Before New Game, Part 2

1954 AD

32 Years Following the Creation of the Kidney Foundation

When Walter Roscoe Kidney had a dream, he had a promise.

In the coming decades he made an empire. First, his films, all beginning with a character designed by Ib- and soon enough, the birth of his real dream, all run by the hands of his foundation.

In 1952, the first Kidneyland was opened to the public, not a second later than he’d intended. And now, sitting atop this empire, this plastic-metal throne, polished by the ink of his and his company’s efforts- Walter had achieved something that, for anyone else, could be considered “heaven.”

He wouldn’t be able to admit it in his lifetime, but Kidney always felt more like he was living in hell.

“Some party, huh?”

In the bustle of the crowded room, he mostly just spoke to Ib. Mr. Waschbär, though he’d fallen out with Walt more than enough times at this point, had already been lured back in with the success of his parks. Kidney probably just imagined this meant he’d be there to back him up on anything. He wasn’t right, but he really didn’t have the tools he needed to believe otherwise.

“It’s a party.”

“Say, will you be visiting the Sleepboat this weekend? We’ll be having our own shindig there come Saturday.” Walter referred to the Foundation’s first headquarters back in Chicago. Though he stand in the middle of an ongoing gathering, he actively imagined the event longingly. It didn’t feel right to be anything but the host. “It’s going to be the biggest one yet.”

“No… I think this is enough for one week.”

“Don’t be so rash. Eisenhower’s coming.”

“I don’t like what you do there.”

Kidney examined his wine glass, deeply offended.

“…You aren’t interested in it? There must be… very much you want to do, an artistic man such as yourself. It doesn’t make sense to give things up so soon.”

“…You’re just afraid.”

“…That’s your opinion.” Kidney lightly shook the glass, watching what little liquid remained inside its transparent body. “Don’t think it’s possible?”

“No… knowing you, if it’s not already, it will be soon.” Ib muttered with horrified certainty. “But you can’t think something like that is going to be worth it. Even you can’t think that.”

“I believe in this project more than any project I’ve touched before.”

“And I’m sure you do. But I can’t agree with it. Not… not philosophically. What’s a story without an end?”

The slowly-aging Walter grumbled, his grip tightening on the glass.

“…It’s just an idea, anyway.”

Ib looked earnestly at his boss for once.

“Don’t go that way, Walter. It’s not very artistic.”

“…You’re fired.” The boss mumbled in return.

“What?”

“You’re fired. Go lick someone else’s boots, you greasy sack of shit.”

Nothing stopped Walter Kidney on the road to his dream ever again.

Until the road ran out.