>> Mark: Examine Room

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

Ignoring the slew of irritating banner ads and pop-ups that littered the page, Mark skimmed through the relatively brief review. It was decidedly lacking in information, anything that one might consider useful was whitewashed with opinionated garbage. Normally the teen did not take too much stock in these reviews as critics tended to either be payed off by the production company or completely out-of-touch with the fanbase. The game had garnered a questionable 50% rating (5 interrobangs out of 10; god he hated these people) and was utterly lacking in any background information. There were no sales figures listed, nor the name of the production company or even so much as a release date. Despite this, the author posited that the game did in fact exist, he just couldn’t locate any information.

“Tch. Amateurs,” Mark uttered under his breath. His fingers worked quickly, bringing up a new tab and searching for the missing info. 

E-Sport Propagandist was not known to be a shining example of integrity, but something as lazy as this was below even them. The adolescent scanned his search results quickly, finding precisely zero hit for his (admittedly pretty specific) search terms. He sighed, trimming his boolean terms down a bit.

+OSBURB “release date” “production company” -esports -parodist -empire -suburb -superb +game +video +PC

Despite his best efforts, he could find nothing. A basic search of ‘OSBURB’ brought up multiple pages of people discussing the game, yet no one seemed to be able to offer the missing data. It wasn’t like knowing the release date was going to make a difference (especially in the Omniverse, where time was laughably inconsistent), but it was the principal of the thing. Such lack of information was genuinely upsetting to a boy like him. His eyes slowly drifted to his stack of CDs, the tower perched upon a plain-looking brown cardboard box. The parcel’s label was barely visible beneath the tower of sadboy tunes.

Mark Lastname
123 Fake Street  12 Shoreline Ave
Land of 1000 Stormtroopers  Costa del Sol
Holy-Shit-Way-Too-Much-Water-Land  Vasty Deep

The Imperial Postal Service evidently wasn’t too taken with his humor. Being that all citizens were catalogued, they had taken it upon themselves to fix his shipping address. He smirked at the unaltered surname. Upon his ‘registration’ with the Empire he had claimed to have not remembered his last name (such memory lapses were common upon summoning) and had yet to update them. As he was but a secondary, they didn’t seem to care too much about whether or not he actually ever did; they had better things to do. He’d leave the humorous surname as a tiny act of rebellion. 

”YOU CAN’T RUUUUUUN/
FROM WHAT YOU’VE DOOOOOONE”

Mark tugged the earbuds from his ears, growing tired of this particular artist. They weren’t quite as good as he had remembered; he suspected that the Prime that had summoned it had mistaken them with another group of mascara-clad youths. It was hard to tell them apart at times. He wheeled his desk chair toward the tower of compact discs, hefting the stack and slowly placing it on the floor before taking a better look at the small box.

Customer Fulfillment Services
Questionable Purchases Inc.

At the time he had thought the name of the company to be a cute/quirky name for a start-up of some kind, but he was beginning to get the feeling that the name was more apt than he had originally thought. Sighing, he picked up the parcel from the desk and tore the end of the box. Another box slid free from the corrugated confines, this one a simple white background with a green house in the center, cut into various sized blocks as rooms might appear on a blueprint. Below the house was the word “OSBURB” in large block letters. 

“Ohs-burb? O-Sburb? Oss-Burb?” Mark frowned. Even the name was enigmatic.

>> Mark: Investigate questionable purchase