Classic Game Room Book 1: Farewell and Thanks for the Laser Bathysphere (Patreon)

Because why not. I've been doing a ton of marketing writing lately and want to blow the cobwebs out before seriously digging into the Omega Ronin book so what the hell... let the show continue, in space, in another universes..... more info to come soon regarding the real thing (it is real)

(note this is first draft with little QA. Don't repost anywhere.)

Part II

He stood up, poured another cup of coffee, and transported his mobile 21st-century laptop workstation to his basement office while Stella trundled behind him. She plopped onto the ground with a heavy, labored sigh as he sat down and powered on the computers and stereo equipment, then promptly fell back asleep.

Not a place of wonder by any means, Mark’s office was a cluttered utilitarian space filled with cobbled-together desktop PCs, speakers, scanning equipment, and a ragtag assortment of art supplies and electronic do-dads.  A broken 1970s upright computer terminal with a dark and dingy green vector graphics monitor sat in the corner by a stack of 1980s rock albums.

An organized man (a fact that surprised most people who met him,) Mark fired up his Photoshop computer and shuffled through the week’s work schedule that was filled with pending writing and publishing assignments for the real-world print and distribution of design guides and restored classic literature.

There was once a time when Mark would spew one-liners and freestyle review dialog into a microphone about Atari, Vectrex, and Sega Genesis games. Today, he ran a small but growing publishing company. His primary plan for the morning involved designing a cover for a restored treatise on 19th-century riding boots (profusely illustrated, of course.)

He didn’t miss his game review and online video career, at least not much. Something about the quiet, cerebral process required for niche-market book publishing and distribution appealed to him. Mark loved cover design, marketing writing, concept work, and the fastidious nature of antique book repair. He even enjoyed data analysis and inventory control! He certainly didn’t miss people shouting at him because he didn’t like the music in level three as much as they did.

Books don’t shout. They just sit there and listen – to some Alphaville, which was today’s obscure 80s band of choice.

Deep in thought, deep in design, Mark worked beneath dimmed lights surrounded by the smooth, crackling vinyl sounds of 1980s synth-pop until his iPhone interrupted the moment with the familiar chirp that a message had arrived.

He checked his phone, expecting a text from the wife or kids regarding some domestic responsibilities, only to find an irritating, enigmatic message from an unknown sender:

….Replace my broken break key and plug me in. Then hold the “rub” key and press “break” at the same time while powering me on. Unplug me, and see what happens…

“What the hell?” He set the phone down and looked around the room, trying to figure out who would bother emailing and texting him a ridiculous message on Tuesday. He wouldn’t put it past his college buddies to mess with him on a Friday, but everyone was usually pretty busy on Tuesday.

Mark blocked the unknown message sender with no number and glowered at Edit-Station 1, who sat there beside his desk powered off, unplugged, and without his “break” key. Mark kept the old-fashioned grey clicky button in his desk drawer for safekeeping. It was small and easy to lose.

The long-running broken break key joke from the Classic Game Room days was always one of his favorites. It reminded him of the time that the old computer terminal fell face forward during a move and hit the floor, which sent the break key spinning across the ground, a gag that made its way into numerous silly Edit-Station 1 videos.

Not amused from the morning’s hijinks, Mark tried to clear the event from his mind so that he could get back to work until his phone binged again, revealing the same message from yet another unknown sender.

….Replace my broken break key and plug me in. Then hold the “rub” key and press “break” at the same time while powering me on. Unplug me, and see what happens…

He immediately called his service provider, who indicated that they had no record of the messages received and recommended a hard reboot.

Thoroughly annoyed, Mark paced around the office and shut down his iPhone. He glared at Edit-Station 1. It sat broken, disconnected, and functionally useless without a 1970s mainframe computer. Mark knew from prior experience that plugging it in and turning it on would light up the red power button, but beyond that it did nothing.

After turning his phone back on and seeing the stupid message waiting for him to read it again he screamed “Fine! I’ll plug you in! Then stop texting me!”

The absurdity of what he essentially yelled to himself dawned on him, but Mark grabbed the key from the drawer anyway and followed the instructions. He carefully replaced the break key, plugged in the old computer, and held the break and rub keys down together while turning it on. The light glowed red. Mark reached down behind it to pull Edit-Station 1’s three-pronged plug from the wall. He gave it a good yank.

A blinding green light would be the last thing that Mark Bussler remembered from that morning on Earth.

-----

When Mark Bussler came to, he was sitting across a table from Edit-Station 1, but not the broken down dysfunctional Edit-Station 1 from his office, a vibrant Edit-Station 1 with a big green smile on its brightly lit monitor.

“Good morning!” It shouted in a high-pitched monotone computerized voice, the same voice that Mark used when voicing Edit-Station 1 for his Internet videos. “I’ll bet this is a bit of a surprise.”

Groggy and disoriented, Mark looked around at what appeared to be a dreamlike recreation a no-frills old school diner with slightly out-of-focus people sitting nearby. A cup of coffee and stack of pancakes sat in front of him.

“I thought you’d enjoy some breakfast while we talk about saving the universe.” The strange computer said from the speaker built into its upright terminal body.

“What is this?” Mark asked as panic began to set in.

“It’s a diner! I ordered you some pancakes, eat. I hear they’re good, but I can’t taste. Also, I don’t have a mouth.”

Mark started to stand up and run away but noticed that Stella was soundly asleep beside him, curled up into a comfortable doughnut shape on the weathered bench seat. He sat back down and petted her head, realizing that she was years younger and without her doggy diaper.

“What’s going on? Where am I?”

“Oh, well that’s complicated.” Edit-Station 1 said, mouthing the words with its vector-graphics mouth that flickered and pulsed like a classic Asteroids machine.

“Have some coffee, seriously. You’re going to need some coffee for this.”

Mark warily picked up the coffee and took a sip. The pleasing taste took his mind off the panic, if only just for a moment. Stella snored softly.

Edit-Station 1 continued. “We need you back at the helm of the Intergalactic Space Arcade! We need you to embark on an adventure to save not just one universe, but all universes!”

“Hold up, what do you mean Intergalactic Space Arcade? It’s not real, is it?”

“Ha, that’s absurd! A space station filled with arcade games? Of course, it isn’t real. I’m speaking metaphorically. But the laser bathysphere is real, and we’ll be traveling in that.”

Mark looked confused. “The what?”

“Laser bathysphere, I’ll explain later. You’ll love it. You’d better eat those pancakes before they get cold.”

Mark dubiously picked at the stack of pancakes in front of him as a blurry dream waitress filled his coffee.

“Thanks.” He said.

“She can’t hear you.” Edit-Station 1 replied.

“Why not?”

“Because she isn’t real.”

“But you are?”

“Follow along numbnuts. We’re going on a trip.”

“What do you mean we?”

“I’m coming with you, who else is going to fly the laser bathysphere? Can you pilot a time-traveling cosmic bathysphere powered by vector graphic thought lasers?”

Mark looked confused but also intrigued at the proposition of vector graphic thought lasers.

Continued…..

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