A Retro Slice of Home

I lean back in my chair, smirking at my updated Companion Roster. Deadly. Precise... And yeah, let’s not kid ourselves; cute as hell.

Watching a psychotic lawnmower or a fridge scuttle around with murderous intent? Never gets old. Each one’s got that junkyard personality; unhinged, insane, ready to turn a battlefield into a scrapheap symphony. All in my tablet, locked and loaded for whenever I need to remind the universe that I can bend reality.

I mean... if I can pop pillows into existence, tint windows with a thought, what the hell's stopping me from bringing a little bit of home along with me? That old Earth nostalgia hits hard—late nights, glowing screens, the burn of cheap soda and pixelated victories.

I grin. A thought. A flick of intent through the space that bends for me.

Pop.

A vintage NES materializes on the desk; gray plastic, fingerprint smudges and worn decals reminiscent of childhood where controller cords could remember being yanked in rage.

Pop.

A GameCube drops next; indigo shell chunky and unapologetic, handle on the back to be carted to another round of Smash Bros or Mario Cart.

Pop.

The PlayStation 2 towers in; sleek black and monolithic, disc tray humming faintly as if ready to drop me into Vice City or San Andreas.

Pop.

An Xbox OG thuds down; not the slim pretender, the beast itself, massive and green-glowing, like it could double as a blunt weapon in a pinch.

Pop.

Xbox 360 joins the lineup; shiny white curves, vents whispering like they’re plotting their next or triumph... or red ringed threat.

They all settle neatly into place, snapping into existence; stacked like a gamer's wet dream. But I’m not trying to create a man cave shrine to pixelated glory.

If I can turn a smoke alarm into a **** drone… let’s see what happens when I point that warped logic at a stack of retro gaming consoles.

I aim my hand; violet energy crackling like bottled lightning; and VWOOMP! The room pulses, air humming thick with static, the consoles shudder.

The NES stands first; thin frame unfolding like a predator waking, plastic warping into angular limbs, controller ports glowing red and smoking.

Sentient Companion: 8 Bit-Terror [NES Console] – Ground Class

Retro Unit

Attack: Fires game cartridges

• Blow on this, asshole.

The GameCube morphs next; boxy form sprouting two rugged wheels, disc drive spinning up like a chainsaw, vents exhaling hot air.

Sentient Companion: CubeCrawler [GameCube Console] – Ground Class

Rolling ****

Attack: Control port gunfire

Secondary Attack: Projects grid pattern onto enemies, slicing into perfect cubes of gore

• Player One… dead.

The PS2 floats; jagged triangular stealth craft emerging, disc tray ejecting like a weapon bay, edges sharpening to lethal points.

Sentient Companion: SlayStation2 [PS2 Console] – Flight Class

Sleek, Slim, Deadly

Attack: Disc-fired shurikens

• The next evolution in ****.

The OG Xbox stands like a fat little gremlin; green glow emitting from appendages that unfurl into strangling limbs, power button pulsing like an angry eye.

Sentient Companion: HeftBox [OG Xbox Console] – Ground Class

Attack: Heavy melee brawler

• Green... also likes to smash.

Its next-gen brother floats; glowing red and menacing, ring of light circling like a halo from hell.

Sentient Companion: RedRing [Xbox 360 Console] – Flight Class

New Look, Same Deadly Effects

Attack: Instant **** red ring projectile

• Blink and you die.

They upload into my Companion Recall; icons sliding into the HUD, ready for hell.

I kick back onto the bed; cold cola still fizzing in my hand, the weird tang bubbling on my tongue; new companions locked in, existing ones tougher, faster, nastier.

Lilith’s probably still sleeping sound; peaceful, safe, breathing soft against the pillow.

The Raiders? Settling in for the ride to Promethea.

And me?

I’m building an army; one busted piece of junk at a time.