After a moment of thought, you quickly pilot the stick so that M. Bison is selected. You don't have too much experience with Street Fighter, but back when this place was first opening, you spent many a night idling away at the old cabinets while waiting for the movers to do their job. You wouldn't call yourself the perfect Bison player, but playing someone a little challenging should get you out of this head funk.
The man next to you immediately goes to pick Guile, and flashes you a cheeky smirk. You vaguely recall an article somewhere saying that he's a Bison counter pick, but you immediately discard it – this match will depend on the skill of the players involved.
At least, that's what you tell yourself
when the match loads up.
Immediately from the call of 'START!', a blistering pace is set. The arcade goer is relentless, favoring kicks and popping off Flash Kicks as often as he can. Somehow, though, you keep your cool under this assault. You roll with the punches where you can, take a few unlucky blows, but you're able to conceal the up-and-coming smirk on your face…right until you hit a Psycho Crusher, sending your opponent sprawling and netting a muttered curse for your efforts.
You can't help but give him a look out of the corner of your eye, and you find that he's already looking back. A bead of sweat forms on his brow, and you snap your head around just in time for the second round.
This time, you get unlucky – whether that's due to cockiness or lack of preparation for a quick offensive is anyone's guess. Guile is merciless, hunting you down despite your solid defense and finding ways around it. Eventually you're forced to start slugging back, but it isn't enough to gain any substantial lead. Instead, you're smacked to the ground by a relentless combo, leaving you gripping the arcade stick as you watch Bison hit the floor.
"Not too bad, eh?" The boy says cheekily, giving you a shoulder nudge.
"You're alright." You respond, repressing the urge to say something incredibly salty to him. You
are a business owner, after all. Five years of gamer rage without an outlet can extend to six for all you care.
It's when the third and final match starts where things get serious. There are no more shared looks or quips, you both assume a shrimping position and only the sound of buttons can be heard around you. The intense competition is enough to gather a small audience, in fact – a ring of people are surrounding you and murmuring, either about the skill of the matchup or the fact that you're actually out from behind your counter.
It doesn't matter to you – after all, you catch him off guard.
A quick sweep pulls Guile off of the offensive, and leads to you punching his shit in. A Psycho Crusher followed by a Knee Press sets the pace, and you're able to time it well enough to where you can sneak past his blocks. Just as the man next to you begins to truly sweat, you switch to your final combo and send him flying.
But he has just a little bit of health left. So, you end the match with a Head Stomp, just to show this dude who the fuck he decided to fight against.
Once the screen announces your victory, the crowd erupts with the force of a small fighting game convention. The noise causes you to wince, however, and you instead shut it out so you can focus on the dude that you just creamed in the game. He doesn't look too upset over it, but you spot the flames of competition in his eyes as he turns to face you.
"Well, damn, you
are good. I'm surprised I got that one round off on you!" He says with a bright grin, running a hand through his hair and nodding at you. "I guess the rumor is true – people who own arcades are on a different level…"
"I don't know who's saying that, but good game." You extend a hand, and he takes it with a firm shake. "And for the second round, I just don't play this too much – if I wanted to truly win, I'd play someone easier."
As the two of you make small talk, the crowd does disperse and go back to whatever they had been doing prior. To your delight however, plenty of people don't go towards the VR sections of the arcade – they instead line up to the fighting game cabinets, their own interest having been stoked by the show you and this guy had put on.
Wait. You haven't even asked his name! That's pretty damn impolite…even if you don't tend to give out yours.
"Hey, by the way, what's your name?" You scratch the back of your head in embarrassment, fixing him with a sorry look. "Forgot to ask, what with the game going on."
"No worries, no worries! Name's Clyde – if you wanna have another set, feel free to flag me down, yeah? I gotta get back to those two – if I don't give them a nudge, they'll be playing all day."
"Alright. Have a good one." You see him off with a wave and turn to go back to your desk.
You are very pleased that the distraction worked – you aren't feeling nearly as worked up as you had been before. Although you do try your best to stay away from games nowadays, you will admit that it had done the trick. It also helps to show that you have
some gamer cred to your name, especially because you won't tell a single soul about your identity for as long as you live.
Hell, the fact that you managed to disappear in the first place is a minor miracle. One that you do value to this day.
Regardless, you exit from between the rows of the arcade machines with a little bit of pep in your step, feeling considerably lighter than you had this morning. A quick glance at the time reveals that you're almost ready to clock out for the day! What should you do, even? You don't have a lot of groceries, so finding a place to sit and eat sounds pretty nice. Maybe a beer or two, to help wash away the stress of the day.
Your thoughts end when you see someone leaning against your desk.
The girl is shorter than you, with a pale complexion and dainty features. Her long black hair stretches down to her lower back and is wildly unkempt – little tufts stick out in places, and they frame her black eyes like fortune teller's curtains. You can see that her round glasses hide very tired eyes, due to the bags beneath them. The cream colored sweater, the white collar poking out from the neckline, and a pleated skirt paint a picture worth a thousand words – that of a very waifish, very nerdy woman.
You probably didn't hear her enter due to the noise of the crowd, although with how frail she seems to be, maybe she just didn't make any noise when walking through the front door. Either way, you put on your best customer face and walk around the desk, plopping down in your chair with a relaxed smile.
"Hey there, miss. Are you looking to buy a drink, or looking to get some coins for the machines?"
"……you look different……from when I last saw you."
You're sure your questioning look is quite visible.
"Have we met before? If you're a regular, then I apologize – sometimes I'm bad with faces."
"……we haven't met. But……I do know you."
Your blood turns to ice. A chill races down and then explodes at the base of your spine. You have to fight for your teeth to not gnash together.
In an attempt to disguise the reaction, you cough into your hand. Your smile is as tight as a stretched wire.
"I'm afraid you must have me confused with someone else, miss." Your voice is strained, and not convincing at all – you know this, because her dull eyes light up.
"No. You're……Wolfgang O'Neal, right?"
Your head whips around to clock if
anyone here heard that, and when you have determined that no one did, you allow the friendly face to fully drop. When you next speak, the friendly veneer between owner and customer is as dead as a doornail.
"What do you want?"
The force of your reaction would perhaps cow most people if they knew you, but she allows it to roll off the shoulders as a small smile comes to her face. Moving her elbow off of your table, she looks at you with very obvious relief in her eyes.
"I…….have been looking……for you." Her strange way of speaking grates at your ears, with her voice hardly being above a rasp.
You at once try to clock where you had gone wrong. After the stigma you had earned against your name, you had gone on all cylinders to ensure that you were erased from the public eye. You took your belongings from your parents' place, and you were damn sure to not leave a trail when you moved to this town. Although you have been using your legal name in documents, you went to the length of disguising your appearance for the first two years – statistically, you did enough to make finding you as close to impossible as it could be.
So, in summary,
what the fuck dude?
>A] Immediately ask her how she found you, and why she's looking for you. You need to figure this out so you can return to your quiet life.
>B] Stonewall her and return to your customer service persona as best as you're able. Getting her out of the arcade is the priority.
>C] Tell her you need to take a phone call, and immediately call Alexis to ask what's going on. She's about the only person who knows the real you.
>D] Write-in.
