NYC Midnight 2025 Round 1: "Just a Game"

If you're a writer, you might already have heard of NYC Midnight. They run "inspiring challenges for storytellers", for everything from 100-word microfiction, to short stories, to screenwriting. If you like writing and want to stretch yourself, I recommend it.

You can check out their website here: https://nycmidnight.squarespace.com

I participated in my first challenge this year (the Short Story Challenge) and made it to the penultimate round, narrowly missing out on the final. I'd never heard of NYC Midnight before January, but I love writing short stories, so when it was mentioned on one of the Discords I like to lurk on, I thought I’d give it a go. It was a really fun (and demanding!) experience, and I'm planning to do it again next year.

It works like this: you get assigned a genre, a subject and a character, then you have a limited number of days to go away and write a short story featuring all of those elements. In the first round, which started in January, there were 5,883 writers participating in 210 groups, with approximately 28 writers per group.

I was in group 157, with the assigned genre of Political Satire (NOT something I write!). The subject of the story had to be an auction, and it had to feature a character who was a technician. After the assignments were released, I had only 8 days to write the story, with a maximum length of 2,500 words, and I was more than a little boggled.

I mean, political satire?!? It was not an auspicious start, but I had a few days to think, so that's all I did for the first few days in the window: think. My mind was wandering over all the horrible political rubbish that's swirling around us constantly at the moment, and how it feels increasingly like we're living in a twisted plutocracy, so I thought maybe I could write something about how politics are bought and sold. But I wanted it to be more complex than that – because I love me a deeply-woven story – with elements of building a political regime by buying multiple elements that support each other. Which is when I came up with my idea.

My lovely other half loves board games as much as I do, and he's a lifelong player of the deck-building card game Magic: The Gathering, in which you build a hand of attack and creature cards that you can then use to challenge your opponent, who has built a deck of their own. Shamelessly, I pinched the MTG framework as an analogy for our whole political system, and set my story at an auction for cards used in the game Empire: The Convocation (sorry, MTG fans!).

It ended up being a lot of fun. I was still far from confident that I'd hit the brief, but incredibly, I managed to place 4th in my group!

But I don't have anywhere to publish this weird story, or any of the three stories I wrote for NYC Midnight this year. It feels like they don't belong in a collection with my other short stories, because they're so disparate in genre and subject matter, so I thought I'd share them here on my blog, the first now, and the other two to follow over the next couple of weeks.

I hope you enjoy them - let me know what you think!

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Just a Game

by Josie Jaffrey

If you don’t know what Empire is then you must have been living in a cave for the past twenty years, but I’ll lay it out for the troglodytes in the audience anyway.

Empire: The Convocation is a deck-building game of epic proportions. You collect the cards, then use them in a face-off smack-down with other players for glory and for profit. And these days, let me tell you, the profits to be made in the international tournaments are huge. Not just life-changing huge, but election-purchasing huge. Tech bros don’t bother dirtying their grubby paws with cage fights anymore, they play Empire instead.

Which is why I’m assuming you know all this already.

What you might not know is that the game has a history. These days I’m a bona fide billionaire with enough spare cash to play with the big boys, but back when I was a kid we played Empire for fun. Used to be that you could buy packs of cards at petrol stations and games shops and newsagents around the world, and those little foil-wrapped packets of possibility could include anything from the most basic of attack cards to the Grand High Commander himself, in holographic, plasticised perfection. Nowadays, if you want the good shit, you’ve got to go to auction, which is exactly why I’m here today. I’m building a deck so big, so strong, so powerful that it’s going to fuck up all the competition, worldwide.

And you’ve got a front row seat.

The man looked away from the camera, smoothing his oiled hair back into lacquered curls.

‘That do you, sweet cheeks?’ he asked the reporter from Empire Daily News. She had her own dedicated cameraman – that’s how big Empire was these days.

‘One last question: you’re here today with the player they call the Technician?’

‘Silas Casper, yeah. Good guy, good guy. Known him since school.’

‘And do you think that’s going to give you an advantage in the bidding?’

‘Oh, without a doubt. He’s the most technical player in the game, undisputed. If you wanna win, you gotta have the best deck, and that’s not just about cash, it’s about choices, you know? And Silas knows his shit.’ The man looked over his shoulder, towards the podium. People were starting to gather. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said, then he ducked away to take his seat.

‘There you have it, right from the horse’s mouth, ladies and gentleman,’ the reporter said into the camera. ‘Cosmo Shaw is preparing for world domination.’

‘Now remember,’ Silas Casper whispered as Shaw took his seat. ‘You bid strategically. Most of the cards they’re putting up are worthless, and people are going to think you’re a hack if you touch them. But you also don’t want to buy only the cards you’re planning to use in your deck, because then they’ll see your play from a mile off. Got it?’

‘We’ve been over this, Silas. Just give me the nudge and stop worrying, will you?’

But Casper was worried. Most people assumed he got his nickname because of his intricate gameplay, but what few people other than Shaw knew was that Casper’s day job was as a literal game technician, working on old-school arcade machines to fix stuck coins and faulty wiring. Casper still loved playing Empire, but he couldn’t afford the big cards on his salary, and the shitty prize pots he brought home from local tournaments weren’t even enough to keep him in vintage baseball caps and belt buckles. He made his real money here, sitting next to players like Shaw who were trying to build a winning deck out of nothing but cold, hard cash.

Shaw didn’t like to play clever, or to play soft. He’d made his money in fossil fuels, and he played a straightforward game. All he wanted was big moves as fast as possible, with maximum fallout, for maximum glory. It rubbed Casper up the wrong way, seeing the game he loved stripped of all its joy and subtlety. But it also paid the bills, and Casper had a lot of those.

Not to mention that if he backed the right horse, there could be a lot more in it for Casper than just a pay check. The Clash of Empires tournament was a proving ground for global politics. The deck builders that won in the extravaganza almost always went on to win out in the real world, too. If Casper got behind the right bidder, it could transform his entire life.

‘Lot one,’ the auctioneer called out from the podium. ‘Loyal Foot-soldier, pack of ten, self-replicating. I’ll start the bidding at twenty thousand bits. Do I have twenty?’

It sold to Shaw for a quarter million, for a simple uncommon card that Shaw didn’t need, and Casper certainly hadn’t told him to bid on. That amount could have bought Casper a fancy car, a garage to keep it in, and a house to sit alongside. Meanwhile, Shaw was paying Casper the “motivational” rate of fifty bits an hour to give him advice that he ignored.

Casper sighed.

Shaw was definitely the wrong horse.

‘This is Cynthia Bialetti reporting for Empire Daily News from the fifth London Empire Auction, where the world’s top players are busy battling it out with their wallets in preparation for battling it out at the gaming tables next month in this summer’s Clash of Empires tournament extravaganza. During the bidding break, we caught up with eighth seed Cosmo Shaw to talk strategy.’

‘When I told you this deck was going to be the biggest, the strongest, the most powerful, you didn’t believe me, did you?’ Shaw said in the cut-to clip. ‘What do you reckon now?’

‘You’re buying a lot of cards,’ the reporter commented.

‘Gotta spend my money on something!’

He laughed.

The reporter laughed, a little.

‘And what’s your strategy here?’ she asked.

‘Well, people say there are a thousand different ways to play the game, but if you wanna win and do it consistently, there’s really only one way that works every time: build up an army of figures that match your alignment – evil, neutral, good – then throw out a load of effect cards that bump up their stats and fuck up the other guy’s.’

‘And what alignment are you buying?’

‘Evil, obviously.’ He laughed. ‘Sure, play the good guy if you want, but you’re not going to win like that. In the long run, nice guys finish last. The bad guys have bigger bombs, you know? You align yourself to win. I mean, what’s the point of playing at all if you’re not going to win?’

‘Our next lot is an effect card in the super rare category: Persecute,’ the auctioneer called. ‘This card replicates a single figure each turn, and destroys all figures in your opponent’s army of a different type. But take care: it can’t be deployed against an army containing an educational figure card. Who’ll bid me one million?’

Casper nudged Shaw, who raised his paddle and said, ‘I’ll go a million.’

‘One point five,’ came a voice from the back of the room.

‘Two,’ said Shaw.

‘Two point five,’ came the same voice again, raising Shaw again and again all the way up to ten million.

‘The card isn’t worth half that much,’ Casper whispered.

‘I don’t care,’ Shaw replied, then he raised his paddle again and said, ‘Eleven million bits.’

‘Eleven point five,’ came the voice.

‘Who is that?’ Shaw asked Casper in a whisper that wasn’t as low as he thought it was. He turned in his chair, trying to spot the person who was bidding against him.

‘Sir?’ the auctioneer said to Shaw. ‘Do I hear twelve?’

‘Twelve million,’ Shaw said irritably, then he stood up to see the other bidder.

The man looked Shaw dead in the eye, raised his paddle and said, ‘I’ve got twelve point five.’

Shaw sat down abruptly. ‘Aaron fucking Bekker,’ he spat, barely under his breath. ‘He doesn’t care about the game! He hasn’t played since school!’

‘You only took up Empire again last year,’ Casper pointed out.

‘He doesn’t care about the strategy or the history of it,’ Shaw carried on as though Casper hadn’t spoken. ‘Always looking for another platform. What a fucking creep.’

Casper looked at Shaw, but he didn’t say anything, which was just as well.

Shaw wouldn’t have listened anyway.

‘I’m here with Aaron Bekker,’ the reporter said with a starstruck smile. ‘A late arrival to today’s Empire auction. This is your first time here, Mr Bekker.’

‘Yes, it is, Cynthia.’ He leaned over to whisper in the reporter’s ear. ‘It is Cynthia, isn’t it?’

She smiled awkwardly, leaned away a little and asked, ‘Are you building your first deck?’

‘My first deck?’ Bekker laughed. ‘No. I’m an old hand at Empire. In my line of work, strategy is my bread and butter, but I generally play privately. This is my first foray into public display though, that’s true.’

‘And do you think your experience in the defence sector is going to be an advantage for your gameplay?’

‘Oh, undoubtedly. Any world leader would be lucky to have my support. I’m a political asset, believe me.’

‘In the game, you mean?’

‘In the game, in real life… For those who align with my interests, of course. What I’m saying is that I have an understanding of strategy that you just can’t get unless you’ve been in the trenches yourself.’

The reporter blinked, non-plussed. ‘You’ve served?’

He laughed. ‘I basically created our country’s space defence tech single-handedly, Cynthia. I know how to put together a campaign. That’s insight you just can’t get from playing make believe.’

‘Speaking of which, does it concern you to see Mr Shaw here? You used to play together as children, I think.’

‘Why would that concern me?’ Bekker asked.

‘Well, I imagine you’ll be bidding for a lot of the same cards.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ Bekker smiled into the camera, letting the audience in on the joke. ‘Cosmo’s a dinosaur. My strategy has very little overlap with his. If I bid against him, it’ll only be to stop him from getting cards he’ll abuse. His approach to Empire is the same as his approach to the world: he drills what he wants from it and doesn’t care about the consequences. I, on the other hand, am trying to build something innovative and good. And that’s why I’ll win.’

In the front row, Shaw was spitting tacks.

‘Lot one hundred and twenty is an ultra rare effect card,’ said the auctioneer. ‘The Land Grab, which annexes a portion of your opponent’s territory, but can only be deployed if a Dictator card is already in play.’

‘One point five,’ said Bekker from the back of the room.

‘Two,’ said Shaw.

They were the only people bidding on the evil alignment cards now. Everyone else in the room could see it wasn’t worth getting involved.

‘Two point five,’ bid Bekker.

‘Three,’ said Shaw.

‘Five,’ Bekker called. ‘Give up, Shaw.’

‘No!’ Shaw yelled back. ‘Ten. I bid ten million.’

‘It’s not worth it,’ Casper cautioned him. ‘You don’t have any Dictator cards, so you can’t even use it.’

‘But I’m going to get one, aren’t I?’ Shaw snapped back.

‘I’ll bid fifteen,’ Bekker called.

‘Fifty!’ Shaw countered, and the room gasped.

Bekker laughed. ‘For fifty million bits,’ he yelled at Shaw, ‘you can have it.’

Shaw grinned and crossed his arms over his chest, glancing smugly at Casper.

‘You don’t have a Dictator card,’ Casper reminded him.

‘Shut up.’

Casper did as he was told. He wasn’t getting paid enough to argue.

‘The Automated Magnate,’ the auctioneer called. ‘A low stats figure card that dispenses mana each turn according to the number of AI-controlled figures in your army. Costs two key demographics to deploy. Let’s start at a million and a half.’

Shaw bought it for seventy.

‘Insurrection,’ was the next. ‘An effect card that doubles your attack ability against political targets if you have a Dictator in play. Do I have one point two five mill?’

Shaw bought it for eighty-five.

‘The Puppet Dictator,’ the auctioneer called. ‘Lot one hundred and fifty-six. Rendered in plastic, with holographic inlay detail and matching lifelike figurine, mint in box. Active for two turns and requires the player to discard two cultural or educational figures to deploy. Who’s going to start me off at two and a half million?’

‘We need this one,’ Casper whispered. ‘He’s the trump card. Without him, your deck won’t play.’

‘I know,’ Shaw snapped impatiently, then he raised his paddle and said, ‘Three million,’ before Casper could advise him to tread gently.

‘Five million,’ Bekker called.

‘Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?’ Shaw called back to him. ‘A hundred million.’

‘You want to cut to the chase, Shaw?’ Bekker replied. ‘Then let’s cut to the chase. I bid one billion bits for the Puppet Dictator.’

This time, the audience was too shocked to gasp.

Shaw was apparently too shocked to respond. He was shaking, though, his paddle oscillating slightly in his white-knuckled grip.

Casper knew that Shaw couldn’t match the bid. He’d burned through so much cash overbidding for the lesser cards that he hadn’t reserved enough to buy the only one that really mattered. His deck would be a handful of dross, with no lynchpin to hold it all together.

Shaw dropped his paddle from his shaking hand to the floor. His dreams of world domination went with it.

The auction went on without him.

Shaw didn’t bother to collect his purchases after the auction.

Casper did. He knew someone who could put them to very good use indeed, and would pay handsomely for the privilege. In fact, he already had. Casper really was the best technical player in the game, and he’d played Shaw perfectly.

Bekker smiled to himself in his seat. The problem with people like Shaw was they were so simple-minded that they couldn’t see the game within the game, or the game within that, either. Bekker didn’t want to be seen openly buying up a deck of evil alignment cards. He also didn’t want someone else clumsily playing his alignment in his territory, so he’d put an end to it today, knowing it would win him the tournament in the long-run, and the election after that. Then he could bankrupt Shaw, buy him out and drill, drill, drill.

The camera arrived just in time to catch Shaw leaving the building in a huff.

‘Mr Shaw appears to be a sore loser,’ the reporter commented.

‘Imagine getting so worked up about it,’ Bekker said, shaking his head with a dismissive laugh.

‘You say that, but you yourself just spent a billion bits on a single playing card.’

‘Yes, Cynthia, but then I have bits to spare. And, unlike Cosmo, I haven’t forgotten the most important thing about Empire.’

‘Which is?’

‘It’s just a game.’ Bekker smiled. ‘Isn’t it?’