Killer Arcade

(CW: Violence, Crude Humor, Blood, Gore, Mild Language.)

Max Sheppard looked at the honeycombed ceiling and smiled a devilish grin as the plaster fell in front of his feet. The enemies in black suits before him ran for their lives. Hearts racing, the money to kill the lone hero wasn’t worth their mortal souls because none of them had ever seen a catastrophic storm like that before.

Unfortunately for them, their lights went out when a series of gunshots rang out like Zeus throwing thunderbolts from Olympus. One by one the villains fell to the stone floor and licked the cold balls of Death.

Max held his ray gun to his bristly chin and blew the hot steam away from the barrel. “Taste the thunder, meatbags!” A sudden noise further down the hallway peaked his senses. “Hmm… Good. There’s more killing to be done!”

The Millcreek Lumber Factory was a front for a drug warehouse owned by Magnus Oxenturd—a man so evil, he killed his mother with a simple wink when he was born. A cautionary tale Max kept in the back of his mind as he marched through the cocaine lined hallways. His footsteps carried a heavy weight like a giant troll rumbling through the forest in search of fresh meat—and lucky for him, dinner was served.

As Max rounded the corner, a big bulky man with a robust belly charged at him with an angry growl. In his hands were two sharp daggers hungry for blood. A lust for murder glistened in his eyes, but before they could drink the bittersweet nectar of murder, Max sidestepped his prance, flipped him over by his bulky arms, and impaled him with both blades. A thick stream of ichor flowed from his chest. “Well, well… Looks like you’re stuck, little piggy!” Max smirked.

Before Max could utter another one-liner, a second goon wearing dark sunglasses and a black trench coat jumped out from the shadows with a baseball bat cocked behind his head. Max caught the downward swing and snapped the wooden weapon like a toothpick. He stabbed the fractured timber into the goon’s skull. Even through the dark shades, Max could tell the move surprised the man because his eyes were the size of the moon. “Looks like you got a nasty splinter, uncool-daddy!”

His mission unfaltered, Max pressed on into the dark factory. He took a microsecond to reload his ray gun with another clip of plasma bolts and said, “Locked, cocked, and ready to implode!”

Out of nowhere, the shadows moved again and birthed a silk-clad ninja. His slanted eyes were scarred from too many battles. Max grimaced as the battle-tested warrior pulled out a matching pair of nunchucks and twirled them across his body like a raging waterfall.

“You wanna taste, karate man…” Max waved, as he holstered his gun behind his back. “Come taste failure!”

The ninja wasted little time. He charged forward with a high pitched squeal. His nunchucks looked like high speed propellers from the Lockheed C-130 four-engine turboprop military transport aircraft, but that didn’t stop Max Sheppard from snatching them in one mighty stride. Like a ballerina dancing around an empty arena, Max beat the ninja with his own weapons until there was nothing left but a bloody pile of black pajamas lying on the floor. “Now that’s what I call grace!”

Wooden crates filled with white powder lined the next room like a hedge maze. The lights were dim and the air was cool, but that didn’t stop Max’s next opponent from showing his ugly face. The shirtless stud with man boobies had long golden locks, green eyes, and a bulky bulge in his blue trousers that showed how excited he was to see his enemy at long last. He spoke with a thick Russian accent. “About time you showed up. I grew tired of waiting!”

Max pulled out a big cigar from his jeans and placed it between his lips. “I didn’t know I had a fan club,” he said with a half smile. “I’ll have to dismantle it ASAP if they all look as bad as you!”

“Shut your filthy mouth,” the Russian said, “and take your medicine like a big boy!” He reached behind his back and placed a rocket launcher on his underdeveloped shoulders.

BOOM!

Before Max had time to blink, the mad Russian fired. The missile soared through the air like a gliding pelican, but before its feet could kiss the sand on the beach, Max grabbed the flaming rocket with one hand, lit his cigar, and threw it at the cocaine-filled boxes. A thick cloud of white dust filled the room.

The Russian lost sight of Max and screamed. His eyes darted here and there, but there was no sign of movement anywhere. Suddenly, Max appeared behind the angry man, holding his red tank top over his mouth and nose. His body looked like it was chiseled from stone, and was surely the envy of every soul on Earth.

Without saying a word, Max kicked the Russian into one of the unbroken crates and tossed a hand grenade at him for good measure. The red misty powder from the explosion filled Max’s heart with delight. “You’re flying high now,” he said, just before leaving the room.

After eliminating a hundred more blood-thirsty soldiers with his raygun, Max finally made it to Magnus Oxenturd’s office. As he kicked in the red steel door, Magnus dropped his glass of brandy and soiled his gray silk business suit. “Who are you?!”

“Me?” Max retorted. “I’m the janitor. I’m going to need a mop and a really big bucket.”

Magnus opened his desk drawer, grabbed a revolver, and pointed it at Max. “Funny guy, eh? Well, let’s see how you like to spill your liquids all over my posh jaguar carpet!”

Before Magnus could fire a round, Max threw a hidden dagger he had tucked away in his black boot. The blade flew sure and true and found its mark right between Magnus’s black eyeballs.

“ARGH!” Magnus screamed, still alive.

“Since you liked that so much, I have a lot more where that came from,” Max said calmly. “Your drug dealing days are over.”

“You fool!” Magnus yelled. “I will crush every bone in your body!”

Max looked at his bulging biceps and replied, “Sure, I’d like to see that.”

Magnus fell to his knees and ripped his mortal flesh away to reveal his true form. A gigantic insectoid alien with green, slimy skin, two razor claws, and huge bulbous black eyes that yearned for killing. “Now, you will pay for your sins!”

Max narrowed his steely eyes and uttered, “What the fu—”

“Alright, that’s enough, kid. It’s closing time!”

Tod Stevenson looked away from the arcade screen like someone had stolen his life. “Are you kidding me?! I made it to the final boss! Let me finish…PLEASE!”

Pete Lawson smirked his lips to the left side of his cheek and stood his ground. “I’m sorry, but rules are rules.” He waved his hand around the game room and shook his head. “Look for yourself. Everyone is gone and I gave you an extra twenty minutes already, so it’s time to go home.”

Tod ignored the painful grunts of Max Sheppard as the alien creature hacked and slashed at the titular hero on the pixelated monitor. He looked at all the great arcade games in the room. Space Invaders, Asteroids, Pac-Man, Donkey Kong, Mortal Kombat, Duke Nukem, R/C Rally, and Centipede to name a few and saw no one. All those games with no happy players.

Through the poster cladded windows, the sun had faded to black and Jewel Street looked like a ghost town. Tod wiped his sweaty palms on his blue jeans and brushed the wrinkles from his Resident Evil t-shirt. His eyes darted back to Max Sheppard Vs. The World arcade cabinet and back to Pete Lawson. “Where did the time go? I’m really sorry, but I NEED to finish the game! You’re the owner here, right? So, can’t you give me a break?”

Pete shuffled his feet backward and admitted, “Well… I guess…” He paused and curled his wrinkled lips upward. “I suppose everyone has skeletons in the closet.”

Tod held his hands up and yelled, “YES!”

When he turned back to the arcade cabinet, Max Sheppard took one last slash to his mountainous chest and died. GAME OVER flashed on the screen over and over as if to rub the loss in. “Ah…crap! I’m too late!”

“Indeed you are,” Pete said with a menacing tone. His eyes peered into Tod’s skull as if it were searching for a sign of terror. Goosebumps erupted on Tod’s arm and the atmosphere of the room seemed colder.

“Um…” Tod mumbled. “I guess I’ll be going now.”

As Tod turned to leave, Pete grabbed his skinny arm and pulled him around. “Like I was saying. Everyone has skeletons in the closet. Or in my case…” He paused and pointed to the arcade machines. “Skeletons in the arcade cabinets!”

Tod blinked rapidly and pushed back against Pete’s evil words. “What do you mean?”

Pete shook his head. “It seems like every month now I get some kid who doesn’t want to leave. Please let me play longer, they say, and I have to be forceful in my ways. Oh, yes… the only option I had was to kill them all.” He motioned to the arcade cabinets once more and finished, “There’s a lot of open space in these arcade machines. The perfect place to hide the bodies.”

Tod shook himself free from Pete’s embrace. “You’re crazy!”

“Am I?!” Pete yelled with wide eyes.

He grabbed Tod again before he could run away and slammed his head into Max Sheppard’s arcade cabinet over and over. A thick stream of blood flowed down to the coin insert tabs and before the darkness could claim Tod’s soul, Max Sheppard shouted out, “Don’t give up on me now! We have a world to save. Don’t be a wussy!”

“Oh, shut up!” Pete yelled as he slammed Tod’s skull through the monitor. The digitized graphics and sound faded to black just like Tod’s life.

After a few hours of late night cleaning, all the blood was wiped clean, and the broken monitor was replaced. Pete’s breathing was labored, but he had just enough strength to place Tod’s limp body into the arcade cabinet to which he loved so much and slammed it shut.

With a deep gasp, and wide-eyed smile, Pete headed for the exit. Before he could reach the door handle, all of the arcade cabinet monitors flashed brightly and seemed to buzz with life. Pete turned around and fell to his knees.

“No,” he pleaded, “this can’t be real!”

All the arcade machines had grown legs and arms and were marching toward him. Could it be that all of the lost souls buried within wanted revenge at long last?

Two of the arcade cabinets made their way to Pete’s left and right side respectively and before he could beg for his miserable life, they fell in unison and smashed his head to bits like two hammers hitting a melon on both sides. Pete’s blood flowed outside the glass door as the neon sign flashed on and off. One thing was for sure…

The Killer Arcade would never be the same again.