The Making of Brand Winner

Winter

The wall calendar was barely hanging on, but it was stuck there, on the fridge, dangling from an ALFA Insurance magnet attached at the corner. The magnet had the too-smiley face of their family insurance salesman on one side, and on the other side, the days of the month from a month that had long-since passed. Brandon Winter was angry his mom kept this mix of calendars on the fridge, past and present pulling at each other and yet somehow working together. He was staring at the date on the wall calendar. It was February 10, two months to the day from when he had been laid off from his job at World Wide Solutions.

Laid off. It felt like such a made up phrase. It’s what people said to him for the first couple weeks after it happened. Sorry to hear you were laid off, bud, said one. Being laid off’s not your fault, said another. It’s like they were trying to spare him the pain of just calling it what it was — being fired — but it was better than what his manager and that HR lady had said. They called it an “organizational restructuring” focused on “workforce optimization.” That was way worse.

Brandon had never met the HR lady before. He knew when he walked into his manager’s office with her sitting there it wasn’t good news. He had thought, and all his co-workers too, that they had made it past the wave off layoffs sweeping the tech industry. WWS hadn’t over-hired during the pandemic like so many others. They were a mid-size company, but a successful one, selling tech services to other companies around Atlanta. Consulting was supposedly a steady business. Everyone believed that. Brandon did too, until he walked in and saw the HR lady sitting there like some invisible observer.

The manager cleared his throat, clearly unsure of how to begin. WWS was downsizing. The economy just wasn’t recovering fast enough. Everyone was very sorry. They would all do their best to help Brandon through this difficult time.

Brandon didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say and resented that they paused like that, as if he should be the one to carry the conversation from there.

The manager grew more nervous. “You’re young. You’ll be ok,” he said as he shuffled the papers in his hand.

“Stick to the script,” Brandon heard the HR lady say through gritted teeth.

Brandon wasn’t sure that was true. He wasn’t sure if he would be ok, but he didn’t say anything. He just sat there. He wasn’t sure how he got home after that. He had the vague impression that someone came and escorted him from the building. Now he was in his mom’s kitchen. Had it really been two months already? How had he gotten here? Oh, right. He needed to tell her. That’s why he was there, standing in his mom’s kitchen, somehow trapped between this moment in the present and that moment in the past, in his manager’s office.

“Brandon, sweetie, help me with these bags,” said his mom. She had come in from grocery shopping. She looked surprised to see him. Brandon didn’t visit often. He told her it was because he lived downtown, she in the suburbs — the traffic! — but really, his mom had that way of making him feel like a child, even though he had been living and working on his own for a couple years now. He loved her, but she could be so annoying.

“What’s with the calendars?” said Brandon.

“I like knowing what day it is.”

“Which calendar do you look at?”

“The current one, of course.”

Brandon looked between the two calendars hanging there. The big wall calendar, clearly the current one, but that little outdated ALFA Insurance magnet calendar holding there at the corner. How did she not get distracted by all that?

“Sweetie, the bags.”

“Oh right,” said Brandon. He snapped out of the daze and took some of the groceries from her arms. They worked in silence putting away the groceries, his mom never really acknowledging how strange it was that he had just appeared. This wasn’t unusual. The two of them never talked much. Brandon was getting tired of this routine.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here, Mom?”

She stopped mid bag unloading herself now. She looked him up and down, for what seemed to Brandon like the first time in a long time.

“I don’t know. I figured you would tell me when you’re ready.”

Brandon wanted to scream. How could she not just ask? Ask anything. How’s life? How have you been? What’s been going on in your life? Anything. She never checked on him. Not once since he was laid off—not that he had told her that yet—but still, she always forced him to go first, always forced him to be the grown up, even when he was a little boy. He was tired of playing the grown up.

“I quit,” said Brandon. He sat the cereal box he had been holding down on the counter. He turned to leave.

“What?” said his mom. “You quit your job?”

“Yeah sure, that’s how it went,” said Brandon. He liked the idea of reimagining himself storming out of his manager’s office, of him making the first move before they had time to fire him. He was in control now. Not them. He had quit and he wasn’t going back. He wasn’t going to play their game, or this weird game with his mom. He was done.

Brandon turned to say goodbye before walking out of the house, but then he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Let her be the adult for once. Let her say goodbye first. Just say something of any real consequence.

“Please, for the love of God, just use one calendar, Mom.”

And then he was gone.

Spring

The landlord was banging on the door. He wouldn’t stop until Brandon answered, that was for sure, but Brandon was close to beating his own record. 12 eliminations and counting. This had to be a record in Battle Wall. Well, at least for Brandon. There were pro players getting 20 elims a game. Brandon had spent the last two months doing nothing but playing Battle Wall and trying to get better. It was all he did now, and he was ok with that. When he told his mom that he quit, he meant it. He wasn’t going back to his family. He wasn’t going back to a job. He was his own man now, doing only what he wanted to do. He was actually starting to get good at this game. 12 elims and counting. Maybe he could get good enough to become a pro player. Brandon was starting to believe that it was possible.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

The landlord had to be slamming his whole fist into the door now, slow and methodical, almost like he was trying to break the door down and barge in. There was no way he’d do that. He could get in so much trouble. Brandon continued to ignore him.

“I know you’re in there,” shouted the landlord. “I can hear that game through the door.”

Brandon turned down the TV’s volume.

13 eliminations. 14 eliminations. He was actually getting pretty good at this game now.

Battle Wall appealed to Brandon because he loved the way the game started. You picked a spot on the game map and teleported in. The first one to build a wall gained an advantage. Brandon might not be the fastest shooter against these other players, but he was great at building walls. He had spent a lifetime practicing, long before he started playing the game. Brandon also loved what the wall represented. It was your shield, your fortress. Your wall protected you from other players. Your wall was how you claimed your place in the game world. Brandon’s strategy was get in, get his wall built quickly, and hold out against the onslaught of players. There were two types of players in Battle Wall — the builders and the shooters. Builders were like Brandon, the creative types who held off the chaos of the game world. Shooters were the agents of chaos. They lived for rushing walls and trying to tear down what others had created. Brandon hated the shooters.

15 eliminations.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

The landlord wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’re two months behind on your rent, son.”

Don’t call me “son,” thought Brandon. Parents weren’t something that Brandon was looking for. He was living life on his own terms now, possibly for the first time ever.

“You need to make arrangements or get caught up,” said the landlord. He wasn’t shouting as much now. Brandon knew he could outlast this guy.

16 eliminations. 17 eliminations. 18 eliminations.

Something was starting to give in this game. Brandon could feel it. He was holding his wall, but he was also starting to get good at taking out the shooters. He was holding his own now. This was a good sign. Brandon was feeling at home in this game, camping his wall, and taking out all these shooters as they rushed toward him.

19 eliminations.

“You can hide out in there if you want, kid,” said the landlord, “but you’re going to have to pay rent or we’ll start the eviction process.”

Brandon wasn’t worried about losing his apartment. He was making a home in Battle Wall. He was able to defend it now too, even against the best in the game.

“I’ll come back next week. You better have rent or have a way to catch it up.”

20 eliminations. Game over. Brandon won this round. He knew the landlord was all thump and bang, all noise and empty threats. The landlord was like the shooters, bum-rushing his wall with no real skill. Brandon knew he had at least 3 months before they could evict him, maybe 4 if he played it right. Plenty of time to prove himself. Plenty of time to become a pro Battle Wall player and turn it all around.

Summer

The line at his favorite coffee shop was spilling out the door and wrapping around the corner, so Brandon decided to post up at the front of the Metro station across the street. It was early June, warm enough to feel like summer but not the make-you-want-to-die heat of July or August. Brandon needed to get out of his apartment, even though he was afraid to take a break. He started streaming Battle Wall gameplay six weeks ago, and he hadn’t left his apartment since. It was going well. He was building an audience and so close to finally making some money from streaming. Time away could cost him viewers and potential money. He also didn’t want to run into his landlord. That guy was relentless.

The Metro station entrance was crowded. The destitute and the desperate were lined up all around, camping the station entrance for scraps from anyone passing by. Just a couple more weeks, Brandon reminded himself. Things would turn soon enough. If not, this could be him, out on the streets begging for coffee and food. His mom had called recently and offered to let him stay in his old room. It was nice that she had reached out, but still, no way Brandon was going back to that. It was worth the risk, living life on his own terms like this. He really loved playing Battle Wall, too. This was his life now.

“Here buddy, take care,” said a middle aged man as he passed by and handed Brandon a $5 bill.

“Wait, I’m not…” Brandon thought better of finishing that sentence. He didn’t want to offend those around him. He wondered how he must look. Had he been stuffed away so long in front of his computer that he wasn’t taking care of himself? He sniffed his armpits. He was fine.

Brandon started across the street. Enough of this waiting around. He walked past the crowd and pushed into the coffee shop. He scanned the store. There were 20 or so people in line in the store. It had been raining the last few days. Everyone must have chosen this day for getting outside, just like Brandon had. As he looked around, a girl a couple stops back from the front of the line looked at Brandon. Her hair was blue and purple, and she wore a Battle Wall hoodie. She smiled. Brandon checked his own look. He wondered if he was wearing Battle Wall gear himself, but he wasn’t. Brandon decided to take a chance.

“Hey, you seem like a friendly face,” he said, walking up to the girl.

The girl looked at Brandon and removed one of her earbuds so she could hear him better.

“I hate to ask,” he said, “but I’m in a hurry. Every second I’m away, I’m losing money.”

The girl smirked, as if unimpressed.

“Potentially,” he said. She was more distant than he expected.

“Everyone here is busy,” said the girl.

Brandon looked around. He would have to try a different approach.

“You like Battle Wall? I’m a Battle Wall streamer.”

“Oh really?” she said. Brandon couldn’t tell if she was impressed or if she didn’t believe him. It could go either way with her.

“Maybe I’m a Battle Wall streamer too,” said said. “Maybe I’m losing money being here too.”

Brandon thought she was cute and funny and also a little annoying.

“I’ve got $5 here for you if you can just get me a drip coffee. Black. Nothing special.”

The girl looked around. She was considering it, Brandon could tell.

“I don’t know,” she said. “All these people…”

Brandon clasped his hands in front of his face, bowing, trying for his most sympathetic expression, as if to say, “Please.”

“I mean, that $5 offer is so generous,” she said. Now she was clearly being sarcastic. Brandon was growing frustrated, but he also couldn’t help but like her a little.

“Look, can you help me out or not?”

He said that harsher than he meant it. She pulled back, and Brandon could tell he overstepped.

“It’s just a game, man,” she said, and with that, she put her earbud back in and turned away from Brandon.

Brandon was left standing there, no one else paying him much attention. He left the store and walked back to his apartment empty handed. This trip outside had all been a waste. No coffee. He lost streaming time for no reason. Sure, the sun was nice, and that girl had been sweet, despite not helping him out, but otherwise, this trip had been a complete bust. How could this get any worse, he thought.

When he got back to his apartment, he realized it could indeed get much worse. While he was gone, the landlord came and changed the locks. He knew this because his key no longer worked and there was a document taped over the peep hole of the front door. The document had large type at the top that read: “Eviction Notice.” Brandon’s computer gear and clothes were boxed up and sitting on the curb. This was bad, he knew, but all he could think about was his computer sitting in that box on the street. His real home was there in Battle Wall, and Brandon was unsure how he was ever going to get play again, how he would ever find his way home.

Fall

Labor Day weekend in Atlanta was one of the busiest weekends in the city. Football season kicked off with 100,000 fans descended on Atlanta for the College Football Kickoff Classic. Another 75,000 were downtown for the Southeast’s largest comic book, sci fi, and fan expo. Brandon was sitting across the street from one of the comic convention halls, the one used as the con’s gaming center. There was a Battle Wall tournament going on that Brandon wanted in on. Brandon had been living on the streets for the last 3 months. It had been tough. He had managed to rent a storage unit that he converted to one part home, one part gaming center. He powered it all from a hotspot he had gotten from his cell provider. He was managing enough of a street hustle and begging operation to keep this setup afloat. With the Battle Wall tournament in town for this convention, he was sure this was his big chance to break out of this rut. All he needed was admission to the convention.

“Hey man,” he said to a convention goer dressed like some monster from a video game he didn’t recognize. “Care to help a guy out? Just trying to find enough for a convention pass.”

The unrecognizable monster growled and kept moving.

“All good man. Hey, Sailor Moon, I see you looking the part!”

She ignored him too.

Brandon kept hustling. He crossed the street to get closer to the convention entrance.

“Maybe you’ve heard of me,” he said to another con goer. “Brand Winter, Battle Wall’s newest streamer.” Brandon had started using his nickname “Brand” after he lost his apartment. The nickname felt loose and fast, quick like the gamer he was trying to be.

Convention goers parted on the sides as they spilled around him, seeming to do everything to avoid Brandon.

“Can anyone help a gamer out? The Battle Wall tournament is my last chance.” He said it more to himself than anyone else around him.

“Brand Winter!”

Brandon looked around. Was that someone in the crowd? He turned each way and then he saw her. She was dressed as one of the skins from Battle Wall, but there was that same blue and purple hair. That girl from the coffee shop. She was walking over to him from the convention entrance. She looked him up and down, clearly recognizing him, but also unsure what to say. She told him about looking up his stream after they ran into each other at the coffee shop, about how she was serious when she told him she streamed Battle Wall too. She had been following him since then. Then she said, “Bro, what even happened to you?”

Brandon was caught off guard by that. He wasn’t used to people asking about him.

“I’ve won some. I’ve lost some. But I’m still hanging in there. This could be my breakout year.”

“I was asking more about you. What happened to you?” she said.

Brandon didn’t know what to say to that. He just shrugged.

“It’s not obvious from your stream, but seeing you here now… well… you seem…” She was trying to be polite.

“Different.”

Brandon looked down, partly looking away and partly checking himself out. He had been trying to take care of himself, but he had to admit it. He looked homeless. He had become like those beggars outside on that day he had met this girl at the coffee shop. They were begging for food. He was begging for chance to prove himself. Maybe it was all the same.

“I guess things haven’t been going so well,” he said.

“You just need to catch a break,” she said.

Brandon sighed, partly in exhaustion, partly to keep from breaking down crying. That’s all he had been saying, but as she said it, he heard it differently. He realized it wasn’t a break in Battle Wall that he needed. He needed a break in life. With this girl he didn’t know at all coming along and really seeing him, really understanding what he was going through, he realized he needed help. Battle Wall wasn’t going to save him.

Brandon asked if he could borrow the girl’s phone. He promised to be quick. It would only take a minute. She agreed, and Brandon quickly dialed the number.

“Hey Mom,” he said. “Yeah, I’m not ok. I need some help. Can I come home for a little while?”

He thanked the girl for the phone. She wiped it down with a wet wipe she pulled from her bag before stowing the phone in her back pocket. Brandon had to walk up the street to the corner where his mom was going to pick him up. It would take her 30 minutes or more to get there since she was coming downtown from the suburbs. The girl said she was going that way too. She offered to walk with him. Brandon felt like she was making sure he got home ok.

As they walked, she said, “You know, with your Southern accent, it sounds like you’re saying ‘winner’ when you say your last name on your stream.”

“Brand Winner,” he said. “I kind of like that.”

“It’s a great streamer name.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “I’ll switch to that when I start streaming again.”

She looked at him, as if asking if it was ok for her to leave him alone.

“I’ll be ok from here,” he said.

Brandon stood there as the gamer girl with blue and purple hair walked further up the hill away from him. She waved goodbye. Fans in comic book and gaming character costumes were flowing in and out of the convention center down below him. Somehow, he knew it was true. Like any good game, the year had been filled with twists and turns, the unexpected. Now time was up on the game that had been the past year. He was indeed going to be ok. Brand Winner would live on, so would Brandon Winter. They were two parts of the same person. Suddenly, Brandon understood those calendars on his mom’s fridge, the two living out of sync in time and date and yet somehow in harmony with each other. Brandon couldn’t wait to see his mom again. He couldn’t wait to go home.