[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

“So you really don’t think that the newest one is any good?”

“Listen, I didn’t say it’s not good!”

“Well, you kinda did when–”

“Damn it, 8-Bit! You always do this! You take something I say and then you spin it so that the meaning is completely different!” Riff was exasperated, partly because his friend was busting his balls and partly because he had failed to adequately express himself.

8-Bit removed his glasses, inspecting the lenses for grime. He held them up to GameWorld’s neon sign, which shone brighter than ever against the black night sky. It’s a strange thought — the clearest messages appear when the least number of people are around to receive them. Doesn’t matter, though. Most people don’t even heed the warnings they actually pick up on. But then again, there’s always one or two that do.

The nine brilliant letters cut their way through the blackness, helping the nerd clean his spectacles. Even as they got smaller during the walk home, the characters of GameWorld’s sign would forever read like a beacon of comfort to 8-Bit.

With vision regained, the dialogue continued. “Ok, let me get this straight. You said, and I quote, ‘Why the fuck would they use synthesizers? The damn things ruin the album!’ What was I supposed to take from that?”

Riff paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to undermine his friend’s well-crafted strategy. “Well…Are you sure I said that?”

“I’m positive.”

“I don’t know. It’d been about an hour since you had to feed the BurgerTime machine a quarter, and I’m not sure your attention was completely dedicated to my musical analysis.” Riff knew his argument was nothing other than a bluff.

8-Bit turned around, looking back the sign that was now a mere neon blur. He had spent the better part of the evening at the arcade and would still be there now had the manager not politely asked him to “Get the fuck outta here kid! I know you’ll be back tomorrow! The machines ain’t going nowhere!” 8-Bit couldn’t fend off Riff’s argument; after all, he had slipped into a state of nirvana, a period ensconced in tranquility, while gaming.

Levelheaded, he offered his counterpart the benefit of the doubt, “All right, maybe I misheard you. What did you say?”

Riff scrambled. “Well, what I had said was that I’m not sure exactly how I feel about the synthesizers in Somewhere in Time. I mean, the record’s been out for almost a month and I still don’t know just how much I like it. Which is fucked up, because it’s Iron Maiden!”

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