(Strive 11:3)

The passage opened to a small chamber lined with racks of fresh-smelling towels. I tied one around my waist, grabbed a few extras, and went back to fetch the others.

Leaning against the wall by the waterfall, I watched as El leaped through the curtain of water, sputtering and swearing. She looked about half the size she normally did with her fur matted down. A red glow resolved into Artem’s shape, and he emerged, completely dry under his shield. Would’ve been nice if I could do that without blowing the cave to bits.

“How did you know?” he demanded. “That this place would be here.”

“It’s a bit of a trope,” I said. “Kind of a stereotypical thing in games. Always check behind waterfalls.”

“Good way to slip and crack your head open.”

A second later, Selene appeared, her robes soaked through, and I averted my eyes as I handed her a towel.

“In any case,” I said, “this area seems safe enough. We’re close to the next floor’s entrance, and that means there’s a field of safety, right?”

“It doesn’t always work that way,” Selene said, wringing her hair out. “In fact, that’s likely one of the reasons Shinar was settled on the tenth floor. That being said…” She looked around at the merrily dancing torches on the walls. Three doorways, when examined, indicated that they led to the Lodging, Restaurant, and Arcade, respectively. “This does seem reasonably safe.”

El yawned. “In that case, I’m going to get some food. Restaurant sounds nice.”

“Hold on,” I said, turning out the floor eleven tokens from my inventory. Both the giant crab and the ice whale had literally showered me with them. “Let’s split these four ways. We’ll need them to pay for the amenities here, at least the restaurant and arcade.”

After I gave her the tokens, El decided to visit the restaurant, and surprisingly, Selene joined her, which left Artem and me standing awkwardly in the towel room.

“I’m going to go check out the arcade,” I said.

“Lead the way,” he said.

The passage to the arcade was cavernous and dark, but before I could light my spell-light, I noticed a glow and motion in the wall around us. It was a glass tube, teeming with cave fish, and their shadows seemed to make the ground shimmer. As we walked, it grew brighter and brighter, and with a crescendo of jangling noise, we emerged into a room filled with flashing light and a cacophony of sound.

I flashed a few tokens to my palm and made an effort to smile at Artem. “Welcome to my world.”

“Not a fan so far,” he rumbled.

The arcade was decked out in the same Hawaiian theme as the entryway; even the game machines had hula skirts. The wooden clacks of drums and twang of ukuleles filled the air as all the devices looped through their attract mode sequences. The first aisle had all the old classics: skeeball, hoops, some kind of drum machine, and a game where you knocked down teeth in a cartoon clown's mouth.

But the machine that caught my eye was one I’d played countless times at the local bowling alley as a kid.

The backbox art depicted a buxom woman casting a silver ball at the player, surrounded by images of doves, tigers, and playing cards. Across the top, in red and gold lettering, were the words Theatre of Magic. The British spelling gave it a little old-world flair, though I knew Bally-Williams was an American company through and through. Midwestern, even. I hummed and popped a cinnamon-flavored jawbreaker in my mouth as I approached the pinball machine.

The playfield was all purples and reds and golds, decked out with ramps, wireform rails, and flashing arrows. As I popped a token in and pressed the start button, red-gold text sparkled in my right eye.

Prize awarded at two billion points.

I shook my head as a carousel appeared on the LED display, blinking through three options, and fired the plunger just as it read Advance Clock. Two billion was a lot, even as inflated as the scores were in this game.

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“What does that mean?” Artem’s harsh voice came from right next to me, and I jumped as the ball drained down the center. The machine mercifully returned my ball, allowing me a second chance.

“It’s the award you get for hitting the magic trunk,” I said, tapping on the flipper buttons. “The clock starts at noon, and six o’clock earns you an extra ball. Which is good, because the goal of the game is to avoid losing your balls.” That earned a grunt that might’ve been a chuckle.

I plunged the saved ball and hopped it over the center gap, trapping it in the crook of the left flipper. “This is called a cradle.” With an early flip, I bounced it back over to the right flipper. “And this is a post transfer. It doesn’t work on every machine, but—”

“Just play the damn game,” Artem said.

“You have the magic!” cheered the magician lady from the pinball machine.

“Yessir. Yes ma’am.” With a tap of my right hand, I sent the ball around the left orbit. As with many pinball games, what the machine wanted you to do wasn’t the best strategy. You were supposed to bash the magic trunk repeatedly to start illusions, but that was an easy way to lose your ball. I preferred going around the outer loop, racking up free points. It was safer. Until it wasn’t, as a bad ricochet off the captive ball sent me down one of the outlanes.

Artem stepped up, and I figured it’d be fine to let him have my second ball. His first bat with the flipper sent the ball straight into the trunk to start the Levitating Woman mode. “Levitate,” cooed the floating woman, her wink and seductive pose reminding me of Mia. “Levitate.” As with many beginners, Artem mashed both flipper buttons whenever the ball came close to the bottom. But his aim was good, and he hit the trunk almost every time. Despite the fact that the goal of the mode was to shoot the center staircase, he kept wailing on the fixed target, his eyes intent.

When the ball inevitably rebounded down the center, he lifted the front legs of the machine and dropped it with an enormous crash. There was a blaring alarm as the machine ended our game prematurely, the word TILT flashing on the LED display.

“Stupid fucking modern game,” he said, stomping off as I put in another token.

Unfortunately, his slam had damaged some mechanism in the machine. As I started the Metamorphosis mode, I realized the left flipper now juddered, making the required ramp shot impossible. My mode timed out, and I was left to play out the rest of my balls unmetamorphosed. Overall, I scored less than a billion points.

I was inspecting some type of rhythm game when Selene returned with El draped around her shoulders, sipping on a drink with an umbrella in it.

“What?” she said, looking at me.

“You look very glam,” I said. “Where’d you get the fur shawl?”

“She likes me.” Selene reached over her shoulder to pet El, who stretched like a cat.

“Unbelievable, El. No loyalty at all.”

“We heard a loud slamming noise a few minutes ago,” Selene said. “Is everything okay?”

I turned to look at Artem, who was wailing on a punching bag game like it owed him money. The display read “999” and candies overflowed the dispenser slot.

“Yeah, we’re good,” I said. “Check this out, though.”

My udjat had informed me earlier that this was a rhythm game, but deductive reasoning told me something more specific. The top of the platform was square, divided into a 3x3 grid by long grooves. I could recognize a Dance Dance Revolution or Pump It Up type game when I saw one, those arcade games where arrows flew up the screen to the pulsing beat of Eurodance or J-pop. I was pretty damn good at them too.

I stood in the middle of the platform and pressed three tokens down into the circular depression. There was a loud click as they were whisked away, and text bloomed on my contact.

Prize awarded based on number of hits.

Twin pairs of thick bamboo rods rose up from the grooves in the platform.

“Interesting,” said Selene.

“Actually, you might want to look away. This is not what I expected.”

“Now I know some funny shit is about to go down,” El said, as the rods swung together and smacked my ankles.

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You achieved an overall rank of C. You were hit fifteen times. Ouch!

I groaned and bent down to feel my ankles, which were already bruising.

You received a reward: Scroll of Fuse Weapon

Combines two random weapons in your inventory with unpredictable effects. Single use item. Use by signing USE.

Now that was interesting. I'd have to think carefully about how to use it, which weapons to use it on. I could probably game the system by dropping all but two weapons, forcing it to be used on them. Just imagine all the weapons you could craft, I thought. Fire sabers. Gun swords. Ice spears.

"Hey!" I yelled at Artem. "Come check this out! Wait, what the—"

The scroll flashed hot white, and then crumbled to dust. I checked my inventory, and nothing seemed different. It was mostly full of supplies. Then I realized that my pellet gun had vanished. Only Purgator, my ridiculously named plunger, remained.

Artem jogged over, covered in a sheen of sweat. "What?"

"I was holding this scroll, and then as soon as I asked you to come over, it consumed itself."

It made no sense. All I'd done was beckon him over, extend my hand in his direction, two fingers out, and then close those fingers to a fist...

"Shit,” I said, as Hilbert’s warning about making random gestures replayed in my head. "I think I accidentally used it.”