— by J.L. Shioshita
Picture this: you’re making your way through a hip neighborhood after having met some friends for brunch. It’s nice out. Your stomach is full, and your spirits are high. The narrow street is a tight pack of trendy restaurants and bespoke stores. The sidewalks are crowded with people enjoying the day, families, couples, and groups of friends, all smiles and happy chatter. Across the street, on the corner, there’s an actual video rental store, a throwback to simpler times. And next to that, an arcade. You decide to take a look.
You hurry across the street like you’re a kid again, a bounce to your step, arms flapping at your side. Upon entering the neon-lit building, you’re immediately taken back in time. Chiptune melodies flit through the air like 8-bit bird song. The rows of arcade cabinets are hypnotizing, all blinking lights and dizzying screens, race car simulators and fighting games, light guns and dance pads.
You head over to the change machine, smooth out a fiver, and stuff it into the silver slot. It’s kicked back out. You smooth it out again and slide it more carefully into the guts of the machine. There’s the joyous sound of whirling gears, and a treasure trove of quarters comes tumbling out. You stuff them into your pockets like a pirate. Your smile is a mile long.
You make your way through a cavalcade of arcade cabinets, deciding which one to play first. All the classics are there, and you’re having a hard time choosing. That’s when you spy a game you’ve never seen before nestled in a dimly lit back corner, and as if drawn by a mysterious force, you make your way toward it.
It’s an upright cabinet, minimalist in design. No artwork on the side to give you a hint of what it’s about, just a name spelled in big letters: “Polybius.” Sounds like a Greek philosopher. With a sense of ceremony, you deposit two quarters into the machine, and the screen bursts to life. You gaze at the vector swirl of primitive graphics and, without thinking, instinctively grip the joystick, guiding your 8-bit avatar on an exhilarating adventure, mashing buttons, moving the knob up and down, utterly captivated.
You don’t know how long you’ve been playing when a strange sensation creeps in. It starts as a tingle on your scalp, an electric buzz. You can’t pull yourself away from the game though, even as the discomfort grows. Next, the metallic taste of blood hits your tongue, and a warm sensation trickles down the back of your throat. Dizziness begins to impair your gameplay, but you don’t stop. A voice breaks through your concentration, asking if you’re okay. It sounds like it’s coming from a different room entirely. You don’t respond. Hands on your shoulders now, tugging at you, trying to pull you away.
Your vision blurs, consciousness fraying at the edges. You feel yourself sway, your body betrays you, and in an instant, you collapse to the ground. Chaos ensues. A crowd gathers, faces swirling in a pool of concern. Then the crowd parts and two pale bald men dressed entirely in black loom over you, their expressions blank. They grab you by the shoulders, lifting you with unnatural strength.
Panic in your throat, you attempt to speak, but only garbled words come out. You’re drooling. Your chin is wet. There’s a hand pressed over your face. It feels both comforting and suffocating. You’re being lifted and carried away, and as your awareness fades, the only thing you can think about is getting back to your game and achieving a high score.
According to legend, in the early days of 1981, rumors began circulating around the bustling arcades of Portland, rumors of a mysterious arcade game known as Polybius. This game only appeared in a handful of arcades and disappeared soon after. Children and teenagers apparently become enthralled by the game, and lines would form around the block to play it. Nobody knows what the gameplay was like, as no record of it exists. But there was a dark side as well.
Playing the game was said to have unsettling side effects. It would reportedly induce intense psychoactive reactions, including vivid hallucinations, debilitating seizures, insomnia, and terrifying nightmares.
Even scarier, these side effects were believed to be intentionally coded within the game’s design. They were there on purpose. According to the story, men-in-black would appear at these arcades and retrieve data from the cabinets after players played them. Who they were and what they were collecting is unknown to this day, but conspiracies abound, the prevailing narrative being that it was, in fact, our own government orchestrating this experiment, utilizing unsuspecting gamers as pawns in a larger, secretive agenda.
But was it true?
The story gained traction in popular culture in the early 2000s, when it was featured in an article published in GamePro magazine. This seems to be its spawn point, as there is no real evidence of the game existing before this article.
Several real-life events in Portland in the early 80s may have contributed to the game’s origin story. It is true that obsessed arcade goers were reported to have occasionally fainted or lost consciousness due to prolonged gaming sessions, and an FBI raid targeting arcades suspected of gambling operations did in fact occur. The story also evokes parallels to the controversial MK Ultra experiments, and the beloved 80s science fiction film, “The Last Starfighter.”
To this day, the story of Polybius persists, a phantom of the gaming world that has never been definitively proven or disproven. Its influence still echoes through gaming culture, inspiring mock versions and pop culture references that continue to resonate, ensuring the mythical game will never die. And you never know, just maybe, in the dark backrooms of some abandoned arcade, a very special cabinet is waiting to be discovered.
HWA Colorado 