The gaming arcades were the centre of social life in the seaside town. There were half a dozen of the establishments, taking up prime real estate along the promenade. Gaudy neon lights and glittering signs decorated their shop fronts, promising unearthly delights and indescribable pleasure to those willing to ignore the tawdriness behind the facades. Anyone who was tempted in would be confronted by row after row of gambling machines: slots, poker, penny falls. But the real cognoscenti knew that the places to be were in the rooms beyond, where the video games reigned in darkness and noise.

Local kids would migrate from arcade to arcade, The owners of the arcades would compete to obtain the latest cabinets and pinball tables, hoping to draw in the fickle crowds long enough to empty their pockets. However, the arcade owners had made the fundamental mistake of misunderstanding their customers. Like the chariot gangs of ancient Byzantium, the youth of the town were not interested in the games themselves. Rather, they were interested in the people who played those games.

It was all about the skill; the ability to make a coin last longer; being able to enter your initials on the high-score table. People would gather around the machines to pay homage to the best players and - if they felt brave - to challenge them. There was a simple ritual to this. To make the challenge, all you had to do was push through the throng and, before the others, place a coin on the console of a machine. Then you waited for the current game to end. In theory, you never knew who you were going to play against. But, given that the challenge system worked under the rule of 'winner stays on', it was very rare that there was any upset. The best players could stay on their chosen machine all through the night, never paying a penny, honing their skills even more. Of course, if an arcade got in a new game, there would be a chance for a newcomer to establish themselves and prove their skills. But the old favourites were eternal. After all, people were paying to play them.

The players were legendary. There were the Collins twins, who would double-team all comers on the Gauntlet machine. There was Laura, a mistress of the trackball on Missile Command. But, above them all, was Patrick. Patrick worked in one of the arcades, manning the change booth and cleaning the floors. But this job gave him the opportunity to practice on whatever machine he fancied, whenever he wanted. As a result, Patrick was the undisputed king of the arcades. There was nobody who could match him.

Nobody, that is, until the day the Japanese kid came to town.