Short Story: Into the game – Act 1
Chapter 1: Arcadia
The arcade sat on the corner, its dark blue walls glowing faintly beneath a flickering white sign. From the outside, it looked alive, lights flashing, music pounding, screens pulsing with colour. But inside told a different story. The air buzzed with electronic hums and mechanical clatters, yet not a single person stood among the machines.
People walked past without noticing. Nobody went in. Nobody even looked twice. It was a busy Saturday on the high street, crowds everywhere except here.
The machines bore unfamiliar names. No Street Fighter, no Pac‑Man. Instead: Speed Circuit, Beat Fighter, Snackman. Familiar shapes twisted into something off. Up close, everything felt cheap, rushed, wrong.
Near the entrance, a plastic bin labelled LOST AND FOUND overflowed with wallets, phones, keys, and even belts. Nobody ever came back for them. Nobody asked. Like the arcade itself, they were forgotten.
No one remembered when the place had opened. It had simply appeared one day, without notice. People went in. Nobody came out.
Behind the reception desk sat a shadowed figure, half-hidden beneath the dim light a face half in shadow, half in smile. Waiting. Watching. Patient, as though time itself didn’t matter.
A young couple giggled their way through the doors, laughing and careless, unaware of what waited for them. They weren’t lost, they’d come here on purpose, meeting friends for one last round of old-school games. They didn’t notice the silence, or the way the lights didn’t quite match the rhythm of the sound. They handed over cash without looking up. A pale hand slid a ticket to them. They texted someone, then wandered deeper in.
They started at the air hockey table, paddles clacking, the puck zipping under blinking LEDs. Their laughter echoed strangely, like the room was smaller than it looked. After a few minutes, they moved on, drawn further into the maze of machines.
At the front desk, the shadow’s smile widened.
Then silence.
Thirty minutes later, an adult stumbled through the doors, out of breath and sweating. Brown hair that needed cutting. Loose, unfashionable clothes.
“One ticket, please,” he said, not noticing the pale grin that greeted him or the thin hand sliding the ticket across the counter.
He walked slowly inside. The front of the arcade was open and bright, but the back dissolved into a maze of glowing corridors. The air reeked of burnt dust and ozone. Everything felt fake, like a stage waiting for an audience that would never come.
He fumbled with the wristband, uneasy. Something wasn’t right. The posters showed people screaming, their faces stretched and grainy. The photobooth camera flashed for no reason.
Deeper inside, personal belongings littered the floor: shoes, bags, phones, wallets. He turned in a slow circle. Hadn’t he already passed that same machine? That same wallet?
He stopped. Listened.
Nothing but the electronic drone.
Then he saw them his friends’ backpacks, propped against a cabinet. The keychains, the patches are unmistakable.
He stepped closer. His stomach dropped.
Inside the screen, pixelated versions of his friends screamed silently. Their faces twisted in panic, fists pounding against the glass. Across every other screen, he saw the same thing: people trapped inside, mouthing one desperate word.
RUN.
A chuckle echoed behind him.
A flash of light engulfed him, swallowing the room whole. The shadow fractured into dark pixels, scattering like ash before reforming following him.
Daniel blinked and found himself staring at a character selection screen. His vision swam under the bright lights. To the side, he saw his class and traits listed as if they had always been there. His clothes shimmered, shifting into something new, though his backpack stubbornly remained.
Are you sure?
The message pulsed across the screen.
He hesitated but before he could answer, the loading bar filled.
The world dissolved.
Daniel was transported to the start of the game.
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