The arcade was a dark, pulsing affair of bright lights and loud sounds. From all over I could hear fighters beating the polygonated crap out of each other, dancers stamping out techno beats to a screen of arrow-hell, giant mecha battles commencing inside strange egg-like pods and the constant rise and fall of the claw, the machines of which had begun to overrun establishments such as this nationwide.

  Dalton and I had come here frequently before Morita had run off with our woman but it looked different now. Every shadowy corner a hiding place, every middle aged man standing at a cabinet a potential doll-thief. He was here somewhere, Su had seen him rush in, doubly-exhausted as we were, no doubt. The shinkansen seemed a life time ago, it’s relaxed cabins and polite stewards and refreshments. I was parched now, the run through the midday heat had seen to that, but there wasn’t time to stop at a vending machine. We had to find him.

  We slowly walked through the rows of machines, studying everyone we passed intently. Dalton and Su were stationed by the door ensuring he couldn’t escape whilst Kurosawa and I made our way through the humid arena. Two mild mannered salarymen sat on opposing Super Street Fighter machines, their avatars clashing violently whilst they focused – with little emotion – on the game, their fingers moving lightning fast, the ball of the arcade stick a blur. I tried not to get distracted. He was here somewhere. Our first stop and we have him already.



~ by Joseph Blame on February 21, 2011.

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