James Axler – Shadowfall

“Bad luck, competitor. Too hard on the gas. Stalled on the line. Insert further money for a second attempt on the Grand Prix challenge.”

And the screen went dark.

“Fuck that,” Dean said, climbing quickly from the car. “Let’s try another.”

” ‘SEEMS LIKE SOMETHING big’s happening. I’ve never seen such excitement. Nerves and tension and snapping voices. Word is that the Ruskies are going to stage a preempt. Walter’s been saying that we should fight to the last man and woman. Make it hot for the bastards. I don’t see it coming to that. Crazy. Gateway’s been busy with top guns from Washington and the Five-Sider. If they try and invade, then we’ll likely be in the front line. Most went to bed early tonight. I watched “Dueling Dollars” and got nine out of the ten questions right. My best score ever. One wrong was stupid about some Chinese leader called Mow. Corey in filing said the shredders are overtiming it.'”

“WHAT’S VIRTUAL REALITY?” Dean asked. “Never heard of that before.”

“Me neither. Mebbe best not put head in that helmet, Dean. Try another.”

They stood and looked at the black headpiece with built-in goggles and headphones. The game was called Castle Douglas of Doom, and promised dark encounters in black dungeons and turreted towers with enemies from both sides of the grim divide. There were pictures of phosphorescent, leering skulls and sheeted ghosts with bloodied talons.

“Try next one,” Jak said.

“You try it.”

It was called Arnie the Armadillo, and the purpose of the game seemed to be a quest through a tropical forest to collect as many sacks of gold from the mines of the dreaded trolls before you ran out of lives.

Dean pushed in the quarter as the albino leaned against the front of the machine, readying his long white fingers over the controls.

An animated scuttling little figure began to buzz from left to right, along a narrow tunnel. As Jak struggled to understand the controls, it ran headlong into a wall of spikes. The genial voice cut in. “Ouch! That sure hurt me. Be a bit more careful next time, will you?”

Less than four seconds later a lime-green batlike creature swooped from nowhere and picked Arnie up in its claws. Bit off its skull in a welter of crimson drops and spit it out.

“Ouch, that hurt worse. I won’t get far ahead without my head. Only one life left.”

That life was sacrificed when Jak pressed a button too hard and bold little Arnie went tumbling down a slide covered in slivers of razored steel that sliced him into a hundred animated fragments of bloody flesh.

“Ouch, I’m sure cut up about that. Three lives and out. Insert money for a replay. Better luck next time.”

Jak spit on the floor, turning away. “Let’s quit this triple-stupe shit,” he said. “No fun.”

“Still three games left. Mebbe we’ll sort of get the hang of them in a bit.”

“Right. Your turn, Dean.”

“NOT MUCH MORE left,” Mildred said.

“What is the date?” Doc asked.

“Only two days before the nukecaust,” she replied. “Woman’s starting to panic about what’s going on. Writing’s getting worse. Says there’ve been four deserters already in the last twenty-four hours.”

” ‘Caught Sergeant Silvers from the motor pool before he got over the fence. Colonel Yossarian executed him with his own automatic in the softball yard. I didn’t see it myself, but we all heard the sound of the shot. The pullout can’t be far away. Why build this redoubt and then abandon it? Doesn’t make sense to me. Worry about them at home.'”

THE FOURTH ARCADE GAME had malfunctioned and remained stubbornly dark and silent. It had been a combat game, pitting the finest American warplanes against those of the Communist Bloc.

“Shame,” Dean said. “I’d really have liked the chance to gross-out in an airwag.”

Fifth in line was called Urban Destroyer. Jak put in the coin while Dean readied himself at the controls. The screen offered him the chance to play any one of about eight different characters who had to make their way across Manhattan through the turf of dangerous street gangs.

Dean hesitated for a few seconds between taking on the role of Feuding Mick Norman or The Hooded Destroyer; finally picking the latter.