Commentary: A Regular Show fan-fiction story
Shlomo
"C'mon…just a little more!" uttered Rigby as he focused his concentration on the game one-hundred and ten percent.
Rigby mashed on the buttons with his paws curled up into fists, anxiously trying to get the highest score in the history of the arcade hall.
He had been playing this game for years and was ready to take the title of "grand champion" of the arcade.
The game was called, "Cold Island".
It was a game with an overhead view of a female character who was blasting away zombies from taking over their town called "Cold Island".
As of right now, Rigby was ready to obtain the highest score ever in this game. He had been playing this game for years, trying his hardest to get his name on the "Wall of Fame". Only the best of the best got their name in that place of honor.
A crowd of nerds and geeks were swarming around Rigby's arcade cabinet, watching him in awe as he mashed his way to the high score.
Mordecai, on the other hand, was sitting on a booth, with a few slices of cold pizza and a cup of soda that had lost its fizz a long time ago. He had his feathery palm on his cheek and had a very bored expression on his face.
He knew that whenever Rigby began playing Cold Island, he would play for hours upon hours. They had initially gone to the arcade hall to get a few slices of pepperoni pizza and just play a few games.
Unfortunately, Rigby got his eyes on his most favorite game and his addiction was triggered by it.
Now, Mordecai had been sitting at the table for nearly five hours waiting for Rigby to finish his game.
However, the progress Rigby made within these past hours was remarkable; Rigby had already surpassed anyone else who had been playing the game for years, and it would take several more before anyone else were to conquer his score.
"Man," said Mordecai, slumping back into the bench and leaning his head back with his beak facing the ceiling. "This sucks. What a crappy way to end our day off."
The nerds around Rigby began clamoring about his success.
"Man," exclaimed one nerd with a pocket protector and some dorky taped-up glasses, "Look at him go!"
"I know," replied another one with acne all over his face and braces on his buck teeth, "this guy must be, like, a pro!"
"Dude, we're not just noobs. We're uber-noobs compared to this guy!" hollered another dork with a long pencil-neck and pointy nose.
Sweat began streaming down Rigby's furry face and he ferociously began chomping on his lower lip. He wanted his name on the Wall of Fame, and he wanted it badly.
This wasn't something as insignificant as Pac-Man or Galaga. No, this was Cold Island, one of the most difficult arcade games ever designed. And Rigby was ready to take all the glory.
Mordecai, however, just about had enough of this arcade high score bullcrap. He was getting out of there ASAP. He snatched his paper plate of cold pizza and his flat soda and marched over to Rigby's cabinet.
"Rigby," groaned Mordecai as he stood next to his eccentric friend who was pounding on those colorful buttons as hard as he possibly could. "Dude, it's getting really late. I'm gonna head home and watch a movie. You coming or what?"
But Rigby kept his eyes anchored on the screen of the arcade. "Sorry dude," replied Rigby in a slightly-deranged voice, "but I gotta stay here and get the highest score! I can't leave now! What kind of a turd would I be if I just left the game running and didn't finish it?"
The blue-jay rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine. You can stay if you want. Give me a call or something and I'll come pick you up."
Mordecai turned around and began making his way for the exit. Half-way, he turned around and called out, "Just be careful, man. This is a dangerous neighborhood. You could, like, get eaten by a werewolf or something." And with that, he was out the door.
Rigby paid no attention to what his friend had just warned him about. The raccoon was too preoccupied with his gaming.
Finally, after another hour of continuous zombie-slaying, Rigby's final life was lost. The game was over, and his high score was presented.
The crowd gasped at the enormous number that appeared on the screen. Rigby was so ecstatic about it that he could hardly breathe.
Rigby's high score was:
50,000 points
And finally, the infamous "Enter your initials" appeared on the screen. With a huge (and somewhat disturbing) grin on his face, Rigby fed the word "RIG" into the machine.
After years of practice, he could finally enter the high score and have his name engraved into the Wall of Fame.
But then, in a matter of seconds, his dream was shattered to pieces. Rigby's pupils shrunk and his mouth hung open as he saw his name appear in second place.
Whoever was number one had a high score of:
1,000,000 points.
The initials were only "SHL".
"No…" was the word that escaped Rigby's lips in a devastated whisper.
The group scattered, still while cheering him on and calling him one of the greatest players they've ever seen.
The groundskeeper just stood there, mindlessly staring at the screen, perplexed that he wasn't the greatest Cold Island player. But he could've sworn he was the best player around. No one could match his skills. Well, that is except for, of course, this "SHL" person.
Rigby was still observing his score when a voice behind him said, "You're pretty good."
The raccoon whirled around to see someone in a trench coat slightly taller than him with a scarf around their face, concealing their identity. They were looking up at his score.
"Uh…yeah, thanks."
"Mmm-hmm. You did alright, kid. But you're definitely no match for Shlomo."
Rigby's ear perked up at the word, "Shlomo".
"What? Who?" interrogated Rigby anxiously. He was still slightly crazy and pumped over the arduous amount of work he just put into the game.
"Shlomo." Repeated this mysterious masked stranger. "Shlomo was the greatest arcade gamer around here. He could've torn your score to pieces."
"What? Hey! I invested a lot of time into this game!"
The stranger stared down at the raccoon and asked, "Yeah? How much?"
"Like, years!" Rigby turned back around and pointed at the screen. "It took me a long time to get that good! "
The stranger looked back up at his score and said, "Yeah, you devoted your share of time to this game alright. But Shlomo wasn't 'good', kid. He was the best. Not 'good'…the best. You couldn't top his score. No one ever has. Doubt anyone ever will."
With his small mind, as small minds tend to do, Rigby couldn't stand having the knowledge that someone was better than him. In fact, just the idea enraged him.
"Grrr…" snarled Rigby, turning back around with his teeth clenched and his paws balled up into fists. "Where is this Shlomo guy, anyway? I wanna face him, and I'll prove it to him and you that I'm the best!"
Although Rigby couldn't see it, he knew that there was a miniscule smile behind the scarf of the stranger. "Shlomo doesn't play around here anymore. He's moved on."
"What? So this guy's too chicken to come out and face a challenge?"
The stranger shook their head slowly and placed their gloved hands into the pockets of their trench coat. "Shlomo never denied a challenge, kid. Whoever challenged him, he'd put them in their place."
"Pffft!" scoffed Rigby, rolling his eyes at this bizarre stranger's rebuttal. "Oh right. You're defending him like crazy and I've never even heard of this guy." Rigby squinted his eyes suspiciously and crossed his thin, furry arms. "You know what? I think you're making this whole thing up."
The stranger just stood there for a moment, and they said, "Heh-heh…don't worry, kid. I think Shlomo's still got the urge to play one more game around here. I think you'll see him soon enough."
With those finals words, the stranger turned around and left the building, leaving Rigby just standing there. Rigby scoffed once again and rolled his eyes.
"'Oooh,you can't beat Shlomo, kid! Shlomo was the best, kid!' Pfffft! Yeah right!"
Rigby then turned around and began walking towards the rest rooms. While on his way there, he kept right on grumbling about that weird stranger and their little idol.
After Rigby washed his hands, he leapt down from the sink and was walking towards the exit of the restrooms, when he suddenly slipped on a puddle of water.
"Whoa! Holy crap!"
He banged his head on the hard, tiled floor, and he was left out-cold…
Several hours later…
Rigby stirred a little and he opened his eyes to nothing but darkness. He shook his head and put a paw to his head feeling the sore spot.
He stood up wobbly and began slowly inspecting the area. He began feeling the wall for the light switch and flicked it on. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.
He opened the door and, to his surprise, all the arcades and lights were shut off. It seems the placed had closed and no one had went into the restrooms to see if anyone was in there.
He was all alone in the dark.
Rigby scratched his head in confusion.
"Now what?" he uttered aloud . He shifted his gaze towards a clock on the wall. He squinted his eyes to see the hands on it. He saw the small hand on the two, and the large hand on the six. It was two-thirty in the morning. He had knocked himself out at nine o' clock.
"Crap," groaned Rigby, putting a paw to his head, "Mordecai, Pops, and Benson all must be worried! I gotta get outta here."
He walked towards the main door, and pulled back on it. It wouldn't budge. Rigby tugged on the door handles again, but they still wouldn't move.
"Aw, man!" he cried, slapping his forehead in frustration, "they've locked this place down."
Now what was he to do?
He began walking around, looking for the switch that would turn on the main corridor lights to at least get some illumination.
Finally, he found one and a few of the lights came to life. At least something was working in his favor. He began walking slowly up and down the hallways, looking at all of the arcade cabinets.
This placed appeared much different when it was empty and alone. No colorful lights flickering, no loud music, no people, no nothing.
The raccoon then stopped in front of his most favorite game, Cold Island.
"Hmmm…" he said, rubbing his chin with his paw. "I wonder…"
The raccoon peered behind the machine, and saw the plug and the electrical outlet. The groundskeeper looked to his left and to his right. No one was around, obviously, and he would just play a little. Just a little. And then he'd shut it off.
He wired it all up and the game was set. The arcade turned on and there was the title screen ready to accept any coins the player would submit.
Rigby reached into his pocket and he pulled out a quarter. He looked down at it and he said, "I wish that Shlomo was guy was here right now…"
Suddenly, a voice in the corner announced, "At your service."
Rigby spun around as fast as he could clutching his chest, nearly having a heart attack. A large anthropomorphic opossum wearing a dark blue hoodie stepped from out of the shadows.
Rigby was still clutching his chest and breathing heavily, still recovering from the sudden surprise. "Dude," he gasped, "who are you?"
The opossum pulled out a quarter from his sweater pocket and began flipping a coin. "Name's Shlomo."
Rigby's eyes widened and his mouth hung open slightly. "You…you mean…you're...?"
"That's right," interrupted Shlomo, beginning to walk towards him still flipping the coin. "The best of the best."
"Wait…how…how did you get in here? And…and what the 'h'? I mean, c-can we get outta here?"
Shlomo stopped (while still flipping the coin), and he slowly began looking around, as if casually observing his environment.
"…Nope, don't think so."
"Wait, how'd you get in here? I mean, I need to get home! I've got work in the morning!"
Shlomo just stood there, still flippingthat coin. "Sorry bud, I can't help you."
Rigby just blinked, confused at whatever the hell was going on.
"Well, can't you tell me why you're here?"
Shlomo finally stopped flipping the coin and put it in his pocket. "Just came for old time sake, y'know?" The opossum began slowly looking from left to right. "Yup. Not much has changed since I left this old place."
He made his way towards the old Cold Island cabinet, and stared at it for a moment. Then the high scores came up, and he saw Rigby's score right beneath his own.
The groundskeeper noticed this and said, "Uh…see that? I almost beat your score! Yeah, I'm that good!"
The gamer turned his head slightly towards Rigby, and he nodded his head once. "Let's play a game, then, huh?"
Rigby's eyes widened. Was he actually getting a shot at playing with the so-called, "champion of Cold Island"?
"Uh…well…"
Shlomo reached into his pocket and whipped out the quarter. "That's right, kid. You're playing with the big boys now." Rigby blinked.
The opossum set up the rules for the game. "We're gonna play multi-player. It's your skills against mine."
However, Shlomo was ready to add something to it. He stepped away from the machine for a second.
"Let's make this a little more interesting, huh? If you win, you can have the title as the greatest Cold Island player ever."
Rigby pondered that for a moment. It was a chance to win a new name for himself. A chance to the obtain highest score in the history of the arcade. His name would be engraved into the Wall of Fame for all eternity.
"Ok, you're on!" said Rigby, smiling a bit. And then he added, "But what if I lose?"
"Nothing, kid. It's a win-win situation. You win, and you get the title. You lose, you can still say you played with the best there is."
Rigby gulped a lump of nervousness in his throat and proceeded to the machine. He grabbed two stools. One for himself, and one for Shlomo. They both sat down.
Shlomo inserted his coin, and the sound of a shotgun blast signaled this. Rigby then reached into his pocket and pulled out his own quarter.
But right before Rigby put it in the machine, Shlomo said, "Hold on a second." The gaming champ pulled out another quarter and inserted it into Rigby's player slot.
Rigby arched his eyebrow in surprise. For a gaming champ, he was a decent fellow. Not selfish or egotistical or anything of the sort.
"Uh, thanks."
"No problem, bud. It's not like money's that important to me anymore."
Rigby raised his eyebrow. What could he have meant by that? Without looking at Rigby, Shlomo asked, "You ready?"
"Uh…uh, yeah I'm…I'm ready."
"Then good luck to you, kid."
Rigby looked at Shlomo's paw when he grasped the arcade's joystick. And when he did, he could've sworn he saw some ice slowly begin to form on it. And for some reason, Rigby felt a little cold, as if he were outside when it was snowing.
Rigby just stood there, perplexed and what he might have just seen. But then he shook his head, trying to snap out of it.
Rigby turned to the screen and placed his left paw on the joystick and his other paw on the buttons.
The raccoon reached over and press the white "START" button. The sound effects roared to life and the game sprung to life.
The groundskeeper and the gaming champ both began pressing buttons and shifting their joysticks, avoiding the horrible zombies that were coming their way.
Rigby was concentrating, watching how the points racked up as he blasted away zombies. He was already very far up there, already reaching over two-thousand points in a matter of minutes.
He looked over at Shlomo's score, and that he was already up to six-thousand points. Rigby's eyes widened and a sweat began to trickle down the sides of his head.
Through the corner of his eyes, he looked over at Shlomo. Surely with a score that high he must have been busting his ass. But to his astonishment , Shlomo appeared perfectly normal. He had a concentrated, solemn look on his face and his paws almost worked as if they were a part of the machine itself.
The two played on and on, an occasional weapon or health bonus would boost Rigby's score, but Shlomo was still right there ready for him.
The score was eventually almost tied. Rigby saw his score, and his eyes flicked over to his opponent's. Shlomo was still playing, not caring about Rigby or how high his score was.
Finally, they were on their last row of zombies. However, although to some it might be considered cheating, Rigby knew a secret; In multi-player, a player can finish off an entire group of zombies by themselves. However, if another player kills the final zombie in the group before the initial player, the other player will receive all the points. It's a glitch in the game's programming.
Rigby, desperate to get his name in history, decided to utilize this little error in the game's AI. Plus, it was in the game. They didn't sign any contracts and there weren't any rules established before-hand.
So, he let Shlomo finish off the final, large group of zombies. Rigby couldn't believe it. The way he finished off the zombies was incredible. He annihilated them in a heartbeat. He didn't even look interested while he did it.
But finally, Rigby smiled and he prepared for the final zombie. Just as the mountain of zombies reduced to a small patch, Rigby went in and blasted the final zombie away, stealing all of Shlomo's points.
"YES!" cheered Rigby, as his score surpassed 1,000,000 points to 5,000,000 points. "Wooooo! I won! I won, baby!"
Rigby back-flipped off pf his stool and began break-dancing on the floor, happy they had just defeated his worthy adversary.
He stood up and Shlomo turned to him. "In your face, tough guy! Not so big now, are ya?" Rigby snapped his fingers and grinned. The opossum turned back to the screen and the game's "Enter Your Initials" image flashed on.
"Well? Aren't you going to put in your name?"
Rigby scampered up to the machine and placed "RIG" into the machine once again.
He did it. He had beaten the great Shlomo's score. Rigby proudly gazed at his score, satisfied that now he would be considered a legend in the arcade hall.
"I know you used a glitch in the game."
Rigby's smile turned into a frown and his eyes widened. "What? I…I don't know what you're talking about!"
Shlomo shook his head and said, "Don't play dumb, kid. I know that glitch. Matter of fact, I was the first one who ever knew about it."
Rigby gulped. "Yeah? Well...well, I still beat you! I practiced this game for years and—"
"Take it easy, kid." Assured the skilled gamer. "You ain't breakin' the rules or anything. It's in the game, and if it's in the game, it's legit." The opossum turned his whole body towards Rigby. "Truth be told, I used to use that glitch sometimes too. It works. It's the programmers' fault, not the gamer's."
Rigby blinked twice and shrugged his shoulders.
"You did good, kid. Real good. It ain't easy topping the best. In fact, you're the first. Congrats. You're the Cold Island champ now."
Rigby looked at his paws, and he smiled a little. He was the best there is, now. Suddenly, a little bit of light entered the room. Rigby turned around, and he could see the sun beginning to peer out from a few houses in the neighborhood outside.
"Hey, looks like it's morning," Rigby said, still looking outside. "I guess we have some explaining to do. Could you do me a solid and help me disconnect the—"
When the raccoon turned around, he couldn't find Shlomo anywhere. It was as if he just disappeared. Rigby, a little confused by whatever happened, disconnected the arcade cabinet.
He began slowly walking around and calling out for Shlomo. "Shlomo? Shlomo, where the 'H' are ya? Why'd you just leave?"
But then, something caught Rigby's attention. Up near the Wall of Fame, there was an old photograph in a picture frame. It was the arcade owner albeit a little younger (and with more hair) and someone else next to him.
Rigby approached it and looked closely at it. He snatched it off the wall to get a closer look.
In that photograph, next to the arcade hall's owner whom Rigby called "Dirty Gary", was Shlomo. Behind them was the Cold Island arcade machine.
"Huh." said Rigby, tilting his head in confusion slightly and putting the frame back on the wall.
Suddenly, he heard some keys jiggling the lock and the front door opening. Gary came through humming a little tune. He looked up and he saw Rigby, and he asked, "What? Rigby? How'd you get in here? This place doesn't open in a few hours, you know that!"
"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry Gary. I hit my head on the bathroom floor and was here all night."
"What?" asked Gary, scratching his bald spot. "You ain't gonna sue me, are ya?" Rigby chuckled a little and he said, "Nah, don't worry about it. It's cool."
Gary flicked off some imaginary sweat off of his forehead and he said, "Well, uh, go on home and get some rest."
"Yeah, sure." But Rigby turned back to the photograph and asked, "Hey Gary. Mind telling me who this is?"
Gary walked over to him and he stared at the photograph. "Ah, that there's ol' Shlomo. Man, that fella could play games like crazy! He left everyone with their mouths hanging open whenever he played something. Yup, that guy was huge in the arcades back in the day."
The old man pointed to a corner in the wall where Shlomo had been earlier when he was flipping the coin. "Yup, he used to just stand there, flipping a coin and watching other guys play the game until it was his turn."
The old arcade owner sighed and lowered his head. "Just too damn bad he had that fatal incident."
Rigby stood up straight. "'Incident'? What incident?"
Gary put his hands in his pocket. "Yeah, about ten years ago on a really cold night, this place was held up by these no-good crooks. The only people here was me, some of the staff, and ol' Shlomo. The guy was playing Cold Island over there when he was shot about three times. They wanted the money in the machine, since that machine's really popular. To hide his body, they tried to bury it under tons of snow and ice in a cave."
Right then and there, Rigby felt a cold chill slither down his spine. So, apparently, the famous Shlomo had actually died several years ago. Then who was with him here earlier?
Gary then shook his head in irritation. "Yeah, and every year, some group of idiots claim that this arcade hall's haunted by his ghost or something stupid like that. I hate it, they're scaring away my customers.
"Uh, ok well…I'd better get on home. Mordecai might be worried."
"Alrighty then, Rigby. Come by any time."
Rigby scurried home, scared shitless after what he had just heard. If Shlomo was dead, then who did he challenge last night?
"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap…" repeated Rigby as he rushed home to tell Mordecai everything. That is, until, a figure stepped right in front of him from behind few bushes.
"HOLY CRAP!" yelled Rigby as he screeched to a halt and fell on his back. It was the stranger with the scarf around their face. Rigby looked up and asked, "You! What the 'H' do you want from me?"
"You played with Shlomo, right?"
Rigby got on his feet and demanded to know, "Alright, who the heck was I playing the game with last night?"
The stranger then pulled off their scarf to reveal their face. It was an opossum that looked just like Shlomo.
"What? You mean I was playing alongside you?"
The opossum opened their mouth, and their voice sounded nothing like their voice when they had a scarf around their face. In fact, now it sounded more like a young woman's. "No, you weren't. My name's Naomi. I'm Shlomo's twin sister."
Rigby stood up, placed his paws on his head and said, "I don't understand what the hell is going on anymore!"
"Look, my brother loved playing that game and he always looking for a challenge. And you beat his high score. Now he can finally rest in peace."
"Uh…uh…" Rigby was at a loss for words. Naomi put her paw on his shoulder and said, "We owe you big time. You ever need anything, just ask for Naomi. I'll see what I can do."
Naomi then turned around and walked away, leaving Rigby as clueless as ever.
Meanwhile, at Cheezer's…
"I'm telling you, Mordecai! I challenged this ghost guy and I beat his high score! His high score was like, HUGE! He was all, 'I'm the best, kid!" but I—"
"Dude," interrupted Mordecai, rolling his eyes," I think you hit your head too hard. You might wanna go to the doctor and get checked up."
"No way, dude! I know what I saw! Besides, that doctor's lame! He doesn't give out any free lollipops!"
Rigby stood up and he said, "C'mon! I'll prove it to you! Let's go see my high score on Cold Island!"
Mordecai followed his friend over to the arcade hall. When they approached the Cold Island arcade cabinet, a little girl was playing the game.
And when she finished, the screen was flashing a sign saying, "NEW HIGHEST SCORE!"
Rigby dropped on his knees and at the top of his lungs, he screamed, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"
Commentary: Thanks for reading.