Evan Mercer had always been drawn to places people forgot.
It wasn’t bravery—at least, that’s what he told himself. It was curiosity, the kind that tugged at him whenever he passed boarded-up buildings or rusted-out lots. So when he heard about the abandoned arcade at the edge of town, he couldn’t resist.
They said it shut down overnight in the late ‘90s. No explanation. No reopening. Just silence.
By the time Evan found it, the sun was dipping low, painting the cracked pavement in streaks of orange and shadow. The building stood hunched and tired, its once-bright sign hanging crooked above the entrance. Galaxy Games—barely readable beneath years of grime.
The front door wasn’t locked.
That should have been his first warning.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and something else—an old, stale smell like burnt wires. Rows of arcade cabinets stood frozen in time, their screens dark, their colours faded. Skeeball lanes sagged. Prize counters sat empty, stripped of anything worth taking long ago.
Evan stepped carefully, his shoes crunching over bits of broken glass and debris. Every sound echoed too loudly, like the building was listening.
“Hello?” he called out, half-expecting someone to answer.
No one did.
He wandered deeper, running his hand along the edge of a cabinet. Dead. Dead. Dead. Every machine was lifeless.
Until he saw it.
At the very back of the arcade, tucked between two gutted racing games, stood a single pinball machine.
It was glowing.
Not brightly, not enough to light the room—but enough to stand out like a heartbeat in the dark. Its chrome sides gleamed as though freshly polished. The glass was spotless. Lights beneath the surface pulsed slowly, casting shifting patterns across the nearby walls.
Evan frowned. “That’s… not right.”
Everything else was decaying, but this machine looked brand new.
He stepped closer.
The title at the top read: LAST PLAYER STANDING.
The words on the display flickered softly, almost like they were breathing. Beneath them, resting neatly in the coin slot tray, was a single coin.
Evan hesitated.
“This is stupid,” he muttered under his breath.
But his hand moved anyway.
He picked up the coin. It felt warm—warmer than it should have been in a cold, abandoned building. For a moment, he thought about putting it back. About walking away.
Instead, he slid it into the slot.
The effect was immediate.
The machine roared to life with a deafening burst of sound. Lights flared, flashing wildly across the playfield. The speakers crackled with distorted music that sounded almost like laughter.
Evan jumped back—but not far enough.
The ball shot into play before he even touched the plunger, launching upward with violent force. The flippers snapped into motion on their own, slamming the ball back and forth with impossible precision.
“What the—”
Evan reached for the controls instinctively.
The moment his fingers brushed the buttons, they locked in place.
He froze.
“Hey—no—”
He tried to pull back, but his hands wouldn’t move. It was like the machine had grabbed him, holding him there.
The ball ricocheted wildly, striking bumpers and rails in rapid succession. The score counter spun upward at a dizzying speed, numbers blurring together.
And then Evan heard it.
Not from the speakers.
From inside his head.
Play better.
He gasped. “Who—?”
You’re slow.
The ball sped up.
Evan’s hands moved against his will, pressing the flippers in perfect rhythm. He wasn’t controlling them—it was controlling him.
Pain shot through his fingers as the ball clipped the edge of a drain.
“Stop!” he shouted.
The machine didn’t listen.
Focus.
The lights dimmed slightly, shifting from playful colours to a harsh, flickering white. Shadows danced across the glass.
Evan leaned closer despite himself, his breath fogging the surface.
And that’s when he saw it.
For just a fraction of a second, the reflection in the glass wasn’t his own.
It was another boy.
Same position. Same stance. But his face—
He was screaming.
Mouth open wide, eyes wild with terror, hands pounding against the inside of the glass like he was trapped beneath it.
Evan jerked his head back. “No. No, no, no—”
He lost.
The voice was colder now.
The ball slammed into a cluster of bumpers, rattling violently. The machine buzzed with energy, almost vibrating beneath Evan’s hands.
“I don’t want to play!” Evan cried.
You’re already playing.
The ball shot toward the drain.
Evan’s hands reacted instantly, flipping at the last possible moment, saving it. The machine rewarded him with a burst of light—and a jolt of pain that shot up his arms.
He screamed.
“Let me go!”
Win.
The word echoed, heavy and final.
The ball accelerated again, faster than anything he’d ever seen. It became a silver blur, impossible to track. The flippers moved inhumanly fast, snapping back and forth under the machine’s control.
Evan’s vision blurred. Tears filled his eyes.
“I can’t—!”
Then you lose.
The ball slipped past the flippers.
For a split second, everything slowed.
Evan watched helplessly as it dropped straight down the centre.
The sound of it draining echoed like a gunshot.
GAME OVER.
The lights cut out instantly.
The machine went silent.
Evan collapsed backward, his hands finally free. He hit the dusty floor hard, gasping for air, his heart pounding like it might burst.
For a long moment, he just lay there, staring up at the dark ceiling.
“It’s over,” he whispered.
Slowly, he pushed himself up.
The arcade was silent again. Dead. Just like before.
The pinball machine stood in the corner, completely still.
Evan swallowed, forcing himself to his feet. “Okay. Okay, I’m leaving.”
He turned and stumbled toward the exit.
Halfway there—
SLAM.
The front door shut with a violent crash.
Evan froze.
“No… no, no, no…”
He ran to the door, grabbing the handle. It wouldn’t budge. He pulled harder, panic rising in his chest.
“Open! Come on!”
Nothing.
Behind him, a soft hum began.
Evan turned slowly.
The pinball machine was glowing again.
Its lights flickered back to life, one by one. The display buzzed, characters forming slowly across the screen.
Evan’s stomach dropped.
INSERT PLAYER TWO.
The coin slot clicked.
And something clinked into the tray.
Another coin.
Waiting.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
