VII.
Down power cord Ralph rode the train,
reaching at last the starting place.
A voice called out, "A quarter alert!
Get to your posts! Pick up the pace!"
Stumbling in the awkward suit,
untrained in field drill, Ralph forsooth
was greener than a raw recruit.
He took a place. Now in there strode
an Amazon, of pow'rful build.
'Twas clear to Ralph, she was their boss.
"Now listen up!" she shouted loud,
"I'm only gonna say this once.
Fear is a word we know not here;
it's up to us—get back in line!—
to make our mommas proud, and get
the shooter to the medal room
atop yon tower in the mist.
Use beady eye and steady aim
to kill all cy-bugs in the game.
Here comes the shooter—stand aside!"
All broke their ranks, there to admit
a sight not known to Ralph to date:
a TV screen on wheels, with arms—
"Guess that's this 'shooter'—how bizarre."
The wheeléd screen the Amazon
did now address: "We are, fresh one,
the last hope of humanity—
our brief: destroy all cy-bugs here!
Ready, rookie? Let's find out!"
And with these words, a door did slide,
revealing hellish dark outside.
The phalanx moved—Ralph could not stop,
and what he saw made his heart drop.
These "cy-bugs", it was crystal clear,
were not like roaches underfoot
but rather were Gargantuan—
bigger than Ralph—they'd eat a man!
Now something that we have not spoke of
heretofore is apposite:
the way the gaming world does run—
die in your game, you come right back.
But should you perish while away,
that's "Game Over". No second chance.
But even had he known that he'd
return to life, if murdered here,
this gave no comfort to our Ralph.
Petrified, he frozen stood,
not knowing what to think or do.
The sound around was deafening,
the bugs like tigers—merciless.
And as if their attack was not
enough—they would become the thing
they ate. Ralph's rifle soon was munched;
grew into pincered twin bazookas,
turned 'pon its once-owner then.
Thus beset, he could no more,
grabbed shooter in a panic deep,
cried "When did games become like this?
Dear God, please make this madness cease!"
The gamer—she outside the glass—
read there the words "GAME OVER".
"Jeez, what a rip-off", she sadly said,
and wandered off, new games to try.
At this, from 'top the tower high,
a shaft of light in sky was seen;
and at a stroke, all cy-bugs ceased
attacking, and began to fly
into the light. A giant zapper
was the gleam: all cy-bugs perished,
peace restored; the fallen soldiers
rose anew for further fight
with these dark armies of the night.
The Amazon towards Ralph did haste
and punched him squarely in the face.
"You cretin! You have brought disgrace
upon our force. Do tell me, fool,
our prime command within this place?"
"No cuts, no buts, no coconuts?",
tried Ralph, without much hope of it.
"Imbecile! We tamper not with
first-person shooter. Our only task
is get them high atop the tower
so to the Hero's Medal gain,
and write their name upon the books
of our top scorers. Got it, meat?"
"Aye-aye", said Ralph, while deep inside,
said to himself, "No freaking way
will I through that, another round
endure; no, I will hide among
the shadows, and will wait for night.
Then climb that tower, there to grab
the medal—and get back to town.
The Nicelanders will scarce believe
that "Bad Old Ralph", within a day,
made good his claim!"