CHAPTER 135 – MURDERWORLD
The X-Men awoke not in chains, not in cells, but inside prison shells that mocked them with color and shine. Each of them was curled into a cramped ball of clear plastic, slick and suffocating, like toys packed too tight. They could see each other, distorted through the curvature, the world bending around them like a fish-eye lens.
Colossus blinked, pressed palms against the sphere. "What… what is this place?" His voice echoed strangely within the bubble, vibrating back at him.
Nightcrawler bared his teeth, tail whipping uselessly against the slick surface. "Mein Gott… we are inside… inside a pinball machine?"
A high laugh echoed, bouncing from hidden speakers. A laugh too sharp, too theatrical, too delighted with itself.
Arcade.
"Correct-a-mundo, elf!" His voice rang sing-song, cheerful in a way that made bile rise. "Welcome, mutants, to my pride and joy—MURDERWORLD! Where the games are deadly, and the stakes are your very lives!"
Panels slid back. Lights blazed neon. Before their eyes stretched the impossible: a colossal pinball machine, tilted on insane angles, bumpers sparking with electricity, ramps gleaming, every surface humming. And perched above, inside a control booth of glass and chrome, Arcade himself in his green suit and bow tie, grinning ear to ear.
Behind him, bound to chairs, were the bystanders: Colleen Wing, Amanda Sefton, and Betsy Wilford. Their mouths were gagged, wrists tied, eyes wide with fury and terror. Arcade patted Amanda's head like she was a pet, then leaned over the panel.
"Don't worry, ladies. You'll get front-row seats to the most electrifying show on Earth! And when the curtain falls, it'll fall on your friends' graves! Ha!"
Colleen strained against the ropes, muffled words spilling. Nightcrawler's heart jolted, seeing Amanda's fear. He slammed fists against his bubble. "Arcade! Let her go! She has nothing to do with this!"
Arcade clicked his tongue. "Ohhh, wrong again, fuzzy. Everyone's part of the fun. That's the RULES! And speaking of rules…"
His manicured finger hovered over a comically oversized red button. His grin widened.
"Let the FUN begin!"
The button slammed down.
With a violent jerk, the pinball spheres shot forward, fired like bullets through gleaming steel tunnels. They clattered down ramps, ricocheted off bumpers. Sparks flew each time plastic slammed into electrified metal, jolts snapping into the mutants' bodies.
Banshee howled as volts coursed through him. His scream echoed within the sphere, shaking it, rattling his teeth. "AHHH! Jaysus, this is no game!"
Colossus gritted teeth, muscle instinctively straining, but even steel flesh sizzled when current danced across him. "It burns… like fire!"
Kurt thudded against his shell, tail twitching, teleport instincts itching—but the moment he tried, agony spiked. Some coating in the ball stung his nerves, disrupted the bamf before it began. He collapsed, panting. "Nein… they thought of everything."
Arcade's laughter rose over the blaring pinball sounds, the chimes and bells. "Bumpers! Flippers! Ramp multipliers! And ohhh, my personal favorite—THE DEAD ZONES!"
The spheres rattled one by one into openings, gravity pulling them into separate tunnels. Each tunnel sealed shut, lights shifting, machinery grinding.
Arcade spread his arms like a conductor before an orchestra. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, our headliners will be treated to the star attractions—personalized traps, curated with love, courtesy of Arcade Entertainment Inc.! Let's see who breaks first!"
---
The traps unfolded as promised.
Cyclops slammed onto a steel floor, the sphere splitting open and sealing behind him. Walls rose—mirrors angled everywhere, reflections of his visor staring back. Suddenly beams of energy fired at him—not his own, but duplicates, deadly and wild. He dodged, realizing: every optic blast ricocheted infinitely, every move threatened to blind him by his own power.
Storm found herself in a greenhouse—a false paradise. Sunlamps blazed, vines slithered like snakes. She raised her hands to summon wind—but the air was poisoned, laced with chemicals that made her head spin. The plants hissed, thorns dripping acid. "No… these are mockeries of nature!" she gasped, swatting back strangling creepers.
Banshee dropped into a chamber of giant speakers. The walls vibrated. Sound cannons blared at him, shrieking waves that rattled bone and blood. He tried to counter, screaming back—but each note rebounded, twisting his own power against him. "Bloody hell, it's— it's usin' my voice against me!"
Nightcrawler stumbled into a chamber that spun on an axis. Platforms flipped, swung, floors became ceilings. It was like being trapped inside a kaleidoscope gone mad. Each bamf threatened to drop him into spikes or into endless voids. His laughter came strained, desperate. "Arcade, you madman… this is no game, this is chaos!"
Colossus stood in a room where hydraulic hammers smashed rhythmically, steel crashing steel. "You test me with machines?!" he roared, arms bulking into organic armor. But each blow made the floor crack, threatening to drop him into a pit of molten slag. He braced, caught the hammer's head—screamed at the strain.
Thunderbird awoke in a desert dome, sun lamps scorching. Holographic warriors rose from the sand—Apache foes, twisted mockeries of his own ancestors. He growled, fists ready. "You dare dishonor my people this way?!" He lunged, but each strike passed through light, then seared back with burning energy.
All of them, trapped. All of them, pushed to the brink.
---
And above it all, Arcade leaned back, laughing, sipping soda through a straw. "Oh, it's glorious! They're dancing, they're screaming, they're flailing like rag dolls! Nothing makes me happier than heroes in pain!"
Colleen spat her gag loose enough to speak. "You lunatic! They'll stop you!"
Arcade winked. "Oh, honey. The only thing that'll stop me… is running out of quarters."
---
Outside, the night was still.
Logan stood before the gaudy building, neon lights blinking, a circus of death dressed up like a carnival. His nostrils flared. He could smell the ozone, the metal, the sweat of his teammates inside.
He flicked ash off his cigar, claws sliding out with a cold SNIKT. His jaw clenched.
'They're hurt. I can smell it. Arcade… you've just made the last mistake of your life.'
He stepped forward, boots crunching on the pavement. Murderworld's gates loomed tall, painted with cartoon devils and laughing clowns.
Logan muttered low, voice gravel, smoke curling from his teeth.
"Time to ruin your party."