GDC Interview: The Agency Lead Designer Kevin O’Hara

It was my final day of infiltrating GDC under the guise of a reporter, and I had just received new orders: I was to attend a meeting with one of our moles inside of SOE, who would give me a classified briefing as to the progress of our new MMO mind control program.

Our man would be waiting for me inside the bar of the W Hotel, across the street from Moscone Center where the larger convention was taking place. My cover story was that I was going to be there receiving a demo of The Agency, one of SOE’s new upcoming titles.

I’m sure the irony of being assigned the task of previewing a game revolving around spies was not lost on headquarters. They always did seem to enjoy their own dry wit.

As I approached the designated rendezvous point I made out the face of Kevin O’Hara, formerly known as Q3PO, when he was the community manager for Star Wars Galaxies.

I wasn’t even aware that he’d come over to our side—but, the identities of most of our operatives were on a need to know basis. Hell, my own mother could have been working for us and I wouldn’t have heard about it.

Seated off to his left was Taina Rodriguez, a younger woman who I could only assume was his handler, sent there to monitor his actions and ensure that he didn’t give away anything more than he was supposed to.

As I closed to within speaking distance, I offered a brief nod of recognition, and issued the prearranged challenge: “Is the tablecloth red?”

This should have immediately brought the reply of, “The turtles are green.”

Instead, it was met with only dumbfounded stares and a stony, awkward silence.

I knew at that moment that something was very awry. Why wouldn’t these two know the answer to the challenge… unless…

The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to rise by ten degrees, and all I could hear was the pounding of blood in my ears as adrenaline flooded my veins: Jesus Christ, this was a setup!

Instantly, I felt all the old training kick in: My hand reflexively moving towards the Colt .45 tucked into my waistband, eyes scanning the room for potential targets, jaw clenched in preparation to pierce the cyanide capsule in my molar at the first sign that capture was imminent.

I considered turning and making a break for the door—it was only ten meters away, at most, and I could shoot my way out, if it came to that.

But no, out on the street it would be that much easier to take me alive. Here, they would at least have to contend with witnesses. I was going to have to make a stand.

After a few long moments had passed with no one springing forth from behind the bar with an AK-47, no poison darts flying at my neck, and no men with metal teeth wearing bowler hats appearing from out of the bathroom, I decided that, perhaps, I was a bit hasty in my original assessment of the situation.

There must have been some kind of mistake, and I really had been booked for an actual demo of the game. They thought I was here for a media appointment.

I took a deep breath. My jaw unclenched, my hand once again dropped nonchalantly to rest at my side.

If I was going to make it out of here alive I was just going have to play this one cool, and act like a normal reporter would, so as not to arouse any undue suspicion.

Proceed to the next page to read or listen to the interview I conducted to cover my escape.

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