached the door, Ballmer spoke again: "Jim."

Jim turned around.

“Remember,” Ballmer said without turning around, “we’re not destroying a game. We’re protecting an ecosystem. Sometimes, you have to make tough choices to protect something bigger.”

Jim didn't reply. He opened the door and went out.

The corridor was deserted, and the motion-sensor lights turned on one by one with his footsteps. Jim walked to the elevator, pressed the button, and while waiting, he looked at his reflection in the metal door.

His tie was askew, his hair was disheveled, and his face was pale.

The elevator arrived, the doors opened, he stepped inside, and pressed the button for the first floor. As the elevator descended, he took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. His finger swiped the screen and stopped at a contact labeled "JR".

He stared at the name until the elevator reached the first floor and the doors opened.

Stepping out of the building, the night wind rushed towards him, carrying the damp chill of the rain. Jim wasn't wearing a coat, and his shirt was instantly soaked through. He walked to the parking lot, opened the car door, and got in, but didn't start the engine.

He took out his phone again, dialed "JR" number, and hovered his thumb over the dial button.

Outside the car window, the Microsoft headquarters logo gleamed coldly in the night. He had looked at those four colored squares for twelve years; from the day he joined, he had believed this company would change the world.

Now, he's going to do something shady for it.

Press down with your thumb.

The phone rang five times before being answered. There was a lot of background noise on the other end, like from a bar or a billiards hall.

"Feed?" came a young man's voice, tinged with nonchalance.

"It's me," Jim said.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end, the background noise diminished, as if the other person had moved to a secluded spot. "A rare visitor, Jim. Haven't heard from you in three years, has it?"

"I need you for a job."

"What kind of thing is it?"

"Technical work. Developing some... auxiliary tools for a game."

The person on the other end of the phone laughed: "A cheat code is a cheat code, why make it sound so good? What game is it?"

"StarCraft. Star System Version"

"Oh, that game that's been really popular lately. How much are you willing to pay?"

"Fifty thousand. Cash. Delivery within two weeks."

"At least 100,000. Since you're in such a hurry, I'll definitely have to work overtime. To compensate for my mental strain, the price certainly won't be low."

"Seventy thousand. Ten days."

"One hundred thousand, no bargaining."

"Alright, let's settle on 100,000. It needs to be done within a week, it needs to be covert, effective, and capable of large-scale dissemination. Especially the kind that disrupts the balance—resource modification, invincibility, and the like."

"Got it, they want the game to die out sooner." The other person paused, "But Jim, why are you doing this kind of dirty work? A Microsoft vice president, is that really necessary?"

"Don't ask too many questions, same old rules, anonymous, cash, no trace."

"Okay. Delivery method?"

I will contact you again.

Jim hung up the phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat. He gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, his knuckles bulging.

He started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. In the rearview mirror, the lights of the Microsoft building grew farther and farther away, eventually disappearing around the corner.

The rain started to fall, and fine raindrops hit the windshield, were wiped away by the wipers, and then immediately covered again.

Jim turned on the radio and tuned it to the news channel. The presenter was reporting on technological news:

Blizzard Entertainment confirmed today that the Windows version of StarCraft will be released next March. Regarding the choice of StarCraft as the initial launch platform, Blizzard stated that it stems from a deep technical collaboration between the two companies…

Jim turned off the radio.

The only sounds inside the car were the roar of the engine and the rhythmic scraping of the windshield wipers.

He looked ahead; the road was illuminated by car headlights, and raindrops danced in the beams of light like countless tiny silver needles.

He knew he had just crossed a red line. That line had always been clear, but now it was blurred.