Collision Course [+ Additional Levels]

Cutscene Part 2 - They Meet

A knot formed in his stomach. "I've gotta jam," he told himself.

Some other hockey players in yellow and blue uniforms circled him wide to get to the puck behind him. He slowly and shakily got onto his feet, and started shuffling, and then sliding forward. He had to keep moving, and... he hesitated, but without turning his head to look back, he knew he couldn't go back the way he came. The chase was still on. At least the others would have just as much trouble on the ice as him, buying him time. After making his way past the players without hitting one, he started to feel pretty good about himself; he was going to have a nice head start, for once. He was halfway across the rink when he heard doors boom open behind him overhead, echoing in the large room. Startled, he turned around to look. Two people stood at the mouth of the opening near the top rows of seats. Though they were difficult to distinguish due to distance, he immediately knew exactly who they were.

He'd known them his whole life.

"Icy!" he heard one exclaim above the din of the skates scraping against ice. The other shot them a look, punching the first in the shoulder. "Or, not," the first added sheepishly.

The second shook his head, saying, "Ditz."

The first scowled at the second. "Don't be baggin' on me, Inky. Let's just find the loser and bounce. We have too many others watching anyway. Could you imagine what they would do if they caught one of us?" The guy's shoulders shook in a shudder, as if recollecting a bad memory.

"Cool out, Mr. Clydesdale," Inky told him with a sigh, panning the arena.

The first then looked confused. "What did you just call me?"

"Mr. Clydesdale, doi."

"Hey, isn't that a name for someone who's patriotic? Or... something?"

"Keep diggin', Watson. You'll get there."

Then Inky's eyes found him on the ice, and their gazes locked. The sudden contact caused an involuntary shiver to run down his spine, and he rolled his shoulders to shrug it off. Even from this distance, he could see a smile spread across the ghost's face. From the rink, he read Inky's lips, "Gotcha Pacman."

He narrowed his gaze. Despite his situation, he smirked at the ghost. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted to the other side of the stadium:

"Eat. My. Shorts!"

Some of the hockey players turned their heads in surprise, and a couple of them even bumped into each other, distracted by his jeer. He saw Clyde's eyebrows arch. He thought he could see him mouth something along the lines of, "Wait, what did he say?" Not bothering to stick around for Inky's reply, Pacman spun around, and pushed against the ice to slide forward. He found more traction than he'd thought he would, and he looked down to find the tracks of skates on the ice. He was fortunate that the players had been practicing so much, and he aimed for the ridges they'd created in the ice for traction.

He abruptly frowned as he noticed something about the ghosts on the map in his mind. They weren't following him on the path that he had predicted. Getting a good rhythm on the ice, he glanced behind him.

He found them racing through the empty rows of seats. He mentally kicked himself; of course they'd avoid the ice. Then he noticed someone pushing their way past some players on the bench behind the wall of the rink. Even though the person was hidden behind the other people, Pacman knew who it was. Red hair peeked through between the yellow and blue uniforms, and the person finally got past the people on the bench. He swung his legs over the rink wall, and landed on the ice—with red skates on his feet.