“Bring it on,” I growl.

My audience—the entire world!—roars its approval.

I walk over to the platform. Along the way I offer firm handshakes to a few of the onlookers—Fred Savage, Killer Commie Ivan, and, sure, even Stephen Dorff—because they are, after all, a part of my story, and that makes them lucky bastards.

I pause at my old comrade in fine literature, Nigel the Editor, still chained to the torture table, and I place my prototype Casio microcassette recorder in his weak hand.

“Take this,” I whisper. “Finish my book. And don’t forget—it was all worth it.”

I pick up the controller and take my position across from my component opponent. I look at him, eye to laser sensor. And the game begins.

Carl the Hunchback was right. It really is the grandest of all games ever created in the universe. And I know, because I’ve won them all.

The Violence. The Speed. The Momentum. Absolutely unparalleled. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced. This is truly the single challenge worthy of the Doc. The tallest peak of the tallest mountain in the universe, and there is no halfway up.

I fight harder than I’ve ever fought before. I give it everything I have and more. I move faster, I react quicker, I destroy with more precision and anger and energy. I leave nothing behind.

As I battle—tirelessly, furiously, desperately—I can sense something changing around me. The atmosphere is growing thicker, more charged. Clouds begin to gather not just above us but around us, black and purple and full of fury.

People are pointing at the sky, gazing in wonder, murmuring and afraid. Kangaroo Jack says something like, “That’s one baby-eating dingo!” and I chuckle. Good ol’ Kangaroo Jack.

The mists are swirling faster and faster in a crazy mess of angry electric chaos. The moon is blotted out, the stars nowhere to be seen. A deep bellowing thunder rumbles across the land, and I feel the very foundations of the building tremble. Giant eagles soar through the night, circling around, and I swear they’re screaming my name, calling to me over and over.

“DOC! DOOOCCCCCCCC! DOOOOOOOCCCCCCCCCCC!”

Is there smoke? You’re goddamn right there’s smoke. And it’s everywhere.

My artificial opponent is bursting with energy. His circuits are sparking and steaming, his sensors flashing blood red. He’s the one being in the galaxy that can possibly match my skill, and he’s closing in on his very first kill, the only kill that matters: me.

I feel myself slipping. For the first time in my legendary existence, I know that victory is falling out of my grasp.

It’s a strange feeling. Is this what normal people go through every day? How can their average bodies bear it?