I punch through the doors and into the concourse, hot for your heels. Through into a ballroom he sits in a high-backed padded chair.
You’re at his knees, leashed like a beast. His right-hand number one guy is in a season for pain and with me, he aims to get his pleasure. This is one tough boss, one I have not come across in all these hours given to the joy of the arcade. The air, the ground, he’s coming at me from all angles. And like the real world, I feel blows but the pain soon goes with power-ups I find hidden in breakable objects. The main-boss feels I have the upper-hand and can see I am about to land the killer blow, raises his arm which is pushing with life from the cables and tubes connected, and shoots a jet of light through the unnamed, long-haired man, taking the glory for himself. I watch as he rises as if to his congregation, the organ behind his seat begins playing his theme, a theme of my impending doom. Each cord strikes at my nerve endings, pricking them like needles. My hair on end, here he chooses to stand. Laughter roars through the room shaking the chandelier and the pillars that are holding up the ceiling like their lives depended on it.Įyes lock mine, a nursery rhyme tinkles in the background. His height and bulk dwarf me, the floor sinks like wet sand. A hand swipes at me, taking blood with it. I watch as it sprays the wall, and then I fall.
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