Bridge Lift Battle

Bridge Lift Battle

by Lucas X. Wiseman

Ahmed cheered when the yellow lights began to flash, warning the commuters of the imminent bridge lift. Through the windshield of his mom’s Honda Civic he could see his fellow pilgrims groan and throw up their hands. He imagined them swearing and cursing their bad luck, while he giggled excitedly.

The commute into Portland was long and exhausting on the best of mornings; but when the bridge rose to let a cargo carrier or yacht pass, it transfigured into the most important place in Ahmed’s world. He put the car in park and thought about texting his boss to explain his imminent lateness. He did not. Let that controlling micromanager stew and worry– she deserved it, anyway. Satisfied by his petty act of defiance, he opened the app and pulled his gaming goggles out of the glove compartment.

The game was called Yai Matsumo, and some days the opportunity to play it was all that motivated him to get up, climb into the car and brave the river crossing. That was the spark of brilliance that had made the game an international success overnight; you could not play it whenever you wanted. Only when a real-world event happened, like the bridge lift, would the game begin. His goggles lit up and the familiar music played from his phone. He grinned. Goggles on.

An animated newscaster appeared in his augmented vision, her hair a tangled mess. 

“Operator Ahmed, thank goodness you’re here!” she said. “The lauded vessel Hartfilia sails nearby, but she is in danger, and it is up to you to protect her! Prepare to defend the ship against the monsters that seek to destroy it!”

His goggles activated fully, immersing him into the game. No longer was he sitting in his car; instead he sat inside a massive tank, its turret rotating as he turned his phone left and right. Calibration complete. He was prepared for combat.

Ahmed pushed a button near his eye and connected to the voice chat, listening in for a few seconds as his fellow players on the bridge chattered happily. A few spoke Russian or Ukrainian, but everyone knew what they needed to do.

“This is ThunderCivic,” Ahmed said, joining the burbling conversation. “Who’s ready to kick some monster ass?” 

The gamertags of his teammates appeared as they answered him, and he took quick stock of them. No one he recognized from previous battles.

“This is KinderDave, ready to go.”

“CoDSniperXx here, this is my third fight on the bridge. Careful of the water ‘mons, they’ll sneak up on us.”

“MamaSeeTatas, locked and loaded.”

“This is so freaking sweet! SeizeTheCarp here, I’m going to watch the overland routes.”

“Good call Carp, I’ll help you,” Ahmed said. He rotated his turret and scanned the riverbank behind him. No longer did he see a line of cars stretching back along the highway; now he saw a digital landscape of craters and monster corpses from previous battles. He zoomed in and inspected the horizon. Sure enough, he saw the blurry motion of approaching monsters.

“Operators, prepare for combat!” the newscaster’s voice sounded. A countdown appeared in his vision. He wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis. Now was no time to slip up. The timer hit zero, and the simulated roar of monsters echoed through his car. He saw them clearly on the horizon, and small colored flashes of light began to sprinkle the landscape. His distant allies were already in the thick of things.

The game’s brilliance was that it involved nearly everyone within a few miles of the “event epicenter.” Even if he wasn’t on the bridge itself, he could still help defend the ship by fighting from wherever he was. Ahmed had been on the distant edges of the circle a few times, assisting and battling as the monsters swarmed past him toward the vulnerable boat. Now though, he was the last line of defense. Nothing stood between the bridge and the boat below it except him and a handful of others. He took a shaky breath and wiped his hands again. Calm down. As the fight along land increased in intensity, he heard a player call out for aid. The river monsters were coming.

He rotated, trusting Carp to take out any of the quick monsters that made it past the defenders further back along the land route, and surveyed the situation. The waterborne monsters were tricky to see, but they typically had fins sticking out of the water like sharks. He aimed his cannon and fired twice, and a satisfying noise told him he’d scored a hit. His score went up, and he watched his name rise to the top half of the scoreboard. Not a great sign; a single kill put him above half of his teammates. He reached out and slapped at the dashboard in front of him, managing to set the car’s air conditioning to full after a few clumsy attempts. 

“ThunderCivic here, can I get some help along the riverbank?”

“With you, Civic,” a soft voice said. He glanced over to see that it was a player on the other side of the bridge speaking to him. Her tag identified her as Pickle.

“Thanks Pickle,” Ahmed replied. Their combined fire seemed to thin out the oncoming wave of fins. The simulated sounds of combat around him faded as the first round ended. The ship’s health bar was at full, and not a single monster had managed to get past either side. The Hartfilia crept closer. Any players actually on the boat would have an amazing view of the battle, and they’d have the special ability to call in reinforcements from the air. Ahmed hoped to take a river cruise one day, just to try it.

“Hell yeah, we got this. Easy,” a player named ThrillerMac said.

“Don’t get cocky, kid!” an elderly voice replied, which elicited a few laughs from the general chat.

“You guys should check out my podcast, it’s about how the government is secretly using LSD to…” Ahmed muted that player before they could continue further. He was focused on the game. He didn’t need anything else distracting him. 

A new score of rumbles, screeches and roars sounded as the second phase began. Ahmed’s nose felt cold, but he didn’t dare turn down the AC. He needed dry hands. He wiped them on his pants again.

The second wave was usually when the boat sank. The first wave was meant to teach you the mechanics, how to use your smartphone and the goggles to aim your tank’s barrel. The second wave was where the difficulty skyrocketed. Ahmed had never made it into the third and final phase, but today he knew he would. He had to.

The attacking monsters from the land and river continued, but Ahmed let Carp and Pickle handle them. He turned his attention to the air, where he knew bomb carrying bat-creatures would descend from the clouds. He switched to anti-air mode with a flick of his hands and began to pepper the skies with flak. The sound of small explosions and tinny screams filled his car as the monsters died. Several others were helping defend the skies, and the lines of white fire that they spit out reminded him of watching archerfish with his grandfather as they threw lances of water into the air at unsuspecting insects. His goggles vibrated, jarring his teeth. He snapped around to see a big crablike monster raising a claw for another attack. His tank’s hitpoints dropped as the monster struck again, and Ahmed swore. He grabbed his passenger side headrest with one hand and pulled himself fully into the back seat of his car so he could spin freely to face the monster. He twisted his phone and the turret swiveled to blast the creature away. From the back seat, he could see that a cluster of demon crabs were creeping forward, clawing at the tanks.

“Shit, there’s dozens!” he shouted. “What happened?”

“We got overwhelmed!” Carp cried. “I’m out of this fight.”

Ahmed shook his head and concentrated on peeling away the monsters from around him. His tank shook again as one of the bat things bombed him, making his vision blurry and his phone vibrate violently, further numbing his already cold fingers. The boat was being bombed too, and it was nowhere near passing under the bridge to safety. They were failing. Ahmed ground his teeth and paused to say a quick prayer before continuing to shoot. He wasn’t as devout as his father and mother, but in times of pressure the reflex to pray was instinctive. 

He began to pivot his body in the back seat of the sedan, spending a few seconds to shoot the nearest enemies in the sky, then spinning to confront the land based threats, then back to the sky. His abdomen ached and he kept banging his knee into the backseat’s buckles. The pain and aches distracted him, but he pushed down the signals his body was sending him and kept at it, becoming a dervish of monster slaying firepower. Slowly, the tide turned on his side of the bridge. The monsters stopped advancing past him, and his allies began to rally and hold their own, covering the boat. Simulated crab gore splattered the road around him, evidence of his victory. Ahmed breathed heavily as the second phase ended. He’d made it, barely.

“ThunderCivic, carry harder!” Pickle cheered. He glanced at his score and his jaw dropped; he was in first with thirty nine direct kills. Only Pickle was even close to him.

“Looks like there’s only seven tanks left on this side of the bridge, four on Civic’s side,” KinderDave said. “Gonna be a tough fight against the boss.”

“We can do it,” Ahmed said breathlessly. His air conditioning was still going full blast, but he could barely feel it. His face felt flushed and his forehead was coated with sweat. 

“We can do it!” he said again, shouting. “Who’s with me?!”

His remaining allies whooped and cheered with him, and his heart beat faster. They were counting on him. 

Phase three began with the sound of rushing water, and Ahmed pivoted towards the west. Rising from the river was a massive thing, like a nightmare tadpole merged with a scorpion. Its claws dug into the riverbanks on either side as it heaved its body from the water. The torso was covered in slime and scales the color of rotted wood, and instead of a head there was an open maw, with grasping pincers around it. Ahmed watched in horror as an airplane flying nearby got too close, and one of the pincers snatched it out of the sky and forced it into the gaping mouth.

“It’s so gross!” someone yelled. Ahmed shook his head in dismay. It was terrifying, and he watched its health bar appear and stretch across the entire length of the river. A timer appeared in his vision, displaying how long until the monster got in range of the boat and sank it. He knew from reading the forums that the boss could kill the ship in a single strike.

It would be impossible to miss a creature of such size; but the game’s designers knew that. Shooting it with his tank would do almost nothing unless he aimed for specific weak spots, which cycled into and out of availability as the creature walked. Or scuttled, in this case. 

The third phase began, and Ahmed took his time lining up a shot near the creature’s mouth, carefully considering the highlighted targets that peppered the creature’s body. It seemed that targeting the bases of the legs would be a good way to cripple the thing, and buy the Hartfilia more time. Ahmed saw the other tanks that remained take aim as well, and as one they began to fire. 

Leading the shots so they would land precisely where intended was difficult; and Ahmed had very little experience. He’d done practice boss battles before, like most players, but this was the first time in a real third-phase fight, and he was missing. His comrades were more accurate, and pixelated explosions bloomed around the base of the creature’s walking tentacles, causing it to roar in agony. Its approach slowed, its health bar dropping marginally, but it did not stop. With a wave of motion, a layer of pustules on the boss monster’s body burst apart, and a stream of flying monsters spewed forth. 

“I’ll take the bats, keep firing at the boss!” Ahmed shouted. 

Though his aim was superior against this type of monster, he still struggled to keep them at bay. These bat creatures had more health, were more likely to dodge, and he was getting tired. In desperation, he peeled off half a goggle so he could see the controls for his car’s sunroof. He got it open and poked out his head, so he could spin quickly and survey the entire bridge. He was certain he looked like a madman to the other commuters, but that was the least of his worries. As Ahmed pulled his torso out of the sunroof, he nearly dropped his phone. His hands were sweaty, and his fingers started to ache from squeezing the thing for so long. Sweat blinded him momentarily as it slipped down his face and past his goggles. He swiped at his forehead with a shirt sleeve, scraping his skin with the buttons. 

A monster took advantage of his momentary lapse in fire and dove down, digging its talons into a tank near Ahmed. The player screamed in frustration as their vehicle was destroyed. The opposing side of the bridge was losing players as well, and the main boss was taking less and less hits as the tanks refocused on defending themselves, not fighting the greater threat. It was much closer now, and its health bar had barely moved down.

A moment of clarity zipped through Ahmed’s mind. They didn’t need to kill the big monster to win, they just needed to buy the Hartfilia enough time to escape. Them dying wasn’t just an unfortunate casualty anymore, it was a necessity.

“Ignore the little ‘mons, focus the boss! It doesn’t matter if we die, so long as we cripple it!” Ahmed said. His hands shook and he refocused his cannon on the locomotive appendages of the huge monster, taking careful aim. At this range, he thought he could finally hit it.

“Are you crazy, Civic?” a ThrillerMac asked. “We can’t win if we’re dead!”

“Do what he says!” an authoritative Pickle commanded. “He’s right, we just need to buy time!”

Pickle joined him in firing at the leading leg, and their cannon booms synced up almost perfectly, making a single noise. The beast loomed over the bridge, blocking a huge portion of the sky. The boat below was so close to safety. They needed a minute, perhaps less.

One by one, the tanks obeyed and returned their attention to the boss, peppering it with blasts aimed at its weak points. One of its huge eyes was blasted closed, and a leg vanished in a plume of black ooze when Pickle managed a well aimed shot. Each blow slowed the creature, and bought the Hartfilia the time it needed.

With their attention fully on the bigger threat, the few remaining players around Ahmed began to die off, their colorful tanks winking to gray as they sacrificed themselves. Ahmed himself had to resist the instinct to kill a bat bomber as it flew straight toward him. Instead of hitting it and saving himself, he focused, aiming right for the gut of the boss. In the midst of all the noise and explosions, he’d noticed a small weak point there, highlighted in red by his goggles. The bat swooped down and released its payload, and a high pitched whistling noise filled the car as it approached. Ahmed’s heart was racing, but he aimed carefully, and squeezed a shot off just before the bomb landed. It erased his health bar, and YOU ARE DEAD appeared in the center of his vision. He dismissed the message.

His shot had caused the monster to roar in agony, giving the Hartfilia additional seconds to gain distance and chug beneath the bridge. The monster seemed off balance, but it was still standing. Ahmed turned. All around him were craters and grayed out tanks. Only one tank, on the opposite side of the bridge still stood: Pickle.

“Civic, where’d you just hit it?” she yelled. Ahmed heard the panic in her voice. The monster was still close enough to hit the ship, and they’d lose everything. All of this, for naught.

“The stomach, high and right. Target’s tiny, but you can just see it. I know you can hit it,” he said. He whispered another prayer as Pickle’s turret spun and aimed where he indicated. The boss recovered from its injury and made a gurgling, gulping noise, reaching a pincer down to grasp the Hartfilia. The ship was seconds away from safety. Pickle fired. 

She missed. Groans echoed up and down the bridge as all the players watching saw the shot go wide, bouncing off of the blubbery hide of the monster. The pincer wrapped around the tail end of the Hartfilia and dragged it backward, pulling it out of the water and dropping it into its mouth like a fat man eating a shrimp. Ahmed closed his eyes. His team had lost. He’d lost. Sad music began to play from over the speakers, a tinny rendition of taps.

“Shit man, that sucks.” Seize the Carp said.

“We came so close, too!” replied KinderDave. 

“Good try, Pickle,” another player said. “Tough shot to make.”

“If there were more of us alive, maybe we could have done it.”

“Why did we stop protecting ourselves? Whose idea was that anyway?”

“Better luck next time.”

“Great call, Civic.”

“What was that?” Ahmed asked. He listened harder.

“Ignoring the weak ones, that was right. We almost had it,” Pickle said. Ahmed’s throat was tight, and it took a few tries before he could answer. 

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Ahmed said. “You too. Nearly had it.”

The monster roared in victory, and the newscaster reappeared.

“We were unsuccessful this time, Operator, but we’ll get it the next!”

An alarm blared, letting the commuters know that the bridge would soon lower, and the game faded out. No longer was a monster standing in the river; it was empty except for an average barge, hauling sand or gravel somewhere boring. 

Ahmed removed his goggles. With the game over, he could no longer see the names over the vehicles, couldn’t identify who his former teammates were. Instead of valiant tank commanders, he was surrounded by commuters in too-tight ties and drab blouses. He realized  people were staring at him, and he quickly reentered his car and closed the sunroof. The air conditioning chugged away at full blast, and Ahmed wiped his face with his sleeve again. He was covered in sweat, his dress shirt soaked through. It would look like he ran to work when he got in. Maybe that’s what he’d tell them. He continued to stare at the other drivers. Most of them couldn’t wait to continue on their way; none of them wanted to look at him. They had no clue what had just transpired.

He felt terribly alone.

He wanted to share in the glory of battle, the bittersweet taste of near-victory. He wanted to go over every moment of the fight with ThrillerMac and Pickle and the others, discussing each heart pounding shot and near miss. He wanted to experience closeness with the people around him, except they were all sealed in their own steel and glass bubbles. Separated only by feet, but wholly isolated from each other, with no way to communicate now that the game was done. Fire seized him, rising up from his belly. The barge below was through and the bridge would fully lower soon. He had moments. Would anyone care? Did it matter?

The car protested mildly as he opened his door without removing the keys from the ignition, but he ignored it. He stood up straight, his chest near to bursting from the hammering of his heart. A few nearby drivers looked at him, alarmed, but he let a calming smile come to his face. He ran forward and started to shout.

“Operators, I am Ahmed, the ThunderCivic! Meet me at Low Bar at six tonight! Please!” He repeated his plea, running down the center lane of the bridge between the cars. A few people smiled and nodded to him, some waved. Most kept their eyes straight forward, pretending he wasn’t there. He imagined them begging the bridge to drop faster so they could be on their way, away from the crazy dark skinned man raving in the middle of the road. 

Ahmed made it back to his car without being run over, and he sped to work. He was distracted the whole morning, and he was reprimanded by his manager for his appearance, tardiness, and lack of focus. Just as five o’clock rolled around, he finally snapped and quit. His manager’s face was priceless, and he relished it. 

Traffic going back was its usual awful self, with no bridge lift to liven it up. Ahmed made it to the bar late, worried that a friend or two might have already come and gone. He didn’t want to be alone, to be the only one. Would anyone listen? Would they come at all?

He pushed the door open and was nearly knocked back by the roar from inside. He stood frozen as a huge man said his name and rushed forward, hands outstretched. The man was ThrillerMac, and he gave Ahmed a crushing hug. He was dragged inside and a drink was shoved into his hands. 

Everywhere around him, he heard a dozen familiar voices. People were reliving the fight, their moves and counter moves, their heroic last stands. And through the crowd, Ahmed saw a girl with white hair and a pink jacket sitting at the bar. She was smiling at him, and on her collar was a small pin; a bright green pickle.