Post by Kyle Shane on Sept 23, 2012 2:33:40 GMT -5
He hefted the game out of the quarter bin. Gently, shifting it around to make sure it wasn't broken. He'd had that trick played before. He looked around. Ahmad was off buying a dashiki, or an ivory horn, or some other stupid African thing.
And yet, there it was. Brand new casing and everything. Batman: Arkham Asylum, only 25 cents.
Oh, sure, there were a few nicks in the plastene coating. Some tape on the side. And, curiously, scribbled in smudged black marker on the back, was the name "Ben".
Kyle turned the game over, end over end. This was a new game, only out two years, give or take, multiple DLC's and spinoffs. It was followed up by, oh, who knows, only the best game of all time, Batman or not. And this game itself stood the test of time. Only a quarter? Kyle scoffed a bit to himself. People who did these garage sale thingy's were largely rubes who were ignorant of just what they had. The old geezer in his Hawaiian shirt and brimmed golf hat, shaking hands genially with someone who took an antique rocking horse off his hands as he spewed some kindly old spiel about the quality of the woodworking on the horse head.
Kyle screwed his face up. He grimaced. This was surely not right. Maybe the old man was trying to stick it to some deadbeat relative, son or grandson who was living in his basement and smoking pot out of homemade bongs from potatoes or cans. Maybe this was grandpa's not so sly way of exacting revenge on little Benjy, the pass/aggress middle-finger salute that all the baby boomer generation wanted to throw towards the younger kids that they had a hand in raising for showing a lack of ambition or drive. Hell, maybe this was the old man trying to shoehorn some kid out onto his own into a meaningless job doing a 9-5 grind for minimum wage with relatively little time left over to enjoy awesome games like this. Well fuck that. Kyle owed it to Ben to get to the bottom of this old man's deal and put a stop to it.
"So as you can see," he was saying, in that infuriatingly patronizing 'I think all kids should get a job and stop playing fucking awesome Batman games' little tone he affected, through a pushbroom mustache that made Wilford Brimley blush, "I really can't go any lower than $725, I mean the missus and I bought this washing machine and had it installed, and it's got the pedestal, laser dry, and -"
"What's your game, grandpa?!", Kyle demanded, drawing stares from the little woman chatting with the old man, who was decked out in an ugly gypsy dress and more beads than Mardi Gras. He didn't care. Old ladies were always staring about something. He jabbed the Batman game accusingly in the old man's face, watching the eyes spring open. The man had fallen into a trap, alright. He wilted backwards with an almost primally subconscious aversion, like a vampire to garlic. Terrified of this beauty of a game, it's stoic protagonist's icy glare and it's IGN Game of The Year sticker. "You think you're just gonna backdoor this Ben kid out of one of his favorite games and force him to get a job flipping burgers? Huh? Talk, or so help me, I'll knock over this table of refreshments."
Intimidated by the tough talk, obviously, the old man began sputtering, "You picked up- That game. That was the game the boy said-"
"I said talk! If this Ben boy really wants this game gone for a quarter, why isn't he out here hawking it with the strategy guide and written cheat codes? You think I don't want the armored Batsuit? Please, man. Where's Ben and why is he letting you sell his game?"
"Please, Ben- Ben isn't around anymore," the old man was holding his hands out for the game, trying to pry it away until Kyle slapped his hand. "Ben lived down the street from me, but he's gone away now. He had to leave. Please, that's all. He's gone and he left that game behind, he didn't want it anymore." This went beyond an old man's foggy brain misfiring. Something seemed deeply off. Kyle's jocular tone faltered, his confidence hitched. "I think it's better if that game went back in the box, son," confided the older gentleman, "Ben woulda wanted it that way."
Interest piqued, Kyle frowned thoughtfully, eyes burning a hole in Ben's signature on the back. "Really? Why? And why only a quarter- speaking of which, I'll give you ten cents. That's haggling. We're haggling, now." His best confident leer went up to meet the man's eyes, but the timidity on the old man's face spoke of some deep, reverential duty. It's as if he was guarding something.
"Look, it's really simple, man. The kid doesn't want the game anymore. So you just take this dime- like so", as he enfolded a shiny coin into the man's palm, a pop of light flashed like an explosion behind Kyle's eyes and he felt a curious draining, an electric current tracing from his fingernails to the tip of his hair and a spark alighting the old man's eyes. A grin curved up, up, up, and yellow eyes stared deep into his. A cackle came from deep within the ether, cutting to the core of his mind. All of this while he stared the old man in the face, a face that seemed all smile, all horrible, toothy smile. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH-
"-well, if you insist on taking it off my hands, I guess I can accomodate you, Ben."
Snap back to reality. Kyle shook himself like a dreamer who's been plummeting from an plane only to hit the water with a cold slap. "I- wait, what?"
The old man was turning back to the gypsy dressed lady, whose bangled earrings tinkled as she peered down into the cavern of the washer, asking "so how many loads can this take?"
Kyle stared at the game in his hands for a good long second, and the red marker inscription on the back that seemed to be alight like a burning cherry, "Ben". He was snapped out of his reverie by the intrusive voice of Ahmad yelling in his ear, "you wanted to stop in this crackah ass neighborhood and go through yard sales, Shane, you find what you was looking for? Don't nobody need none of this crazy crap these honkeys be selling," Ahmad, strangely, was wearing Mickey Mouse ears on his head and bearing a stuffed badger done up by a professional taxidermist under one arm.
"Yeah, I guess I did," Kyle said like someone sleepwalking, and the rest of the ride back to the Nation complex he was lost in a fog, turning the game over and over like a conjurer turning the tarot cards.
Only the card he saw in his mind's eye was either the dark tower, or Death.
Later that night, Kyle sat in his beloved rolly chair, aimlessly and slowly spinning himself in a circle as he considered the disk. He was somewhat out of his fog, but he couldn't get the game out of his mind. Even a side break to fuck one of the Nation sisters senseless by bashing her into the headboard wasn't enough, as he was railroading Tiarra from behind, he was thinking about Batman. That sounds strange, yes, because at the very least he would only think of Cassie Hack from Hack/Slash either in cosplay or animated form depending on his mood... but thinking of the possibilities of Ben's Batman game during doggystyle was a first.
So he sat, anticipation building up and up until it rose uncomfortably in his gullet. He knew he couldn't stand this anymore. Determined, he wheeled the chair over to the TV. He was going to settle this in his mind right now. The whispered words of the old man who made the sale, calling him "Ben" echoed in his mind as he broke open the game, placed in in his X-Box and gave it a whirl.
The opening music was as dark and Gothic as ever, but as Kyle entered the game menu, something was off. On a whim, he decided to check the load game option instead of starting a new quest for justice. As soon as he clicked the button, he felt the unease growing into a panic, he felt the sound of gates shutting in his head. He was playing Ben's game, he was entering the asylum Ben had been exploring. But Ben had left the game behind. Hadn't he?
Ben had actually gotten pretty far. He was at the place where the boss fight with Clayface had gone down. Except the game glitched and paused for a microsecond, and when the hitch was over, the music was gone. Instead, Kyle could hear the shouts of henchmen and inmates from other levels, only they were louder now. And the voice acting seemed different. There seemed to be real terror in those pleas. Cautiously, Kyle moved forward, with every gamer instinct telling him this save file was corrupted, or the game had been spilled with bleach... SOMETHING. The calls of the inmates was getting to him. But Kyle knew there was a secret here, and he wondered if Ben had found it yet.
Kyle took the center stairs, past where Batman had last encountered the warden Sharp. The cries intensified as he stepped into this room, but there was a small, circular collection of scribbling on the floor. Kyle toggled Environmental vision, and found he'd unlocked the last of Arkham's notes.
A bloodcurling shriek came from the game now, so unlike any voice actor that Kyle wasn't sure if it was real, and he looked around in panic. He turned the camera to see Sharp running at him carrying a knife, but had no time to react before his screen went dark. And then, the game froze completely. Kyle pushed several buttons, but the screen was cut in a weird static for a long second.
Kyle had to reboot the entire game, feeling a warring sense of irritation and dread. He went back to load game, but all he could bring up on the screen was the inventory menu, and the chronicles of Arkham. Kyle gritted his teeth. The scribblings in the chronicles made his eyes pulse. The insane ramblings of Amadeus Arkham, some not even in the game, began to run through his mind like a computer calculating a vast input of data.
Kyle rebooted the game, frantically. He started a new game all his own. He settled comfortably as the Dark Knight began to escort the Joker into the gates of Arkham. That was safe. That was sane. Evil would be imprisoned and good would triumph.
"It's over!" Batman growled.
"Over? My dear Ben, it's only just started."
Kyle's eyes widened in horror at the sounds, the actor's voice coming through his speakers and yet something not the same at all. And then, his camera shifted of it's own accord, and Sharp came into view with the knife and the camera went dark.
Kyle sat there in the dark for a good long moment.
He watched the screen, but the distorted, staticked game finally blinked into a thin white line, then nothing. But, disturbingly, the Joker's words still haunted Kyle, and his laughter echoed on.
"My dear Ben, it's only just begun..."
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA-
And yet, there it was. Brand new casing and everything. Batman: Arkham Asylum, only 25 cents.
Oh, sure, there were a few nicks in the plastene coating. Some tape on the side. And, curiously, scribbled in smudged black marker on the back, was the name "Ben".
Kyle turned the game over, end over end. This was a new game, only out two years, give or take, multiple DLC's and spinoffs. It was followed up by, oh, who knows, only the best game of all time, Batman or not. And this game itself stood the test of time. Only a quarter? Kyle scoffed a bit to himself. People who did these garage sale thingy's were largely rubes who were ignorant of just what they had. The old geezer in his Hawaiian shirt and brimmed golf hat, shaking hands genially with someone who took an antique rocking horse off his hands as he spewed some kindly old spiel about the quality of the woodworking on the horse head.
Kyle screwed his face up. He grimaced. This was surely not right. Maybe the old man was trying to stick it to some deadbeat relative, son or grandson who was living in his basement and smoking pot out of homemade bongs from potatoes or cans. Maybe this was grandpa's not so sly way of exacting revenge on little Benjy, the pass/aggress middle-finger salute that all the baby boomer generation wanted to throw towards the younger kids that they had a hand in raising for showing a lack of ambition or drive. Hell, maybe this was the old man trying to shoehorn some kid out onto his own into a meaningless job doing a 9-5 grind for minimum wage with relatively little time left over to enjoy awesome games like this. Well fuck that. Kyle owed it to Ben to get to the bottom of this old man's deal and put a stop to it.
"So as you can see," he was saying, in that infuriatingly patronizing 'I think all kids should get a job and stop playing fucking awesome Batman games' little tone he affected, through a pushbroom mustache that made Wilford Brimley blush, "I really can't go any lower than $725, I mean the missus and I bought this washing machine and had it installed, and it's got the pedestal, laser dry, and -"
"What's your game, grandpa?!", Kyle demanded, drawing stares from the little woman chatting with the old man, who was decked out in an ugly gypsy dress and more beads than Mardi Gras. He didn't care. Old ladies were always staring about something. He jabbed the Batman game accusingly in the old man's face, watching the eyes spring open. The man had fallen into a trap, alright. He wilted backwards with an almost primally subconscious aversion, like a vampire to garlic. Terrified of this beauty of a game, it's stoic protagonist's icy glare and it's IGN Game of The Year sticker. "You think you're just gonna backdoor this Ben kid out of one of his favorite games and force him to get a job flipping burgers? Huh? Talk, or so help me, I'll knock over this table of refreshments."
Intimidated by the tough talk, obviously, the old man began sputtering, "You picked up- That game. That was the game the boy said-"
"I said talk! If this Ben boy really wants this game gone for a quarter, why isn't he out here hawking it with the strategy guide and written cheat codes? You think I don't want the armored Batsuit? Please, man. Where's Ben and why is he letting you sell his game?"
"Please, Ben- Ben isn't around anymore," the old man was holding his hands out for the game, trying to pry it away until Kyle slapped his hand. "Ben lived down the street from me, but he's gone away now. He had to leave. Please, that's all. He's gone and he left that game behind, he didn't want it anymore." This went beyond an old man's foggy brain misfiring. Something seemed deeply off. Kyle's jocular tone faltered, his confidence hitched. "I think it's better if that game went back in the box, son," confided the older gentleman, "Ben woulda wanted it that way."
Interest piqued, Kyle frowned thoughtfully, eyes burning a hole in Ben's signature on the back. "Really? Why? And why only a quarter- speaking of which, I'll give you ten cents. That's haggling. We're haggling, now." His best confident leer went up to meet the man's eyes, but the timidity on the old man's face spoke of some deep, reverential duty. It's as if he was guarding something.
"Look, it's really simple, man. The kid doesn't want the game anymore. So you just take this dime- like so", as he enfolded a shiny coin into the man's palm, a pop of light flashed like an explosion behind Kyle's eyes and he felt a curious draining, an electric current tracing from his fingernails to the tip of his hair and a spark alighting the old man's eyes. A grin curved up, up, up, and yellow eyes stared deep into his. A cackle came from deep within the ether, cutting to the core of his mind. All of this while he stared the old man in the face, a face that seemed all smile, all horrible, toothy smile. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH-
"-well, if you insist on taking it off my hands, I guess I can accomodate you, Ben."
Snap back to reality. Kyle shook himself like a dreamer who's been plummeting from an plane only to hit the water with a cold slap. "I- wait, what?"
The old man was turning back to the gypsy dressed lady, whose bangled earrings tinkled as she peered down into the cavern of the washer, asking "so how many loads can this take?"
Kyle stared at the game in his hands for a good long second, and the red marker inscription on the back that seemed to be alight like a burning cherry, "Ben". He was snapped out of his reverie by the intrusive voice of Ahmad yelling in his ear, "you wanted to stop in this crackah ass neighborhood and go through yard sales, Shane, you find what you was looking for? Don't nobody need none of this crazy crap these honkeys be selling," Ahmad, strangely, was wearing Mickey Mouse ears on his head and bearing a stuffed badger done up by a professional taxidermist under one arm.
"Yeah, I guess I did," Kyle said like someone sleepwalking, and the rest of the ride back to the Nation complex he was lost in a fog, turning the game over and over like a conjurer turning the tarot cards.
Only the card he saw in his mind's eye was either the dark tower, or Death.
Later that night, Kyle sat in his beloved rolly chair, aimlessly and slowly spinning himself in a circle as he considered the disk. He was somewhat out of his fog, but he couldn't get the game out of his mind. Even a side break to fuck one of the Nation sisters senseless by bashing her into the headboard wasn't enough, as he was railroading Tiarra from behind, he was thinking about Batman. That sounds strange, yes, because at the very least he would only think of Cassie Hack from Hack/Slash either in cosplay or animated form depending on his mood... but thinking of the possibilities of Ben's Batman game during doggystyle was a first.
So he sat, anticipation building up and up until it rose uncomfortably in his gullet. He knew he couldn't stand this anymore. Determined, he wheeled the chair over to the TV. He was going to settle this in his mind right now. The whispered words of the old man who made the sale, calling him "Ben" echoed in his mind as he broke open the game, placed in in his X-Box and gave it a whirl.
The opening music was as dark and Gothic as ever, but as Kyle entered the game menu, something was off. On a whim, he decided to check the load game option instead of starting a new quest for justice. As soon as he clicked the button, he felt the unease growing into a panic, he felt the sound of gates shutting in his head. He was playing Ben's game, he was entering the asylum Ben had been exploring. But Ben had left the game behind. Hadn't he?
Ben had actually gotten pretty far. He was at the place where the boss fight with Clayface had gone down. Except the game glitched and paused for a microsecond, and when the hitch was over, the music was gone. Instead, Kyle could hear the shouts of henchmen and inmates from other levels, only they were louder now. And the voice acting seemed different. There seemed to be real terror in those pleas. Cautiously, Kyle moved forward, with every gamer instinct telling him this save file was corrupted, or the game had been spilled with bleach... SOMETHING. The calls of the inmates was getting to him. But Kyle knew there was a secret here, and he wondered if Ben had found it yet.
Kyle took the center stairs, past where Batman had last encountered the warden Sharp. The cries intensified as he stepped into this room, but there was a small, circular collection of scribbling on the floor. Kyle toggled Environmental vision, and found he'd unlocked the last of Arkham's notes.
A bloodcurling shriek came from the game now, so unlike any voice actor that Kyle wasn't sure if it was real, and he looked around in panic. He turned the camera to see Sharp running at him carrying a knife, but had no time to react before his screen went dark. And then, the game froze completely. Kyle pushed several buttons, but the screen was cut in a weird static for a long second.
Kyle had to reboot the entire game, feeling a warring sense of irritation and dread. He went back to load game, but all he could bring up on the screen was the inventory menu, and the chronicles of Arkham. Kyle gritted his teeth. The scribblings in the chronicles made his eyes pulse. The insane ramblings of Amadeus Arkham, some not even in the game, began to run through his mind like a computer calculating a vast input of data.
Kyle rebooted the game, frantically. He started a new game all his own. He settled comfortably as the Dark Knight began to escort the Joker into the gates of Arkham. That was safe. That was sane. Evil would be imprisoned and good would triumph.
"It's over!" Batman growled.
"Over? My dear Ben, it's only just started."
Kyle's eyes widened in horror at the sounds, the actor's voice coming through his speakers and yet something not the same at all. And then, his camera shifted of it's own accord, and Sharp came into view with the knife and the camera went dark.
Kyle sat there in the dark for a good long moment.
He watched the screen, but the distorted, staticked game finally blinked into a thin white line, then nothing. But, disturbingly, the Joker's words still haunted Kyle, and his laughter echoed on.
"My dear Ben, it's only just begun..."
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA-