Dungeon Grand Prix

"That's three races in a row, Brent! You might be too good at this," John laughed, shaking his head as he sat beside his friend in the dimly lit arcade. The neon lights from the rows of machines flickered rhythmically, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across Brent's face as he grinned at the screen. The air buzzed with the sounds of beeping machines, the thudding bass of the retro soundtrack, and the occasional cheer or groan from other players in the room.

"That's nothing," Brent replied, his fingers lightly tapping the steering wheel attached to the arcade machine. "My record is twenty-eight straight wins. I'll happily take on any challenger." His tone was cocky, but playful, and the confidence radiated off him as naturally as the arcade’s humming energy.

John crossed his arms, pretending to look unimpressed. "Twenty-eight, huh? You sure you don't just live in this place now? I'm starting to think you're secretly sleeping under one of these machines," he teased, leaning closer to the console, watching the characters take their victory lap after the race had finished.

Having taken the evening to let off some steam, Brent and John found themselves back at Pixels and Pints, the local arcade bar, after a grueling day at the office. It was a place where they could escape from deadlines, client meetings, and endless spreadsheets, immersing themselves in the pixelated world of their youth. The scent of cheap beer, mixed with the strong aroma of fresh pizzas from the snack bar, filled the air as laughter and conversation drifted from nearby tables.

Brent chuckled as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, the bright game graphics reflecting in his intense blue eyes. "Can we try a fighting game next?" John asked, his voice carrying a hint of competitive eagerness. "I bet I can kick your ass at Street Fighter." A mischievous grin spread across his face at the prospect of playing something where his chances might be better.

"Fine," Brent replied, shooting a glance over at John, "but we gotta do one more Mario Kart race first. This machine is so much better than using the controller at home. It’s got that real arcade feel, you know?"

Brent swiped his player card through the machine's electronic reader, the familiar beep confirming his credit, and faced the screen to make his character selections again. His fingers danced over the buttons as he chose his go-to combination: Yoshi, in a sleek green kart with high acceleration and tight handling.

John shook his head, smiling as he faced his machine as well. He carefully made his selection, attempting to try a different strategy to see if he stood a better chance against his friend. "You always pick Yoshi. Why don’t you switch it up? Maybe try a challenge?" He knew the answer before Brent even responded.

"Why change perfection?" Brent shot back, his eyes glued to the screen as the countdown to the race began.

Set down at the starting line, Brent prepared himself, his right foot hovering over the gas pedal. The digital sun hung low in the sky on the screen, casting long shadows over the race track. Lakitu, the small Koopa on his floating cloud, held up the signal light on a fishing line suspended above the course. The red lights blinked one by one as Brent narrowed his eyes, watching for the perfect moment.

The key to a good start, as any seasoned player knew, was to hit the accelerator right after the number two appeared on the screen. Brent could do this in his sleep. He had the timing down to a science, his muscle memory honed through countless hours spent racing, both here and at home.

His foot pressed down on the pedal with precise timing, and as the word "GO" flashed on the screen in bright green, Brent's kart shot forward with a burst of speed, leaving the other racers eating his dust before they even realized what had happened. His body instinctively leaned into the turns as he guided Yoshi around the track with near-perfect drifts. The neon-lit course sped by in a blur of vivid colors, and Brent remained unflinchingly focused, dodging shells, bananas, and all manner of traps laid by the other racers.

He kept his lead throughout the entire race, his hands moving fluidly across the steering wheel and the pedals, controlling every drift, every item throw, with expert precision. He left a trail of chaos behind him as he soared over jumps, deftly avoided a green shell, and continued his reign at the front of the pack.

When the final lap came to a close, the checkered flag waved on screen, and Yoshi crossed the finish line in first place. Brent raised his arms in mock triumph. "And another one bites the dust," he said, shooting John a smug look as he reclined back into his chair.

John groaned, but the smile never left his face. "I’m not sure if there’s anyone who comes to this arcade that could take the title from you, Brent," said a voice from behind. Jimmy, the arcade's owner, had appeared, watching the race’s end with an amused expression. His hair was graying at the temples, and the lines around his eyes were deep from years of laughter and late nights managing the place.

"Jimmy!" Brent turned around, beaming as he spotted the familiar face. "How’s business been lately?" he asked, his tone light but genuinely curious.

Jimmy, who had become something of a fixture in their lives since they started frequenting the arcade, leaned against a nearby cabinet and crossed his arms. "Business has been good. Real good," he replied, his voice steady but filled with pride. "Installed a few more retro arcade machines after some requests from regulars. Got them at an auction last week. You know, the old Dragon's Lair and Haunted Castle machines? Real classics. They’ve been a hit."

"Nice!" Brent nodded approvingly. "Got any new racing games coming in?"

Jimmy grinned. "Funny you should ask. I just bought a Cruisin' World duo. Should be delivered by the end of the week. You should come by on Friday and break 'em in. I’m sure you’ll set the high score."

"You know it," Brent replied with a wink, already mentally preparing to dominate yet another set of machines.

John groaned dramatically. "Come on, Brent. I need a win tonight. Let’s go hit the fighting games," he practically begged, his eyes pleading as he raised his head after losing yet another race.

Brent laughed and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Alright, lead the way, loser. Your choice," he teased, motioning for John to take the first step toward the Street Fighter cabinet at the other end of the arcade.

The evening continued like that—friendly jabs, competitive games, and Brent consistently reminding John of his superiority in Mario Kart. By the time they finished, the arcade had quieted down, with only a few late-night patrons still lingering around the bar, nursing beers and making small talk. Jimmy waved them off as they left, busy refilling drinks for the last remaining customers.

As they walked to their cars, the cool night air hit them, and the faint smell of rain lingered in the atmosphere. Streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and the buzz of distant traffic filled the silence as they strolled across the parking lot.

"You got those reports for Robert ready for tomorrow?" John asked, breaking the silence.

Brent's face fell as he stopped in his tracks. "Shit, no," he admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I’ll have to show up early to finish those before he comes by my desk. I swear, the guy reviews reports for fun before bed. He’s way too uptight about deadlines."

John chuckled softly, shaking his head. "He’s just doing his job like the rest of us. Give the guy a break."

Brent grinned, though his eyes remained locked on his car. "You’re too much of a softy, John. That’s why you lose so much."

"And you’re too competitive," John countered as he unlocked his own car. "That’s why you’re single."

"Ouch," Brent replied, clutching his chest dramatically. "I’m just waiting for someone who’ll play the games with me. I’m not settling."

"Settling? Bethany is not settling. She's willing to do things that your games can't," John countered, a smug look of victory on his face.

"I feel like I can handle most of those things myself without having someone trying to cut into my fun time. Maybe you should look at finding someone who shares more of your interests than just the carnal kind."

"The carnal kind suits me just fine, thank you very much. I bet you were this big a nerd in high school as well."

"I was. And I was happy. Nothing wrong with knowing what you like and what you want."

"You just described why I don't worry about playing so many games at home, dude."

"Whatever. There's someone out there for me. And when I find them, I promise to rub your face in it."

"Dude, when you find that person, you better rub your own face in it. Don't bring me into your kinky sexcapades."

As the conversation dragged into their usual back-and-forth, the minutes ticked by until they finally said their goodbyes, each sliding into their respective cars. Brent started the engine. The low hum of the motor was a familiar sound that soothed his mind after the long night. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he flicked on his favorite playlist, the soft beat of classic rock filling the car's cabin as he navigated the winding streets toward his apartment.

Halfway through the drive, just as the darkened city gave way to the quiet suburbs, his phone slipped from the cup holder. "Dammit," he muttered, reaching down to grab it. His fingers brushed the edge of the device, but in that fleeting moment of distraction, everything changed.

Bright headlights appeared in his vision, blinding him as they bore down upon him. There was no time to react, no time to even shout. The world exploded into chaos with the deafening crash of metal on metal.