The Arcade Machine

(This story is based on the song Cabinet Man by Lemon Demon)

"Are you sure about this, Professor?" a nervous undergrad with a significant moustache said, in a soft voice. He smoked a cigarette in the older man's garage, gazing at the work.

Professor Arthur McMills stood over a half-complete arcade machine, wires exposed. Tools were scattered around the two men. On the far end of the room, a gurney stood, prepped for surgery, in whatever makeshift fashion a computer science professor could arrange in a few hours' time.

"I just know this will work!" exclaimed Arthur. "No one believed me when I brought forward the proposal, but there's not a chance it won't! Electrical impulses are the same, whether they come from a machine or a human brain." Arthur plucked the cigarette from his assitant's mouth, and took a long puff himself. He then tossed it onto the ground, and snuffed it out with his foot. "Simple as reading a syllabus. Circuit board to brain, and then have the lungs collect quarters. Attach the heart to the power supply, and we're in business!"

The student took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "But why have me do this? Really, I'm flattered, but I'm just a sophomore. Couldn't you get a real doctor to help you?"

"Have you taken an oath to do no harm?"

"No."

"Perfect. This is going to mess me up, real proper."

The younger man stood silent for a long moment. "You said I'd get an A on the final project if this goes off without a hitch?"

"On my honor as a man."

He took another deep breath. "Alright then. Get on the bed."

***

A truck pulled up to an arcade in the suburbs of Boston, the driver sweating profusely from his moustache as he got out. A tarp covered a large object on the bed of his truck. He rushed inside.

Finding the nearest employee, he spoke hurriedly. "Hello, miss. Is the owner available?"

"Willis? I think he's in back," replied the recentionist, unpurturbed. "Should I get him for you?"

"Yes please," he responded. "I have an old arcade machine I need to get rid of."

"Huh. Okay." She began to walk in the direction of the building's office nonchalantly.

Once she'd returned, she had a heavy-set old man, who both looked and smelled like the color grey, in tow. He wore a brightly patterned Hawaiian shirt, but his expression was grim and mirthless.

"What can I do for ya?" he asked with his best impression of a businessman.

"I'd like to give you a used arcade machine."

"How much do you-" he cut himself off. "Wait. Give?"

"Give. My grandpa passed, and no one wants to buy it off me. He would've liked for it to get played, I think. Dying wish, or something like that?" He made as much eye contact with the proprietor as possible, hoping the man would buy his story. "Would you be able to take it off my hands, and give the machine a new home?"

Willis stood stock still for a minute. "Well, I know what they say about gift horses. Let me see the thing."

***

Two weeks later, Willis watched a news broadcast inside his office. The face of a moustached young man, apparently his yearbook photo, was hovering on the screen.

A woman spoke over the image. "Carl Essamson, pictured here, is wanted for murder. The pre-med student is the last known associate of his professor, Dr. Arthur McMillis, who was found dismembered and mutilated in the garage of his Boston home. Essamsom is believed to be armed and dangerous, and should not be approached. If you have any-"

"Isn't that the guy who sold us the lucky Space Invaders machine?" asked Willis' employee.

"Maybe. All sorts of guys have moutaches like that, you can't just go around accusing people of- Wait, lucky? How is it lucky?"

Sabrina gestured out onto the floor through the one way mirror. Three Space Invaders machines stood out there, but two were entirely unused, while one had a line, six deep, to use it. At the front, a young boy attempted to get past level two. However, his attempts were thwarted, and his ship was once again blasted into digital oblivion. The young man made to put another quarter into the slot before the next person in line, an older girl, stopped him. The two began squabbling in a way that looked like a fight might break out. So Willis found it necessary to come out of his hermit crab shell to see the commotion.

"Hey, hey, hey!" he shouted as he approached the small crowd. "What's this about, eh? There's two empty machines and everyone's making a fuss about this one in specific? It's not special!"

"It is special, mister," said one of the children in line. "If the machine likes you, you can get to level three easy!"

"Oh yeah?" Willis asked skepically. "We'll see about that." He put a quarter from his pocket into the slot, and it fell through with a surprisingly meaty thunk. The screen went blank for a second, and then for a fraction of a second, a tiny heart appeared on screen, before disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

The first two levels were a breeze. Willis couldn't help but feel as if the game were playing itself, and that he was just extraneous to the whole experience. His ship moved out of the way of oncoming projectiles when they should have hit him, and during those exhilarating moments when he needed to hit the last alien invader, they seemed to just wander straight into his bullets.

The children in line gathered around him, enraptured.

"No one beats level three…" whispered one boy.

"Says you, kid," Willis muttered. But the child's words rang true. His bullets weaved between the invading aliens, and his remaining lives were quickly evaporated. His last life succumbed to an alien projectile, "GAME OVER" flashing onto the screen. Raging, Willis slammed his fist onto the control panel, and kicked the machine. Although he didn't notice it himself, the screen flashed with a broken heart, before returning to the usual sequence that played when no one was at the machine.

"Hey, bud. We're all just trying to beat level three to see what happens after that. Can we get back to playing?" asked the older girl who was next in line.

Willis took a deep breath in, then out. "Alright, but keep it civil. No fights, yeah? Anyone who throws a punch is automatically banned from this establishment, got it?"

"Got it!" responded most of the children in his audience. The older girl was already putting her quarter into the slot.

***

A young man attempted to pick the lock of the back entrance to the small arcade. "You sure about this, Nita?"

Snow fell, soft as cats' paws, as a teenage girl and her slightly older companion attempted to break in. She carried a crowbar. "Sure as shit, Huey. As sure as your mom cheats on your dad and your dad cheats with his mistress. Get out of the way."

She gave him a half moment to move his face before swinging at the lock herself. The sharp point of her metal instrument broke the lock with one swing. Huey stared at her in disbelief.

"Well?" She grabbed her backpack. "Let's go."

The pair entered. They left the back door open behind them, their winter coats still on.

"There!" said Nita. The power was off in the entire building, besides the emergency lights. However, one machine still glowed brightly among all the darkened ones. A Space Invaders machine that refused to power down. That refused to let you reach level four, if you weren't one of a chosen few. The rat bastard machine that had stolen Nita's allowance, week after week, while steadfastly refusing her hope to get onto the leaderboard.

She twirled the crowbar, nicked from her dad's garage, as if it were a flag, her color guard skills serving her well. Huey followed at a short distance.

Nita dropped her backpack onto the floor with a thunk. She reached into it, and produced a pink spray can. "You wanna do the honors, or should I?"

"It's all you, Nita. I'm just here for the quarters."

She moved to the left side of the machine. "CHEAT" she spelled in large, pink letters.

She chuckled. "Time to die, bitch." She twirled her crowbar back once, and then swung it at the face of the machine. Its small mechanical noises died down, repeating and murmuring.

"Don't forget the money!" yelled Huey, having drawn some distance away from the actual machine.

"Oh yeah!" Nita now swung the crowbar at the body of the machine, near the quarter slots. She repeatedly did this until she heard the pained whisper of change against sticky arcade floor.

In near darkness, Nita chuckled contentedly. "That's what you get." She picked up a quarter from the floor. She was surprised to find it oddly slick. Raising it to the light of the emergency exit, she saw it was a dark red color.

"Nita?" Huey asked nervously. The machine was leaking a dark liquid from within, and the screen had turned back on, despite the broken screen, now flashing repeatedly with a broken heart.

She stared, dumbfounded. "Oh, shi-"

***

Carl Essamsom watched in the television room of his high security psych ward. A fire was being reported on. An arcade. The very same arcade where he managed to offload Arthur. He sighed.