Revisit

Brucey floored the clutch. It pushed back at first, but quickly gave way. The rumble of the engine muted as he finessed into fifth gear, releasing the clutch and pressing the gas. It felt so good, so real, on the dark open road. The purr of the engine traveled from the gearshift to Brucey's fingertips and up his whole arm. He had goosebumps.

With his other hand, he rolled down the window. The air was still, so still he may have second guessed if he was driving at all. The pines, merely shadowy giants, along the lonely road rustled slightly but didn't give up their usual scent that signaled home.

Far ahead of Brucey, he could see the single light before town. The intersection of the interstate and Midway Street was normally patrolled by Cadeham police, though technically it was exactly between Cadeham and Daiwich. Daiwich was a much smaller, poorer town with a small force. Brucey knew in his gut exactly who was on patrol tonight.

He may not have been able to smell the pines, but Brucey smelled Officer Roglynn from literally a mile away. It was a smell of ash and rot, and hatred. The hatred was the strongest smell of all. It was like the snuffing of the only candle in the entire world, an absence of smell, the end to smell itself. Ol' Roglynn the Goblin was a vibe-killer.

Brucey pushed the clutch again and shifted to sixth gear. The light ahead was green, but knowing Roglynn, he'd look for any excuse to stop the fun. The endless nights at the penny arcade with friends, always ended with Roglynn pretending there was a curfew. Even when the arcade expanded, adding floors for pachinko and adult games, Roglynn would snoop around an play detective. Anyone he saw getting too excited was sent home, or spent the night in a cell.

The light turned yellow. Maybe it was the roar of the engine, maybe it was the rage he had for Roglynn, but he wasn't going to stop. In Brucey's life, he almost never saw someone driving down Midway. One out of ten times, tops. The red lights were always short. Like cutting through softened butter, Brucey shifted to seventh gear. It was a gamble he was ready to make.

The light turned red. As he pressed on the gas, he watched the speedometer climb. Sixty, seventy, the light was still red, eighty, the roar was getting louder, the shadowy pines were a solid blur of black, ninety, would Roglynn be here? Brucey was going to run the light no matter what happened now. The speedometer reached one hundred as he reached the intersection. The light turned green.

As Brucey shot through the intersection, he swore he could hear the chimes of the pachinko machine, spitting out hundreds of ball bearings in celebration. The colored lights projected into the back of his brain and sent a rush of serotonin throughout his body.

The blip of a siren brought Brucey back to Earth. The lights in his mind weren't a game, they were the lights of Roglynn's cruiser tailing him. He was still going over one hundred. He wasn't going to stop for the Ol' Goblin. Checking the rearview, Brucey could even make out Roglynn's goblin-shaped head behind the wheel.

He was in town now. The blur of suburban homes, and their lights, reminded him of what was waiting at the center of town. If only he'd added an eighth gear he could get there faster.

Suddenly Brucey was knocked forward. He looked back and saw Roglynn directly on his tail, ramming him. The haptics were strong, that could have hurt Brucey's neck. He tapped on the rearview and pulled up settings: number of enemies, speed of enemies, enemy aggression.

Brucey selected enemy aggression and moved the slider back from ten to five. Roglynn's cruiser gave him about a car length of space in response. Brucey emoted a middle finger with the controller as he pulled up to the arcade. He parked in the middle of Main Street and got out of the car.

The arcade towered over the rest of Cadeham. Each window was flashing a different color, it was hard to imagine how anyone that lived nearby could sleep. Then again, Brucey thought, why would you sleep? He popped up the menu in mid-air for locomotion controls, selecting 'blink.' With his controller in hand, he pointed to the technicolor archway that marked the entrance to arcade and the world faded to black.

As the lights returned, he was standing under the archway. The rainbow lights were so vibrant, they would have sunburned him if they were real. Brucey felt like a ball that had reached the center win pocket, and he had. He pushed open the chrome double doors and saw his childhood on the other side.

Dozens of kids, cups full of pennies, jingling around from cabinet to cabinet to pinball machine. Every game you could imagine was at their fingertips: puzzles, fighters, shooters, racing games, flying games, even some early virtual reality rigs. Most of the kids were playing fighters, screaming and jumping, but he saw one kids isolated in the corner playing pinball.

Brucey blinked behind the kid and watched him play his favorite game: Black Knight 2000. The spinning red dial at the center, the clack of the pinball, the epic chorus of the soundtrack. Brucey was salivating with nostaliga, but the more he watch, the more he discovered imperfections. The ball wasn't behaving as it should, bouncing around randomly. It wasn't a functioning game, just a simulation of what had been. Brucey gave a final look at his young reflection before blinking upstairs.

This floor was dimmer, more somber. Here, everyone was isolated at their pachinko machines. Drinks in hand, cigarettes aimlessly painting smoky figures into the air, Brucey had really captured how much the light of the games had stolen their souls. Brucey blinked around inspecting their vacant expressions.

These people didn't get it. They didn't understand the beauty of the game. They were drones, sheep, fodder. Brucey wondered how he lost it all, while these people kept gambling away like it was nothing. The barrage of a million ball bearings bouncing in every direction, couldn't drown out his hate.

Brucey took a deep breath, the smell of ash and rot rushed in again: Roglynn. Brucey lifted off his headset. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the shapes of the old, burnt pachinko machines became clear. Brucey turned to the stairs and saw the Ol' Goblin himself.

His charred figure looked so frail now, yet even frailer was the child he failed to shield in his arms. Brucey didn't have a choice. This place took advantage of weak people, programmed them. They didn't see what he saw. Brucey lowered his headset.

Now he was at the bar, cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. Roglynn, in the form of an actual goblin was waving for him to get of his stool and leave with him. All of the drones were turned from their pachinko machines, staring vacantly at him. To be kicked out of his home, his favorite place, was no life at all. These people would never appreciate what they had.

Brucey threw his straight liquor into the carpet, and dropped his cigarette. The floor burst into technicolor flame, a new ending he was testing out. The balls clanging, the screams, the lights, the fire, the lights, the lights...