How To Train Your Kaiju

by Nicholas Knight

  Eventually she won’t be able to eat, so we’ll have to hook her up to feeding tubes.

  Then she won’t be able to breath, so we’ll get a machine that will do that for her too.

  Only when her heart eventually stops will she actually die, after suffering countless indignities and who knows how many months or years of helplessness.

  With a shaking hand I dismiss all of the windows I’ve pulled up. I can’t keep thinking about this anymore or I’ll do something stupid.

  An app on the phone’s screen catches my eye. I’d downloaded a few to help expedite my website, but I don’t remember installing anything with a monster’s face on it. The thing looks positively vicious, like it’s ready to burst out of its little square and rip the other apps on my screen to tiny pieces. I squint at it and the little words beneath it.

  Kaiju Wars Online.

  Kaiju? That was Japanese. Roughly translated it means something like “strange beast” and it’s used to define the movie genre of giant monsters like of Godzilla, Pacific Rim, and for the truly hardcore nerds, Gamera.

  I don’t like to flash my nerd creds. Here’s the thing about nerds. A lot of us are angry, you listen to chat going on when we’re playing the latest MMORPG or first-person shooter and you’ll expand your vocabular in all kinds of vulgar ways. But the thing that really defines us is how much we like the things we like.

  When you let someone know you like something, you paint a target on it. The kind that people in detention centers and prisons love to take a shot at. So, I keep my mouth shut, act tough, talk real world shit, and don’t let anyone know how invested I am in anything.

  Clearly it wasn’t enough. Case and point, what just happened with Dr. Warden using my mother as a pressure point to manipulate me into getting what he wanted.

  Point is, much as I enjoyed watching an old kaiju flick where some guy in a rubber suit smashes a city to smithereens, I hadn’t downloaded an app about it. And even though I enjoy videogames, I keep them separate from my work. My phone is a tool for work and communication—not a toy. I wouldn’t have put a game on it.

  Then I remember the Doc’s explanation about my chip, how I’d be able to play my game across multiple devices. I shift the phone from my right hand to my left. There’s no change. Or there’s not until I pull my right hand away and watch the app vanish.

  I really should have asked more questions about the game itself. In my defense I’d had a lot on my mind. Still, kaiju? Really? How the hell is this supposed to help manage anger? I don’t buy into all the complaints a bunch of groups, mostly from conservative parents afraid of technology corrupting their children, direct against videogames. But one complaint I’ve consistently heard is that videogames desensitize the player. Pretty sure that’s bullshit. Even so I can see something of a point in this case.

  If they’re wanting me to play this game to release my anger and aggression I don’t see how it’s going to work. Oh sure, in theory pretending to be some giant monster smashing cities sounds like a good outlet. Hell, it actually sounds a little fun, assuming that that’s actually what I’ll be doing with this game. But there’s a huge disconnect between the player and something that inhuman. It’s not even a question of shape. The scale alone will make the whole thing almost hokey. I would think that for this game to be successful it would need a deeper level of connectivity than any giant monster game I’ve played before.

  Beats some kind of boring mental exercise game though. I tried some of those before, the kind that are supposed to keep your mind sharp. I swear I could feel my mind growing duller by the moment. Those games simply couldn’t engage me.

  This? It probably won’t do what the Doc wants at all. But it sure as hell’s got me curious and ready to engage. The idea that I might actually enjoy playing this game and deny Dr. Warden the data he’s after perks me up. I’m spiteful like that.

  I check the time. Still two hours to kill before my flight. I’ve been out less than a day and I’ve got six before I absolutely have to play. Why wait though? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do until my plane starts boarding.

  Grinning, I return the phone to my right hand, watch the app pop back into existence, and press my thumb to the screen to get started.

  I’m rewarded with a black welcome screen and a logo with a vicious monster. It’s pretty cool, but pretty plain. The logo fades out to be replaced by a menu. There are only three options, HUB, KAIJU, and ATTACK. Both HUB and ATTACK are greyed out and pressing on them with my thumb accomplishes nothing. Figures.

  Good afternoon, Mr. Moretti.

  I drop the phone. I catch it before it hits the floor and breathe a sigh of relief before looking around to see who noticed my spaz attack. The menu is still pulled up on the screen. I’d been worried dropping it might break the connection with the chip in my hand. Fortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

  I flip the phone on its side and flip the switch to turn off the volume. It’s rude to have it playing in a public place like this and if this is supposed to be a doctor’s therapy tool as much as a game I don’t need it broadcasting my business to everyone passing by.

  I am not an audible function, Mr. Moretti.

  This time I don’t drop the phone. I freeze. I can feel my heart throbbing in my chest. This isn’t a noise from the phone. It’s a noise from inside my head.

  I glance at my hand, where the chip is resting. What the hell is this thing capable of? Did they put an artificial intelligence inside of me?

  Your adrenaline and hormone levels indicate that you are stressed. Please do not be alarmed, Mr. Moretti. I am your interface guide. I am here to assist you through the game’s starting tutorial.

  There’s an enforced tutorial? Of course, there is. Those are always the worst parts of the game, where unnecessary exposition loaded on you and the game’s AI treats you like you’ll forget how to breathe if it doesn’t remind you to inhale and exhale. And I get the special joy of hearing this tutorial AI’s voice inside my head.

  Joy.

  Chapter Five

  ⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎

  I’m about to ask how I’m supposed to communicate with the AI when it speaks inside my head again. The voice is vaguely feminine and cultured. I feel like I’ve got some billionaire’s personal secretary addressing me with my schedule,

  I am an intuitive learning program. I will adapt to your needs and brain patterns. As you play the game you will eventually be able to direct your questions to me in the form of concentrated thoughts. For now, please select the option Kaiju from the menu to begin.

  Great, not only was this thing going to read my damn mind, the game was going to railroad me. Muttering some choice words about Dr. Warden under my breath, I do what the machine says.

  I’m expecting another menu but instead I get a loading screen.

  RANDOMIZING ATTACK LOCATION.

  INITIALIZING PLAYSTYLE MODERATOR.

  Playstyle moderator? What’s that supposed to mean?

  Welcome to Kaiju Wars Online, Mr. Moretti. In this game you can compete with yourself or against other players in missions to destroy cities, fight the native monsters of the world of Weroik, or enter player versus player combat using giant creatures called kaiju.

  I could probably have figured that out on my own. But the fact that the voice is inside my head has me hooked. Maybe even a little hopeful. This game is supposed to be so cutting edge they were willing to let me out of prison early just to play it. I can deal with some obnoxious exposition though I really want the voice to get to the damn point.

  To do this, you must first have a kaiju of your own. You will be able to modify your kaiju’s stats, abilities, and weaponry as you gain experience points through play. Because every kaiju, like every player, is different, we must first determine your playstyle to create an intuitive partner for you. One that will enable you to optimize your play and anger output.


  Anger output? This thing would actually measure that stuff as I played? I guess that made sense. Whatever, that was the whole point of this game, wasn’t it? Doctor mumbo-jumbo, join a self-help group. What grabbed and held my attention was the idea that the game would actually make me a monster based on how I played. That was pretty damn intuitive and I could feel my legs trembling, bouncing up and down with sudden excitement at the prospect.

  Maybe this tutorial wouldn’t totally suck.

  The screen read READY and the voice said, Let us begin….

  #

  I am in a city but I’m not on earth. It’s similar enough. Big skyscrapers. Wide streets. Lots of glass and concrete. But the architecture isn’t right. Nor are the vehicles. The inhabitants here have something like cars but rounder, with orbs instead of wheels. Instead of the usual yellow-gold brightness of downtown lighting these windows had a faint green glow to them.

  The inhabitants themselves are humanoid, but too small for details to register. They run from me though, and the round cars quickly pile up in the street around me. It is like I’d just suddenly appeared in their midst. I guess I kind of had. Interesting that they’d make that an element in the game.

  Then I fully register what I am playing as. What. The. Fuck?

  My character—my kaiju—is a semi-transparent gelatinous blob. It isn’t even a very big one, not nearly enough to earn the moniker of kaiju. It looked like King Kong had hawked a loogie and the spittle had come to life. Nasty.

  This is what the whole game is supposed to be about?

  I’ve got a health bar. There’s another bar beneath it but it’s empty. Probably for energy attacks or special abilities. What kind of special abilities is this thing supposed to demonstrate? I’m almost afraid to find out. Maybe it’ll puke parts of itself over its enemies? Dissolve them in its own acidic body? Talk about a serious let down.

  My health bar flashes. The little meter has barely dropped, but it has dropped. It takes me a moment to locate the source. A police officer-like figure, diminutive next to my giant blob, is standing in place and holding up some kind of firearm. It’s throwing flashes of green into me mass.

  This blob-thing is so stupid it deserves to get shot. And this little bastard needs to get squished for hitting me with that little peashooter while I’m still getting my bearings. I surge toward him, intending to rush over the tiny man and simply squish him flat. That plan falls flat.

  My blob monster is about as fast as it looks, which is to say, it moves like a damn snail. Get the salt, people, slugzilla’s coming! Whatever. I chase the shooter down. He tries to hide inside a building and I follow him. It takes time but I crush my way inside by dent of relentless shoving forward.

  I expect my dumb blob to slide through the building like the gelatinous mass it resembles or to simply bounce off or maybe move in place like what happens in most videogames. Instead, my efforts are rewarded by the building slowly cracking, then crumbling. In a rush of dust and green light, the entire building collapses as my slime monster crashes through it, breaking through walls and bringing the entire thing down on top of itself.

  A score appears in the corner, numbers scaling higher and higher. I can hear screams and sounds of crumbling architecture and feel myself grinning. I’m bringing the whole building down with a giant wad of snot. Die you little bitches!

  The meter below my health bar climbs. I burst out from the other side of the building, or what’s left of it, onto another street, crushing alien people beneath my mass. Flashing vehicles that put me in mind of cop cars whip around the streets. I’m not sure how I qualify as a kaiju since those cars are maybe a quarter of my overall size. And as the cops hop out and start throwing their green shit at me, my health bar flashes. No kaiju worth their weight was ever hurt by something as lame as guns from cops. I mean, come on!

  The dropping health pisses me off so I go after them, soaking up their shots until I roll over their cars and squish them all. Then I smash into the building beside them for good measure and get the people on the other side. I start doing that, going back and forth between the street, smashing the buildings block by block and crushing the responding attackers when they come at me.

  I hate how slow I am. Hate that it takes me so long to retaliate. But when I get them it’s so satisfying. Every single bastard who throws his green shit at me dies beneath my slimy bulk. And is it just me, or is my bulk increasing?

  Bigger vehicles come that look like tanks, hovering over the ground. Bigger blasts of green shit hit me, hurting from their cannons in huge beams that knock out a full quarter when they hit. Three do in quick succession and I curse, throwing myself into a nearby building. I’m moving a little faster now. Not much, but fast enough that their own attacks are doing just as much damage to the city now as me as those giant guns track me.

  I need a way to get health back, keep those ranged attacks at bay, or get my speed up. Aren’t there supposed to be power up items littering the place in games like this? What kind of level doesn’t have power ups? I need one right now.

  None are forthcoming.

  Screw it, I’ll take out these bastards myself. I burst from the building and roll over three of the tanks before the distant sound of something screaming reaches me. Something flashes through the sky and I realize it’s some kind of bowl. No, a trio of bowls. Then I realize what they are. The aliens have actual flying saucers. Cute.

  They pass over me and my blob monster explodes. That’s it. One second he’s fine, crushing tanks like a slimy boss, and next he’s gone and I’ve got a GAME OVER notice flashing in front of my eyes.

  That makes me realize that my eyes are actually really dry. I blink a few times, trying to moisten them and pull back to reality. Looking around, the crowd sitting in this terminal looks way different than before. The flight’s got to be about ready to board.

  I minimize the game and check the clock on my phone. I stare at it because it can’t be right.

  I leap to my feet and rush to the lady behind the desk who told me I was in the right spot. “Miss,” I say. “Miss, has flight A297 to Dallas boarded yet?”

  “Yup,” she says, giving me a weird look. “Boarded and took off.”

  My phone hadn’t lied to me. I’d been playing that damn game for four hours without realizing it.

  Chapter Six

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  My first thought on seeing Mom’s new residence is that this isn’t where Mom is supposed to be. My mother is an independent woman, the very definition of a “free spirit,” with a passion for travel and new experiences. She belongs in her RV, driving down the highway or exploring backroads, not holed up in this semi-suburbia knock-off.

  Thinking of her living in an apartment complex is jarring. Like someone telling you they’re new parakeet looks great in their aquarium with their goldfish. And this complex is trying so hard to be normal it hurts. It even has a white picket fence. This isn’t for Mom.

  I find her apartment easily enough after I finally arrive thanks to her RV, which stands out among the soccer mom cars littering the parking lot like a coyote among golden retrievers. It’s a sturdy old thing with a lot of parts that clearly belonged to other vehicles added on to it. When things broke we had to use what we could get our hands on to make it work.

  I sigh. That’s what we’re doing now. Making things work. I walk past the RV, suppressing the memories that try to well up, and find the door leading to Mom’s apartment. I knock, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? This feels so wrong, knocking on an actual door to be let in by Mom.

  Except that it’s not Mom who opens the door.

  It’s Dad.

  He’s taller than me. His once lean frame’s going soft from years of white collar work and his hair’s going grey. He’s more lined than I remember. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him since he left. For obvious reasons we don’t get alon
g so I make an effort to avoid him whenever I can. I don’t like upsetting Mom. But seeing him has sometimes been unavoidable. Somewhere in the time since I last laid eyes upon him, Dad went and got old.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asks.

  “Hello to you too,” I say. “Where’s Mom?” And what the hell are you doing here? I don’t ask that last part. I want to. Actually, there’s a lot of questions I’d like to ask him if I thought he’d give me a straight answer.

  How Mom ever fell in love with him confuses me. Dad’s an indoor kind of guy, it’s all over him. The way he holds himself, the slight paleness to his skin. I like computers as much as the next gamer but I also like getting my hands dirty. Dad doesn’t. When I’ve got a problem, I fix it. When Dad’s got a problem, he throws money at it and someone fixes it for him. Or he leaves.

  “She’s inside resting.” He says this like he’s scolding me for disturbing her. Like she’s going to be doing anything other than “resting” for however long the disease lets her live.

  I step inside past him. I have to push a little to get him out of the way but he doesn’t stop me. He probably can’t anymore. I surprise myself a little though when I don’t push as hard as I normally would. Maybe the “anger management treatment” is working? Then I see what’s in the living room.

  The standard sofa, chairs, and coffee table are situated opposite a television, and the blonde woman in a dress that probably costs as much as a month’s rent in this complex. She’s pale and pretty and belongs in this place even less than Mom does. Her name is Glenda, she has the personality of a hotel rug, and she’s the woman Dad left Mom for.