#02 LITTLE ARCADE OF HORRORS
Roof of the Palmer House Hotel
Downtown Callisto City (Callisto, Jupiter IV)
Present day
Bill Murray raised his hand. “Wait a second… Aren’t Chuck-E-Cheese mascots supposed to be minimum wage employees dressed up?”
My partner rolled her eyes. “Come on, Bill! We got 8-bit handheld gaming systems, singing Hershey chocolates and orbital diners delivering square-shaped pizzas directly to your spaceship. We live in the future. Giant stuffed animals are obviously robots.”
“Or Freaks,” I added. “That’s the case near Amalthea.”
“Wow! Spoiler alert, Lee!”
Our explanations flew over our guest’s head, who was high as a kite. “Want to order a pizza, fellas?” he asked. “I’m still hungry.”
“Ali and I already had this conversation,” I interjected, straightening my tail from anger. “For technical issues, drones remain a big no. Especially for Callisto’s pizza. It looks like quiche!”
The actor slowly turned to my associate whose stomach grumbled again. “Your pet seems to be a professional spoilsport.”
Ali nodded, and steam whistled from my ears, like an old Tom & Jerry cartoon. A second later, all claws out, I taught them what to be in a stake out meant.
Bloody scratched, Bill Murray committed to a newly established intermittent fasting, and Ali resumed her story while applying half a bottle of Mercurochrome on her chin.
Grant Park Chuck-E-Cheese
South Callisto City (Callisto, Jupiter IV)
A month ago
Following the kid’s fantabulous revelations, I had already graciously climbed the security turnstiles of the arcade restaurant—and nearly broke my brand-new nose slipping. On the other side, I drew my rad-looking gun, and stared at the deserted rows of Paperboy terminals.
“Did you hear that?” Zéphyr asked as she joined me. The hero of the story.
“I heard I was right. And that you were wrong.”
My cyber-girlfriend sighed. “I’ll try to access the network and disable the murder-bot.”
But as her eyes sizzled, I slapped her to keep her mind in the real world. “No, you ain’t! I’ve always wanted to zero Mr. Munch.”
“Are you sure? It could be treacherous.”
“It’s just an animatronic. A brainless robot probably looking to unionize or some shit. What is it going to do?”
A burst of lead sprayed the terminals in front of us, forcing us to take cover behind a whack-a-mole featuring carnivorous plants. Mucho detonations soon followed, shattering ceiling lights and raining down foam insulation. Several severed electrical wires slipped out of the conduits and a short circuit set fire to a knocked down fryer dragged from the kitchen.
“God Darwin! The police are already here blindly shooting warning shots?” I whispered.
Another burst passed within inches of my scalp, setting on the jumpy edentate plant-moles clapping their jaws, and a fairground music.
“No,” Zéphyr answered. “The cyberamic probably found a scattergun and is rehearsing an Escondido.”
Removing the safety of my firearm, I shook off the fine carcinogenic dust on my shoulders, and looked up to watch the distant VR booths. According to the kid, that’s where the shooter had taken refuge. Unfortunately, it was impossible for me to see anything in the darkness that had prevailed since fuses blew up.
“At least this S.O.B. is cornered.”
My cyber thief remained cautious: “Steve Irwin would say a cornered beast is all the more dangerous.”
Another blind shot startled us. We couldn’t go on like this.
Thankfully, an idea quickly crossed Zéphyr’s bio-electronic mind: “How about the explosive devices you subtly borrowed from the store earlier?”
I gasped. “Do—do you really think I’m shoplifting? I’m an Auxiliary of Justice.”
She insisted, staring at me with her digital irises before her eyes turned ivory white. Like Lee, she knew my pyromania was only matched by my mythomania. Or, as she said earlier, my appetite. I’m an extreme person!
Roof of the Palmer House Hotel
Downtown Callisto City (Callisto, Jupiter IV)
Present day
“An extreme person, indeed,” Bill Murray intervened. “So you stole those grenades earlier while browsing for a flamethrower?”
Ali confessed between two muttered justifications.
Our guest shrugged. “I did the same with the animal-shaped C4 in Caddyshack… Couldn’t resist bringing the leftovers home.”
“Gophers troubles?” I asked, flipping my pointy ears.
“Alley cats. Mostly,” he replied.
My partner went on.
Grant Park Chuck-E-Cheese
South Callisto City (Callisto, Jupiter IV)
A month ago
“Jeez!” I said. “I don’t wanna waste those good-looking grenades! I was saving them for my anniversary!”
Zéphyr took off her holosuit to be less visible in the dark. “Today is your birthday!”
I smiled, pulling the pins on the red bombs with a flick of my teeth “Good call!”
“And to think we were just supposed to go out shopping, grab a disgusting McRib, and watch an afternoon movie—I’m sorry it turned out this way.”
“Don’t worry! I’m having a blast!” I reassured her before spitting the metal hooks over claw cranes still miraculously spared by the shooting.
I silently rolled the deadly charges across the bumpy carpet to our assailant’s hideout. Seconds later, the grenades exploded, sending pieces of sheet metal, CRTs, and quarters flying through the rows of machines.
Behind us, the fire grew. But the flames were immediately extinguished by automatic sprinklers.
“Did you get him?” Zéphyr asked. Green liquid ran over her holosuit which looked like a black wetsuit coated with tiny round mirrors.
I tried a timid glance. Taking advantage of the noise and the smoke screen provided by the incendiary devices, our target left his cover. He crouched on an old Zoltar machine, the fortune teller. Only his golden eyes shone in the darkness, and a sudden shiver ran down my spine. We weren’t dealing with an animatronic but a terrifying mutant. The skin of its flat head resembling cymbals oscillated between orange and green. Red lichen had grown on his hunched shoulders supporting a large and deformed turtle shell.
“A Freak-turtle-clam-plant?” I whispered to my friend. “Am I fucking high?”
“No, and you ain’t in Kansas, neither…”
I positioned my gun against the lip of the whack-a-mole. The click of the hammer startled the monster, who grunted before probing the room with his bright eyes. With my chin, I subtly pointed to the huge cathode ray television on the stage next to him. “Z? You have access to it?”
“Needless to say.” She plugged her white temple wire into a floor outlet to ensure better access than through infrared. “Get ready!”
My pocket-cyborg’s eyes turned from creme to red. The TV was remotely activated, lighting up the room. The Buggles appeared on the screen in a white box, guitars at hand. Trevor Horn began to sing as the entire arcade broadcast Video Killed the Radio Star.
I heard you on my wireless back in ‘52
Lying awake, intent at tuning in on you
If I was young, it didn’t stop you coming through
Oh-a, oh-a
The monster roared, but the thundering lyrics covered the scream. Disoriented by the power of the pop, he unceremoniously emptied his last magazine into the void before devouring his weapon. His flat yet massive jaws bent the metallic frame like it was a bunch of Twizzlers left all summer behind a windshield.
Oh-a oh-a
I met your children
Oh-a oh-a
What did you tell them?
Rolling to a cabinet closer to my target, I straightened to lean against it. Controlling my breathing, I pressed the trigger, and hit the creature in the heart. Twice. I’m so skilled, you know?
Sadly, the monster didn’t flinch. His veins pumped under his throat’s skin like when Hulk Hogan would swallow an entire cup of steroids. The pellets were absorbed by his soft plastron, and slowly vomited through weird gill-like trenches over his collarbone.
“Alright then, cheater…” I taunted him, sheathing my gun and clenching my fingers. “Come to me. I dare you. I fucking dare you.”
The sprinklers stopped. The monster’s wide mouth clapped. He charged at me without a second thought.
Video killed the radio star
Video killed the radio star
Pictures came and broke your heart
With one foot back and my fists raised, I was about to settle the matter in hand-to-hand combat when all the remaining lights and music went out.
Oh-a-a-a oh
I cursed out loud, before something tackled me heavily to the ground. We slipped on the waterlogged carpet right to the kitchen. There, I heard the monster’s jaws loudly clapping over my throat, and his fool breath moisturized my face.
I cursed out loud. Again. I was about to be eaten alive by Pizza-Face—in a fucking Chuck-E-Cheese.
Hating irony, I started fighting back before a flash occurred. A warm liquid splashed on my forehead, and the iron smell of blood filled my nostrils.
My mind slowly came back to reality, and I opened my eyes. Lights went back on. The dead mutant laid on top of me. His noggin had exploded and looked more like a popcorn streaked with purple gore.
“What happened?” I spat as I slid the smoking carcass to my side, against a fryer. Brain jelly covered my eyes and ran down inside my throat. It tasted like spoiled Gatorgum. “Ew!”
Zéphyr stepped over a cart. “I saw from the network he had a nice batch of processors in his skull. I blew up some transmitter’s battery after bypassing the meager security. Trivial.”
“A Radio-Freak?” I spat again, sitting up. “Shit’s a barf bag.”
Back behind her glitchy holo-appearance of Winona Ryder, my sexy savior grabbed a fork. Crouching, she triturated what was left of the fuming braincase. “More like a tracking implant. This odd creature was remotely monitored,” she explained as she revealed a melted plastic box and wires among the lilac ooze. “Someone on this moon is playing us a bad joke—a bad Halloween joke. Three days late.”
“Gag me with a spoon! Can you trace the dip who did this?”
She shrugged while several shrill police sirens could be heard outside.
