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the high life

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Everyone got a little wild back then. The first flush of success, the press coverage, Sega capturing that market share, money, money, more money…and the parties, oh, the parties that stretched long into the night, leaving Sega’s lineup a tattered and twisted wreck all over the floors of the company headquarters.

It was hard not to get carried away.

Mobo and Robo flitted in the dark corners of those parties, slipping from room to room, watching and listening and snickering behind their hands. They would make little mental notes of who was flirting with whom, who was brooding quietly on the balconies, and who was shooting their mouth off with gossip. And they would take little things, tiny trinkets that nobody would notice or miss…at least, not at the time.

And they drank. Boy, did they drink. They put away bottles until the world was swaying like a ship, and they clung to each other for balance, laughing, until they inevitably fell onto the nearest couch, with money spilling out of their pockets and secrets floating in their foggy heads.

Not that they ever did anything with all that evidence, of course. And they never took anything of real importance, as they saw it. But when you wake up at two in the afternoon with Polaroid pictures and crumpled bills around you, there’s no telling who could have taken a peek at you and instantly known what happened.

Still, they got away with it. If there’s one thing that could be said for the Bonanzas, it’s that they could get away with anything.