The tacky panel wood in the trailer buckles under the collective weight of Rob, George, and the dead fat guy.

“Okay, okay, drop him, drop him,” George says.

They let go and the body crashes face down with a deep thud. Picture frames, dishes, and bottles of hair gel crash down in the cramped kitchen/bathroom/bedroom combo. George Polldock lets out a groan and collapses on the Murphy bed cum couch. He reaches into his jacket pocket for a smoke. Rob Smith, the stouter of the two, leans against the sink and catches his breath.

“What are we going to do?” George asks.

“I’m thinking.”

The two PR men catch their breath. Their Dante’s Inferno press tour had led them to many strange places, but murder was by far the most devious. Today’s big press event, taking place in Alabama – the sixth circle of hell, some would say – was a pie-eating contest. In other words: a test of gluttony.

According to the flyers, the winner of the contest would get their grubby cherry-covered hands on a free copy of the game and a chance to get a character named after themselves. The losers… well, they’d all get to live.

George and Rob knew that the 500 pound man lying face down in front of them, stinking in the Alabama heat, had a preexisting heart condition. They’d poured over his medical history, along with several other men in the area with eating problems, and targeted him with clever tricks. He was a sad sap, beguiled with thoughts of fame and food, his life ended by a massive coronary.

The team delighted in watching the outraged maws of the internet snap endlessly. It’s the only thing that gives them any pleasure anymore; they couldn’t get enough of watching commentators react poorly to their stunts, and, in reacting, doing exactly what the stunt intended for them to do. It was better than sex.

Colour them surprised when he managed to live through the heat and blueberry filling, and collapse backstage, imploding their well laid plans. Rob had secretly been hoping for photos. They decided to drag the body to the nearby trailer, and plot their next move.

Rob takes a look around. “Whose place is this anyway?”

“Oh, it’s the trailer we got for Nolan North.”

“He’s in this game?”

“He’s in every game.” George clears his throat. “You know George, killing this guy…I don’t know…”

Rob gets a worried look on his face. “What?”

“Well…maybe we didn’t go far enough.”

The men are still, their contemplation thickening the silence.

“What are you suggesting George?”

“Well, you know, killing this guy was a good idea, and all, but, well, it’s been done, hasn’t it?”

Rob looks wounded. “What do you mean?”

George breaks off eye contact. He considers every word carefully. “There’s just no…art to it.”

Rob had a flashback to his campaign for Mirror’s Edge. To tie into the game’s parkour theme he had people film their own stunts, often with grisly results. Thank God for liability clauses.

Hadn’t that been a retread of his classic “Dismember Yourself for Dead Space” campaign. Hell, pound for pound, this was a step back. Was George right? Was Rob resting on his laurels? Had he crested already?

He paces the trailer, but can’t get more than three steps before turning around. He stops.

“I’m getting a brainwave, George.”

“Lay it on me, bro.”

“We’ve gotten the blogosphere all hot and bothered, right?”

“I’m hearin’ ya.”

“That’s all we ever do. Fuck Kotaku, fuck Destructoid, fuck the Escapist. What we want is who don’t usually play games to tune into Dante’s Inferno. What we want, George, is the Wii demographic.”

The Wii demographic. The holy grail of audiences. Rob let it sink in. After a few seconds George was ready. “I’m listening.”

“People want a good story. That’s why we’re doing this game in the first place, right?”

“Well, that and it’s public domain.”

Rob ignores him. “What people like is a good story. What if this man was murdered?”

“Well, he was.”

“No, not by us. But by…” Rob thinks. “His lover! Nolan North!”

George cocks his head. “I…didn’t know he was gay?”

“No, George, that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter! It’s tawdry, sexual, dark, gritty, edge, wrathful all the things Dante’s Inferno wants to be. Plus we’ve got all of North’s lines in the can, we don’t need him anymore. Maybe we can get out of paying him…”

“You think…you think we can get away with it?” George is almost in awe.

“You’re right George, I don’t know how we’ll slip by Alabama’s finest and Gamespot’s crack investigative squad.”

The two men laugh their asses off in a cramped trailer in Alabama.

“Alright, alright, enough goofing off, let’s find North’s underwear to strangle the corpse with.”