ONE: CARAPACE
You were in line. You had the tickets in hand, but couldnt stop focusing on the price. Even though you had the tickets in hand you kept noticing the price, because the price included a total amount of money that you werent sure youd brought with you. And even though you had the tickets in hand you werent sure if you had to pay for the tickets at the beginning or the end of the line. It seemed like, sometimes it could be either way; you tried to remember if you already paid the price on these tickets, you tried by focusing on the number that was the same as the price and lining it up with a moment when you let that exact amount of money pass from your wallet. The numbers kept changing, but that didnt seem to bother you so much, because they remained consistent within their states of change, within limit and to your satisfaction. But did you already pay for them or were you anticipating the transaction?
If you didnt already pay for them, youre in a bind. You know you have at least two more tickets to buy besides your own. And although you can afford the tickets, spending all the money you have now means youll have nothing to spend once youre inside the park itself. Youve come here so many times that the thrill has diminished significantly, but if you have enough money, then you can pay for the little extras and hope that the experience might be revitalized.
There was a thought that you were beginning to form - it was something about the decay inherent in participation - when you came upon a crowded room tucked into the peripheral of the line. Inside sang a dissonant cacophony of devices, a song thats literal sirens wailed their mechanical hum into the soil of your bones.
You know from experience that they always put these arcades in the areas that can only be accessed after youve paid for your ticket. So these tickets you hold are valid; youre within the park proper itself. It now occurs to you that you should have passed the tickets out, because you dont know where anyone else is and they probably would want their ticket with them should something happen.
If anything were to go wrong, it would mainly involve being noticed. And if youre being noticed, wouldnt someone want to see your ticket? Youre pleased that you dont have to pay for the tickets but you still feel uneasy, holding onto something that someone else should be counting on. Youll keep an eye out for them as your first priority, right after taking a look at the game room for something you havent seen before. Something that might give you a little thrill.
You arent in line, quite. It could be considered that you are certainly in line, because youre in the flow toward the house; that is, the direction is inevitability, youve already passed the event horizon. You Are Going, this time, no matter how apprehensive you might feel about it, because youve been here so many times, because youve backed out so many times, because theres just not that much more of the park to see.
Youre in the arcade, so you cant be in line. And the crowd outside seems to pick up speed as you descend into the arcade. It is proper dark. The space is rather small with three rooms lined-up in a row, each having a large entryway that connects them to the queue. Just outside and beyond, the line twists into several directions; down one is a ride with a nature you always misremember and the other way leads deeper into the park itself.
Youre playing a game, something familiar, but youre not really looking at it. You feel relief, as youve glanced over and caught the eye of someone whos ticket youre holding onto. He waves and you smile, but you cant go over to him at this moment because youre in the middle of this game, but youre not really looking at it.
It is one of those classics that are better remembered than actually experienced, something youve attached sentimental value to that obviously doesnt live up to the memoryhype nostalgiatrip. Youre becoming bored, and see that the high score is set to a point you couldnt hope to reach. It impresses you that they would maintain a machine like this to manage such a high score (which basically means that they would have to never turn it off.) But youre frustrated because, since you wont possibly be able to challenge the high score unless you sit here playing this game for hours on end, and it isnt all that fun, you want to just walk away. Its difficult to walk away; this one is considered a classic, and its pointless to just waste a credit.
You remember you have someones ticket, and feel a sense of panic as you look away from the cabinet. To your relief, theyre still within sight, two rooms away and staring at some amusement machine that is three times as tall its neighbor. You move that way, passing rows of games, some with men hunched close into the screen as if they were part of the machine. Smoke puffs and curls out over the marquees.
Your excitement grows as you approach your friend; hes latched onto something prime. An advantage of the larger parks is the ability to occasionally discover a machine you could never find locally. The shape of the game is beginning to give itself away, and the evidence is mounting that this is what youve been looking for.
No shit, you say.
No shit, he replies; your friend.
Tried it yet? He shakes his head, pokes at the tumor as it shudders in its sling.
Kids been in there since I got here. You look close; you can see the outline of the kids body floating in the membrane.
Must be pretty good. You look the cabinet over; the design is austere and clinical, a trademark of the developers aesthetic.
Could be, your friend says, rifling through his wallet. Or he could be in big trouble. He produces a card and hands it to you.
In Japan, all these machines have external monitors so you can see what the fuck is going on. You glance at the card, but see nothing unexpected.
In Japan, they breed, raise, and fight unicorns, your friend replies. In Japan, they have a way to fuck in the eyes and you can still see afterwards.
I like the Japanese name better. In Japan, the game is called Sakaime No Kiken, which translates roughly to Border Organ. It has a large following overseas; Border Organ 2 was a huge hit in Korea, and the third has been hailed as revolutionary, perhaps even stemming the tide of the so-called gamers drift thats threatening the entire Japanese industry.
I think Skin is a flatly keen name, your friend replies. Besides, the name doesnt make any sense, anyway.
Have you played it?
Yeah, a couple of times, he replies. I gave you my card.
I thought you said you hadnt played it.
Not here, he says. Weve had one for a while back home. It occurs to you that you havent seen your friend for a long time, that you and your friend no longer think of the same places as home.
Sodesune, you reply. It doesnt translate exactly to touch, but thats the word you think of whenever you say it.
The bundle lurches, and the kids body seizes from its languid state into that of electric shock. There is a buzzing, dull in your ear, and then the body goes limp. A metal door slides open below the pouch, which oozes down through and out of sight.
That is fucking creepy, you say.
It only happens if you play like an idiot, your friend says.
I remember you say, fumbling in your wallet for a dollar. I remember when games like this first came out, they used to scare the hell out of me. I mean, I was seriously convinced that when a game took you down, it killed you.
I dont believe you were ever that retarded, your friend replies.
Im saying I was a little kid. Little kids believe in fucked up things. You feed the dollar into the machines slot. Think of all the fucked up things little kids get taught by adults.
Im just saying, you were a cynical little bastard if you thought part of the entertainment was murdering children for sport.
Im still not entirely sure it isnt. You watch as another mass of tissue bubbles up into the games play chamber.
Next thing youll be telling me that teleportation is suicide.
It so totally is, you insist.
Play the goddamn game already. Weve got a house thats waiting to swallow us. And use that card, seriously. It will help you. A new pod has formed. Its lips peel open. You slip the card into its dock; its always nice to have a little extra collateral when tackling something like this for the first time. Just remember, its not quite like anything youve played before.
I think I can handle my simulations, thanks. You slide into the crevice and feel the mess coalesce around you.
You were in line. You had the tickets in hand, but couldnt stop focusing on the price. Even though you had the tickets in hand you kept noticing the price, because the price included a total amount of money that you werent sure youd brought with you. And even though you had the tickets in hand you werent sure if you had to pay for the tickets at the beginning or the end of the line. It seemed like, sometimes it could be either way; you tried to remember if you already paid the price on these tickets, you tried by focusing on the number that was the same as the price and lining it up with a moment when you let that exact amount of money pass from your wallet. The numbers kept changing, but that didnt seem to bother you so much, because they remained consistent within their states of change, within limit and to your satisfaction. But did you already pay for them or were you anticipating the transaction?
If you didnt already pay for them, youre in a bind. You know you have at least two more tickets to buy besides your own. And although you can afford the tickets, spending all the money you have now means youll have nothing to spend once youre inside the park itself. Youve come here so many times that the thrill has diminished significantly, but if you have enough money, then you can pay for the little extras and hope that the experience might be revitalized.
There was a thought that you were beginning to form - it was something about the decay inherent in participation - when you came upon a crowded room tucked into the peripheral of the line. Inside sang a dissonant cacophony of devices, a song thats literal sirens wailed their mechanical hum into the soil of your bones.
You know from experience that they always put these arcades in the areas that can only be accessed after youve paid for your ticket. So these tickets you hold are valid; youre within the park proper itself. It now occurs to you that you should have passed the tickets out, because you dont know where anyone else is and they probably would want their ticket with them should something happen.
If anything were to go wrong, it would mainly involve being noticed. And if youre being noticed, wouldnt someone want to see your ticket? Youre pleased that you dont have to pay for the tickets but you still feel uneasy, holding onto something that someone else should be counting on. Youll keep an eye out for them as your first priority, right after taking a look at the game room for something you havent seen before. Something that might give you a little thrill.
You arent in line, quite. It could be considered that you are certainly in line, because youre in the flow toward the house; that is, the direction is inevitability, youve already passed the event horizon. You Are Going, this time, no matter how apprehensive you might feel about it, because youve been here so many times, because youve backed out so many times, because theres just not that much more of the park to see.
Youre in the arcade, so you cant be in line. And the crowd outside seems to pick up speed as you descend into the arcade. It is proper dark. The space is rather small with three rooms lined-up in a row, each having a large entryway that connects them to the queue. Just outside and beyond, the line twists into several directions; down one is a ride with a nature you always misremember and the other way leads deeper into the park itself.
Youre playing a game, something familiar, but youre not really looking at it. You feel relief, as youve glanced over and caught the eye of someone whos ticket youre holding onto. He waves and you smile, but you cant go over to him at this moment because youre in the middle of this game, but youre not really looking at it.
It is one of those classics that are better remembered than actually experienced, something youve attached sentimental value to that obviously doesnt live up to the memoryhype nostalgiatrip. Youre becoming bored, and see that the high score is set to a point you couldnt hope to reach. It impresses you that they would maintain a machine like this to manage such a high score (which basically means that they would have to never turn it off.) But youre frustrated because, since you wont possibly be able to challenge the high score unless you sit here playing this game for hours on end, and it isnt all that fun, you want to just walk away. Its difficult to walk away; this one is considered a classic, and its pointless to just waste a credit.
You remember you have someones ticket, and feel a sense of panic as you look away from the cabinet. To your relief, theyre still within sight, two rooms away and staring at some amusement machine that is three times as tall its neighbor. You move that way, passing rows of games, some with men hunched close into the screen as if they were part of the machine. Smoke puffs and curls out over the marquees.
Your excitement grows as you approach your friend; hes latched onto something prime. An advantage of the larger parks is the ability to occasionally discover a machine you could never find locally. The shape of the game is beginning to give itself away, and the evidence is mounting that this is what youve been looking for.
No shit, you say.
No shit, he replies; your friend.
Tried it yet? He shakes his head, pokes at the tumor as it shudders in its sling.
Kids been in there since I got here. You look close; you can see the outline of the kids body floating in the membrane.
Must be pretty good. You look the cabinet over; the design is austere and clinical, a trademark of the developers aesthetic.
Could be, your friend says, rifling through his wallet. Or he could be in big trouble. He produces a card and hands it to you.
In Japan, all these machines have external monitors so you can see what the fuck is going on. You glance at the card, but see nothing unexpected.
In Japan, they breed, raise, and fight unicorns, your friend replies. In Japan, they have a way to fuck in the eyes and you can still see afterwards.
I like the Japanese name better. In Japan, the game is called Sakaime No Kiken, which translates roughly to Border Organ. It has a large following overseas; Border Organ 2 was a huge hit in Korea, and the third has been hailed as revolutionary, perhaps even stemming the tide of the so-called gamers drift thats threatening the entire Japanese industry.
I think Skin is a flatly keen name, your friend replies. Besides, the name doesnt make any sense, anyway.
Have you played it?
Yeah, a couple of times, he replies. I gave you my card.
I thought you said you hadnt played it.
Not here, he says. Weve had one for a while back home. It occurs to you that you havent seen your friend for a long time, that you and your friend no longer think of the same places as home.
Sodesune, you reply. It doesnt translate exactly to touch, but thats the word you think of whenever you say it.
The bundle lurches, and the kids body seizes from its languid state into that of electric shock. There is a buzzing, dull in your ear, and then the body goes limp. A metal door slides open below the pouch, which oozes down through and out of sight.
That is fucking creepy, you say.
It only happens if you play like an idiot, your friend says.
I remember you say, fumbling in your wallet for a dollar. I remember when games like this first came out, they used to scare the hell out of me. I mean, I was seriously convinced that when a game took you down, it killed you.
I dont believe you were ever that retarded, your friend replies.
Im saying I was a little kid. Little kids believe in fucked up things. You feed the dollar into the machines slot. Think of all the fucked up things little kids get taught by adults.
Im just saying, you were a cynical little bastard if you thought part of the entertainment was murdering children for sport.
Im still not entirely sure it isnt. You watch as another mass of tissue bubbles up into the games play chamber.
Next thing youll be telling me that teleportation is suicide.
It so totally is, you insist.
Play the goddamn game already. Weve got a house thats waiting to swallow us. And use that card, seriously. It will help you. A new pod has formed. Its lips peel open. You slip the card into its dock; its always nice to have a little extra collateral when tackling something like this for the first time. Just remember, its not quite like anything youve played before.
I think I can handle my simulations, thanks. You slide into the crevice and feel the mess coalesce around you.
denie:
hey ahoj haha. so do you speak czech?)