A Future We'd Like To See 1.23 - Spatulas of Fury
By Twoflower (Copyright 1993)

     I don't have time for introductions, because at this
particular point in my tale I was about to kick someone's ass. 
Hi, I'm W'dell, Yttian arcade game expert.  Pleased to meet you.

     "DIZZY?  Crap!  No!  This can't be happening!"

     "Geez, walk faster, gotta go for the throw--SHIT!"

     I guess I hadn't timed the combo quick enough.  Just as I
was about to move in for the kill with a handy Burger Flip, the
dude on the second joystick had me in the Revolving Slam-Dunk of
Death, as his character neatly grabbed me and flipped through the
air, slamming my head repeatedly into the plexiglass backboard.

     "YOU, WIN!" the game echoed in the fake announcer's voice. 
The mammoth basketball player on screen laughed and beat his
chest as my fast food worker lie bleeding on the cracked
sidewalk, while various urbanites cheered from windows in the
background.

     "Awww, man!  And that was my last credit!" I whined,
whapping at the joystick in frustration.

     "Too bad, dude," the little punk laughed.  "You suck, you
die."

     "I don't suck.  You were ticking me more than a Swiss watch. 
If you were any cheaper you'd be on sale."

     "Go play in some wimpy no-throw arcade if you can't take
expert playing," he shrugged.  "Now scoot, someone behind you
wants to take me on."

     I harumphed, which was normal, and stomped angrily out of
the arcade.  I hate weenies that pull dirty tricks like that. 
Every character in the game has at least one combination that can
send your character into dizzy, and some wimps decide that it's
fun to do that combination over and over and over again, so that
you don't stand a chance.  I thought I had him when he slipped a
move and I snagged him in a Wind Spatula, but he recovered before
I could slide in for the kill.

     'Course, you can't expect much from a Ziggy player.  I knew
all the characters in Spatula Fighter two by heart, and Ziggy is
one of the slowest, most useless guys in the game, if it weren't
for his Revolving Slam-Dunk of Death.  Who ever heard of a
basketball player streetfighting, anyway?

     I traditionally played Jim Bob, who was the star of the
game.  Captron based him off the real Jim Bob, lead guitarist of
Stomach Contents and master of the Wae Spatula, the recent art of
fighting.  Can't call it ancient, since he invented it while on a
religious retreat in Tibet.  It's a way of dealing out some
serious punishment with only a pair of fast-food working
implements, which was his job at the time of thinking it up. 
There were some really wicked throws, such as the Burger
Inverter, the Over-The-Shoulder Foot Throw, and such.  In
addition, you had the fastest, nastiest move of the game, the
Wind Spatula, and a slew of other attacks.

     I've been a Jim Bob player ever since I was first introduced
to Spatula Fighter 2 at my new home in New Hampshire, Terra.  My
folks, who work for a Terran business firm, moved there about a
year or two ago.  I got a bit of flak as I was one of the few
non-humans in my grade, but after kicking a few butts at the
arcade, things turned around.  Currently, I rank in the top ten
spatula fighters at my school.  We keep a small digiboard in the
cafeteria which keeps track of the current rankings.

     I'm guessing that's where the funny guy with the bow tie saw
my name.  I still wonder if our collision was the accident it
seemed.

     I bumped into the shortish, nerdy guy while turning a corner
on my way home from the Credit Pumper Arcade.  He fall down go
boom, and so do I.

     "Whoops," I said, bouncing back to my feet.  "Sorry, mister. 
Here, let me help you with that."

     "It's okay, I've got them," the man said, scooping up the
floptical disks that had fallen out of his bag.  I noticed the
label on one of them as it went into the sturdy canvas bag.

     "Spatula Fighter 2 : VE?" I read from the label.  "They made
a disk based version of the game?"  This was odd indeed, as I
kept up with all the SF2 rumors, and no home computer versions
were in the works.

     The odd little man peered at me.  "What's your name, kid?"

     "W'dell.  W'dell W'rrik."

     "Wuh-dell?"

     "No, W'dell.  Shorten the wuh a bit."

     "THE W'dell?"

     "You heard of me?"

     "Well, I've heard you're one of the top spatulas in the
area," the man said, shaking my hand.  "Glad to hear you enjoy
our game so much."

     "Our game?  You work for Captron?  Whoa!"

     "Yeah.  I'm one of the programmers of the game.  Want to
know a little secret?"

     "Let me in on it!"

     The man leaned in, and glanced around to make sure nobody
was listening in.  "We're working on a new version.  Those disks? 
The base interface code.  It's gonna be BIG.  Real big.  Want in
on it?  I'm looking for a few beta testers."

     "Mister, I would wash your car, groom your cat, clean your
windows, pay your mortgage and take a blaster round to the chest
if you'd let me!"

     "Well, there's no need to go that far.  A simple yes will
do."

     "YES!!!"

     "Alrighty.  Come on, follow me," he said, walking off in the
direction he was originally headed.

     "What, now?"

     "Yup.  We're set up in secret at that warehouse over there."

     "Wow, intrigue.  Cool.  Alright, lead the way."

                                   *

     I had been in warehouses before, but usually someone had set
up a mixing board, some lights, and a few hundred dancers at the
time.  This one was just empty, save for eleven teenagers like
me, several guys in white lab coats, and THE MACHINE.

     It was bigger than your normal SF2 cabinet.  Bulkier.  The
logo was flared in orange fire, and read SPATULA FIGHTER 2 : V-
EDITION.  The joysticks were longer and shaped to fit in your
grip more than the usual stick and ball arrangement.  The
graphics and sound, at least from what I could see of the
computer playing, were the same.  I didn't see what the hush was
all about.

     Apparently, the other kids didn't get the point either, as
they exchanged confused whispers among themselves, and shrugged a
lot.  I slid up to them, exchanging the secret SF2 master's
handshake we learned at school.  (It seemed that seven of the
kids here were on that top ten list I mentioned earlier.  The
rest were scrubs.)

     "So, what's this all about?" I asked the guy who was holding
the #4 slot.  (I was at #2.)

     "I dunno," #4 shrugged.  "Some little nerd bumps into me, I
notice something he's carrying, and he invites me here.  And then
I sit around for an hour.  I don't get it."

     "WARNING!" screamed my Suspicion.  "Something is rotten in
Denmark!"

     "Pipe down," I told myself.

     "Huh?"

     "Nothing.  So what is that thing?"

     "Looks like an SF2 console, 'cept for the weird sticks. 
You're the guy who usually plays Jim Bob, right?"

     "Yeah.  And you?"

     "I'm a J.Oxen guy myself."

     "What, Mister Cheesepeedo?"

     "So he's easy to win with.  He's fun.  Good throw priority."

     "But his kicks--"

     "Okay, it's ready!" one of the lab coats announced.  "Who's
first?"

     The guy with the funny bow tie quieted down the shrieks of
inhuman joy and shouts of "ME! ME!".  "We'll take the top two
players first.  It's only fair."

     Ten groans of various pitches and consistences reverberated
around the empty warehouse as #1 and I pushed through the gaggle
towards the machine.

     "Here, I'll ring in four credits worth," one of the techs
said, playing with the haphazard jumble of buttons and wires that
led out of the machine.  "Alright.  Pick your fighters and
begin."

     I took hold of the joystick, as I quelled my suspicion down.
The stick vibrated slightly and was cool to the touch.  I wiggled
it experimentally... odd, it didn't move at all.  How were they
expecting us to play?  I tapped the screen on Jim Bob's face, as
the 1P box lit up around his tiny wallet-sized photo.  I already
knew who #1 would play, as I had been working off an on all month
to unseat him from that vaulted slot : The Evil Ken.  Sort of
like Ken from Spatula Fighter One, except with a cheesy little
goatee beard and more of a sneer.  I hated EK.

     "G'luck, dude," the shrimp of a player said, secret-
handshaking me.

     "Yeah.  So, how do we start--"

     --on the dock in EK's stage.  Boats floating in the
background.  Thoughts quicker.  EK in front of me.  Spatulas in
hand.  Fight time.

     "ROUND... ONE.  FIGHT!"

     Jump forward, kick.  EK blocks.  Wind Spatula, blocked. 
Stupid, stupid.  Jump back, block SpiritBall thrown by EK.  EK
performs Cyclone Punch.  Duck.  Punch, knock EK out of air. 
Duck, kick, slide as EK gets up.  EK blocks.  Burger Flip, EK
flies through the air, thud.  Jump in with punch.

     EK Chimera Punch, double hit.  Throws another SpiritBall,
which hits.  Down to 60% health, he's at 40%.  Think fast.  56
seconds left.  EK jumps in.  Block, Wind Spatula.  Four hits, got
him, down to 10% health and dizzy.  Walk in.  Throw.

     "YOU... WIN."

     Perform standard victory spatula cross.  Fade to black. 
Fade back in, back to normal fighting positions.

     "ROUND... TWO.  FIGHT!"

     EK panics and Cyclone Punches.  Jump, hop off head, bounce
off side of screen and hop off head again.  Dizzy.  Bad move on
his behalf.  Take pity.  Just throw, no Touch of Death.  Bad move
on my behalf.  Two SpiritBalls hit.  Block.  Ducking roundhouse,
I go down.

     Down to 20% health, him at 30%.  Think fast.  He's going for
the throw.  Touch of Death, Touch of Death, come on... tap. 
Boom.  EK down.

     "YOU... WIN."

     Double-portrait, EK bruised and bleeding.  "The Zen of the
Spatula overcomes such primitive fighting techniques," I
standardly say.  Fade to black.

     WHOA!

     Jeez!  My normal brain activity flooded back in, a tidal
wave of consiousness.  What was that?  I couldn't think about
anything other than the game.  Cool.  I was pulling off combos
and special moves at a mere thought.  Good adrenaline rush... 
first time I've ever beaten #1, too!  ALRIGHT!  I'M #1 NOW! 
AHAHA!  SUCK ON THAT!

     Now how do I get out of there?

     "Congrads on the victory," the disembodied voice of Mr. Bow
Tie said.

     Huh?  What're you doing here?  Where IS here, anyway, now
that I seem to have my consiousness back?

     "It's a virtual reality direct thought input version of
spatula fighter 2," the man said.  "We sort of wanted to surprise
you... ummm... but there seems to be a bug here..."

     Bug?  What sort of bug?

     "Well, joystick number two seems to be working fine, and it
jacked out your friend there, but you can't seem to let go of
yours."

     Say WHAT?

     "Please, don't get agitated, it fuzzes up the thought
signal."

     You mean I'm still hanging onto the joystick in the real
world, like some sort of zombie?

     "Well, yes, the cyber link is on the stick itself."

     So pry my hand off of it so I can go home.

     "Well, umm, if we do that, it'll probably wipe your brain
like a chalkboard."

     WHAT?!?!

     "It's a SLIGHT drawback we've been working on for awhile...
We've got to unpause the game now... you'll probably end up
fighting against the computer for a few rounds while we try to
work things out."

     What happens if I lose two matches and the game ends?

     "It's best not to think about it," the voice said, as the
game unpaused.  I tried to fight the machine, to keep my brain
above the mindless game-driven state it was in before... hard...
punch... spat... try... to think, but... too hard...

     (Is that overacting or WHAT?  Shatner would be proud.)

     Map of the galaxy.  Opponent face rapidly changing. 
Computer settles on : Gule Gule.  Crud.

     Fade to black.  Fade to VS. screen.  Fade to army base.

     "ROUND... ONE.  FIGHT!"

     Gotta fight.  Gotta keep control.  If I think in little
bursts.  Should work.  Gotta escape.  No good against Gule Gule. 
SonicHedgehog Manuver.  Jump over it.  Find way out.

     Of course.  Background.  Couple army types.  BIG-ASS
airplane.  Jump into cockpit - easy to do with JB's jump range. 
Flip on HUD display.  Target.  Lock on with sidewinders.  Fire. 
Missile zips across the room.  Impact.  Freak with beer-coaster
topped hair explodes violently.  Gads, I've always wanted to do
that.

     Fade.  Fade.  "ROUND... TWO.  FIGHT!"

     Let's have some fun.  I'm sure there's a tank.  On this
screen somewhere.  There, real small, behind the fence and the
jeep.  Jump.  Run.  Dodge SonicHedgehog.  Jump over kick.  Bet
computer's surprised I'm walking into the background.  Hop on
tank, open hatch.  Turn turret.  No.  Wait.  More fun.  Put in
gear.  Gule Gule looks surprised.  Good.  Forward.  SQUISH.

     "YOU... WIN."

     My consiousness faded back in full for a few breif moments,
enough to hear the voice call, "We've got it tracked down...
should jack out after the next round..."

     Typical.

     Map.  Computer picks... umm... who the heck WAS this? 
Looked to me to be some sort of cop type... few facial scars,
nasty look.

     "That's Harry," the voice said.  "New character we added in
for this version.  Hey, if you get out of this alive, tell us
what you think of his strategy..."

     "ROUND... ONE.  FIGHT!"

     He's just sitting there.  Sipping some coffee.  Not
attacking.  What a wimp.  Walk forward.  Jab punch should get his
attention.

     I spilled his coffee.  He doesn't look real happy.  Pulls
out a Magnum-- BLAM!

     "YOU... LOSE."

     OW! OW! OW! OW! OW! OW!

     "ROUND... TWO.  FIGHT!"

     Pain gone.  Not fun at all.  Okay, play waiting game.  Sit
here.  Don't do anything.  Harry still drinking coffee.  Ponder
humanity.  He's still drinking.  Finished coffee.  Pulls out a
Magnum-- BLOCK!

     Bullet doesn't hurt?  How lame.  You couldn't block. A lead
slug in reality.  Harry looks mad.  FLEE.

     Background is a police station.  Run inside.  Nothing behind
it?!?  Oh, makes sense.  All players need to see.  Is the FRONT
of the building.  Umm.  Harry looking in through 2-D window. 
Idea.

     Push the entire wall over.  2-D police station flattens
Harry.  Squish.

     "YOU... WI--"

     I fell backwards, hand losing its grip on the joystick.  A
few techs rushed to my aid, getting slight static shocks from
touching me (apparently I wasn't grounded), but after a few yelps
of pain I was on my feet.

     "He needs work," I finalized.

     "I REALLY am sorry about this," the nerd in the bow tie
said.  "I had no idea we'd hit that bug... I guess it needs some
reworking..."

     "I COULD sue for that," I said.  "I mean, I wandered in here
expecting to play a game, not to duel to the death with some
poorly thought up computer characters."

     "Umm, I don't want to butt legal heads with you, but you did
sign a disclaimer stating that we were not responsible for any
damages caused by the beta product."

     "'scuze?" I said.  "I didn't--"

     The man pulled out a voucher of legalese mumbo jumbo,
complete with my thumbprint as a signature.

     "You must have gotten my print off of the joystick, you
lousy little-- gimmie that."

     I yanked the paper from his hands, browsing through it. 
Fortunately my dad's a lawyer, so I get to peruse his nightly
work occasionally.  I speak pretty good legalese due to this; my
friends and I use it as a secret code when we want to annoy
adults.

     "There's nothing in here about agreeing to remain silent
about the project," I said.  "I'm sure the top five gaming
magazines would love to hear my full scoop about the potentially
deadly game soon to hit the markets."

     "You wouldn't!"

     "Try me.  Unless, of COURSE you were to, say, give me some
incentive."

                              *

     One over the shoulder foot throw, and it was curtains for
Long Dong Fei, as his digitized image arced neatly across the
screen.

     "Jeez!" the guy next to me exclaimed, kicking the machine. 
"Unfair.  How'd you get that fast at this?"

     "Simple," I said.  "I own one."

     "Own what?"

     "A copy of the game," I shrugged.

     "I thought there wasn't a home computer version!"

     "There isn't.  I have one of the big-cabinet ones."

     "Whaa... how'd you manage that?!" the kid exclaimed.

     "I decided not to sue," I grinned.