Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was Sunday.

The Wii Fit Trainer was in the training room. She moved slowly, bringing her arms from one point to the next, carefully checking for any potential kinks in her body. Every stretch and exercise was carefully prepared for, gently working the body without exhausting herself. More importantly, making sure the exercise couldn’t exhaust any students. Students were full of muscles and bones that needed to be pushed to the limit.

Yet muscles were different from people. No muscle is able to think about itself or able to know itself; there is no mirror in which muscles can recognize its face, in part thanks to lacking a face to view. No muscle can do anything intentionally. They merely acted upon the whims of the people.

It was safe and secure in the training room, which was separated from the rest of the facilities by a plaster wall covered in a variety of paint. Not even the sounds of other employees and customers disturbed the peace. The Trainer ignored the sounds from the hallway. Though she had only stepped into the hallways a few times, she was not curious about life in the remainder of the building. Or the rest of Wuhu Island. Or any life beyond that.

What was particularly nice about the room was that, once in a while, the Trainer could sit down and think. The Trainer could imagine the walls slipping away and revealing nothing behind them. Only white void, with herself in the middle, completing her strength training exercises and yoga movements. Nothing but the exercises. It then occurred that she would miss the soft hum of the ceiling lights and the occasional appearances from students and bosses. So she would stand back up and return to her training and the world that surrounded it.

The exercises were the only real adventure she needed. Every step and movement was a journey waiting to unfold. By changing her position, she could change herself. She could be a dog, facing the ground. She could be a palm tree, tall and strong with the occasional wobble from what she assumed was what the wind felt like. She could be a triangle, a warrior, or even the moon itself shining down to enlighten students. And whenever she began to feel her true identity melting away, she simply had to look in the mirror and see her smiling reflection.

The sound of the creaking door bounced across the room like a balance ball. Through the mirror, she watched the Wii Balance Board carefully stepping into the room on its curved edges. She liked the Wii Balance Board. It commanded the Center with an unwavering strength, while remaining willing to stretch the rules for the greater benefit of the facilities.

For a moment, she saw the image of herself as a young girl, no smaller than she was now of course, and the image of the Balance Board, similarly unchanged through time. The words that the Board had stuck in her mind like the tiles to the floor. In recent years, health experts had said that people’s postures had been deteriorating at an alarming rate. Lack of exercise and poor lifestyle choices had weakened their sense of balance. It was truly a dark sign.

That was why she had been specially selected for the Center’s training program. All she to do was instruct the incoming students about how to improve their fitness level. This would help turn back the tide of poor posture habits and improve the health of the world. It would be perfect.

As much as she admired the Board, she didn’t like seeing it in her room. That meant something was about to change. While changing between poses was a natural part of life, they had a specific order and design. Altering the design with hairstyle choices or brands on her uniform made improving the lives of their students all the more difficult.

The glow from his power bar and the bouncing on its faux-legs proved that it was both awake and most likely talking to her. She couldn’t quite process what he was saying. She was a chair right now and chairs didn’t have ears. She rose from her pose, transforming back into a Trainer.

“-be difficult, but your acceptance is crucial. Understand?”

Not wanting to disappoint the Board, she nodded in understanding.

“Great! I’ll send them your way. You’ve done very well.”

She wasn’t sure what she did well, but it filled her body with a lightness.  She gazed at the Board as it departed from the room, offering a chirpy “goodbye!” as it left. Satisfied with its departure, she quickly returned to her stretches

Time passed. She knew this because the clock on the wall had small hands that rotated in a circle.

A few students passed through on occasion, but they didn’t stay long. She felt a strange emptiness in her stomach when they turned down her offer to train. Even worse, they frequently took pieces of equipment with them.

Initially, she didn’t mind it. The balance ball was rarely used and she hadn’t touched the weights in her entire life. But when they attempted to remove the yoga mat, she became a brick wall. Nothing passed through walls, not even words of frustration. She was pleased when they left. Walls couldn’t breathe and the floors didn’t know how to support their balance. That had to be why she began to feel herself crumbling after being a wall for so long.

Eventually they took the clock. Time stopped, but the students continued to pass by the room. 

Relax your neck muscles and look down at your stomach. Hold this pose. Try to distribute weight equally between your hands and your feet. The weight on your hands is being measured. Let’s check the results of this test when we’re done with this pose. Great. Now return to your original position.

The Trainer stood up, rolling her shoulders, as two figures entered the room. Two women, one short with pigtails, the other in a long white coat. It didn’t seem very practical for stretching. The Trainer initially believed small, circular mirrors were resting on the woman’s  hat, but further examination, the circles appeared to be transparent, yet attached to a rubber line that circled the woman’s hat.

She quickly recovered from her confusion, smiling brightly at them. “Hello there! Ready to work out today?”

The white coat woman blinked in confusion. “Erm… no thank you. We’re here on a behalf of WarioWare Inc and the state?”

The woman offered a hand, a huge smile on her face. The Trainer appreciated the stretching of facial muscles. “And I’m Mona!”

The Trainer observed the hand carefully before imitating the movement. Not a very difficult exercise, but she supposed it had merits.

Ms. Mona appeared to be waiting for something, her smile looking more strained and perplexed by the second. Eventually, she gripped the Trainer’s hand and shook it up and down. It was an unsettling sensation.

“And this is Ashley.” The smaller woman seemed decidedly unimpressed with the Trainer, or her surroundings at large.

“Should we get started?”

The Trainer smiled again. “Of course. What exercise would you like to begin with?”

Mona’s brow furrowed, his mouth struggling to form words. “I'm... sorry? Oh, you must mean-"

“You know about about this dumb meeting, right?” Ashley interrupted with a blunt tone.

Alarming students was strictly against the rules. She didn’t want the visitors to feel frustrated because they had forgotten to arrange for a training session.

“Of course. The Wii Fit Center has everything taken care of.”

“...Right, well, that’s what we’re here for. The secretary told us that you’d been living here, working as the Center’s trainer, right?” Mona inclined her head toward the Trainer. “But we can’t seem to find records of you being employed by Wii Sports Resort. And definitely nothing about living here. How many days have you been living here?”

The Trainer reflexively glanced toward where the clock used to be. Disappointed by the result, she turned back to the students. “Ever since I was young.”

“Oh, so you were hired while you were in school too?”

She shook her head. She didn’t know what this “school” was, but she was certain she had never participated in it.

“Hold on,” Mona lifted up a hand. “You’ve been here-in this center ever since you were a child? What’s your name, exactly?”

“I am the Wii Fit Trainer.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we know, but what’s your name?”

She hesitated. An uneasy sensation crawled inside her stomach. She knew a person’s name was important. It had a connection to their life.

“My name is Wii Fit Trainer.”

Their expressions told her this wasn’t the right answer. She hoped the Board wouldn’t be too upset with her for failing this task.

“Let’s… just look through the records, okay?” Mona reached into her bag and pulled out various pieces of paper. “We have a complete list of everyone who were at any time employed by Wii Sports Resort.”

They stared at the Trainer, apparently waiting for something. They hadn’t asked for a specific exercise or requested anything, so she decided to stare back.

“Its puzzling, you know?” Mona’s voice prodded, attempting to lure out a response. “We haven’t found a name like ‘Wii Fit Trainer’ anywhere on the list. Are you sure you’ve been employed here?”

She answered immediately and very deliberately. “I have always been the Trainer here. I have worked in this room all my life. As long as I can remember.”

Mona quickly interrupted. “But there’s no record of it. It’s clear that, throughout the Resort’s business, no trainer was employed. Are you a professional trainer?” Mona prodded again.

“I am the Trainer. No one knows training better than I.”

“But it’s not in the documents. And the Wii Fit Center has had very through documents so far. Everyone that’s worked here has been properly paid. Do you remember receiving any paychecks?”

Ah, she knew that word. Students had complained about things such as “bills” and “not enough on my paycheck” and expenses regarding the training sessions. Money was involved. She had no particular strong feelings on money.

She shook her head. This concept seemed particularly baffling for Mona.

“How were you paid then?”

“I have never been given any paychecks. I have had the privilege of working for the Wii Fit Center, furthering our goals and improving the lives of the students who require a fitness trainer. I was provided a yoga mat and the required uniform for this position.”

Ashley groaned in frustration. “What about beds, clothes, whatever, anything to move this along .”

“I changed into new uniforms when the facilities decided to switch to a different uniform design.”

“Okay, good, that’s good,” Mona nodded, understanding Ashley’s train of thought. “Where are those uniforms?”

“I do not know. The Balance Board told me I did not need the old uniforms anymore.”

Mona’s face fell from a hopeful smile to a disappointed frown, while Ashley dragged a hand down her face in irritation.

“How about birth certificate? Driver’s license? Medical card? You know.”

“I do not have any of those things,” said the Trainer.

“Anything that states your name, address, age, etc”

“I do not have any papers.”

“Any illnesses? Have you ever met a doctor or gone to the hospital?”

She felt disgust, a rather new sensation, bubble in her stomach. “I have never been sick. A trainer must remain healthy at all times.”

Ashley seemed intrigued by this point. “Some kind of health spell?”

The Trainer didn’t answer.

“Supposing that’s all true,” Mona said slowly, with a doubtful tone crawling over her words. “Are there any claims you want to make against the Wii Fit Center, Wii Sports Resort, or WarioWare Incorporated?”

The Trainer did not understand. “I am fine. I am happy with the training room.”

They liked this response, Ashley sighing in annoyed relief, Mona smiling softly.

“Then what are your next plans? Are you going to work for someone else?” It was a polite question.

Her expression shifted into puzzlement and concern for the first time. Why would she have to leave the Wii Fit Center? It was her home.

“I would like to stay here and continue training,” she said quietly.

The two students exchanged glances.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mona explained slowly. “The Island has been bought out by WarioWare Incorporated.”

The Trainer processed this carefully. “Won’t they need a Trainer?”

They shook their heads.

“I see.” The Trainer wasn’t sure how to respond.

Mona reached into her briefcase and pulled out another piece of paper. “We were hoping you could sign this paper.”

“I can not.”

“So you do intend to file a suit?”

Why would she ever own a suit? “I have no intention of filing a suit.” She experimented with the words, letting it hiss out from her teeth.

“So you will sign?”

“I can not.”

She had never written anything before and didn't know how to start.

A growl of frustration escaped Ashley’s lips. “Just sign it so we can get out of here.”

“I can not sign it.”

“You haven’t even looked at it yet!”

“I can not.”

Mona lifted up a hand to calm Ashley. “Alright. I gotcha. Gotta be careful for the future.” She gathered hers documents together. “The building’s going to be under heavy construction by noon tomorrow. So we’ll see you at the boat around 10 am, alright? Make sure you grab any of your belongings before you leave.” She held out a small piece of paper towards her. The Trainer tried to imitate the movement Mona used on her before and Mona let the paper fall into the Trainer’s hand. “There’s my card if you need anything. See you soon, yeah!”

She offered another pleasant smile before leaving the room, an irritated Ashley following behind her.

The Trainer’s eyes were focused on the door, but her mind was an Olympic race, running faster and faster as new hurdles kept approaching. The Center was the entire world. She had no idea what would happen to her without it. Or it without her. Together, they were muscles, connected, working to keep the body moving. Now it appeared she was going to become a limb, floating through the abyss of the outside world.

But perhaps , said a stray thought, quickly reaching the front of the race, this is what the Board wanted . She may just be a limb, true. But she could be an arm. An arm of the Center, reaching into the world outside. She could be a mouth, spreading the glorious words of Fitness to all of that would hear it. The Center itself might be gone. Or it could be inside her, using her as a vessel to find future fitness endeavors.

A smile stretched onto her face as that feeling of lightness filled her body again. The Balance Board truly believed in her capabilities, trusting her with its life work. She had to make sure she didn’t let it down.

With a newfound confidence, she put Mona’s card into her pocket and began her journey to the world Outside.

Chapter Text

Leaving the room had been challenging at first. She would reach the very edge of the door, peek into the hallway, before the empty feeling in her stomach would consume her. She would then retreat into the training room for a series of exercises.

After several hours of attempts, the Trainer finally stepped outside of the room. The hallway was emptier than she recalled. Not a single painting or body chart lined the walls. She took another reluctant step, followed by another. It wasn’t so hard, once you got the hang of it. The carpet was softer than the training room’s tiled floor, the air was normal… It had been so long since she’d ever left the training room and she couldn’t help but marvel at the remaining facilities.

She hesitated again at the exit door. What was outside these walls? She had never given it serious thought before today. It wasn’t relevant to her life in the Center.

She placed a hand on the metal bar, teeth clenched together as she slowly pushed against the glass structure…

And then turned around and walked back to her training room.

She had forgotten her yoga mat.

Carefully rolling it up and placing it beneath her left arm, she returned to the door. She completed a few deep breath exercises before finally pushing against it once more, stepping into the Unknown.

The Unknown was bright. She blinked repeatedly, squinting to even catch a glimpse of the surrounding area. She briefly took a few experimental steps forward before a sense of fear gripped her. She stood silently for a few minutes, unsure how to proceed, when something extraordinary occurred.

Her eyes adjusted to the light.

She had only experienced the sensation once or twice, when a training room light broke and it had to be replaced. But this was different. The world remained bright as could be, but her eyes were learning to adapt. Slowly, but surely, the surroundings became more and more clear.

Buildings of different shapes and colors peppered the town’s square. The tiles were much rougher than that of the Wii Fit Center, but she could manage. Above her was the brightest lightbulb she had ever seen. It has enough energy to brighten this entire island without any other lightbulbs to be seen. It looked like a giant ball. If she stared at it took long, her eyes began to ache in pain. She couldn’t find any edge or tiles to the bright blue ceiling, unless the fluffy white shapes were part of the design. If she didn’t know any better, she would almost think the ceiling went on forever.

This was Wuhu Island. Home of the Wii Sports Resort and the Wii Fit Center.

At the edge of the town, the tiles gave way to an even harsher, tougher terrain. She attempted to walk on it for a few feet before stepping on what she assumed was a large, green carpet. It wasn’t as soft or clean-cut as the Center’s carpets, but she found herself enjoying the sensation nonetheless.

She eventually reached an incredibly soft terrain. With every step, she could feel her foot sink a little into the ground. If she pressed her foot into it, she could even go deeper into it. She paused and carefully kneeled down to feel the carpet. It was so loose, she could pick up parts of it and let all the pieces fall from her hand.

The area ahead looked even looser. Pure blue, constantly moving and bouncing. A strange, immense mechanism had been left on this blue carpet, albeit tied to wooden post. If she had to guess from the movement of the carpet and the mechanism, this was to ensure the large thing didn’t leave the edge of the light brown carpet.

She stepped onto the blue carpet warily, only to feel her entire leg fall right through it. Panic overtook her, and she fell into the other carpet, scrambling away from this strange… thing.

After several deep breathe exercises, she crawled back towards the blue carpet. Placing a hand into the blue beast, a cold, unfamiliar sensation gripped it. She quickly pulled away from the carpet once again. Her hand felt… strange. A substance from the carpet remained on her hand, dripping away with every movement.

The blue moving carpet was strange. But it seemed harmless.

She stood up, stepping into the blue once more. At the bottom of the blue carpet was the same sort of light brown carpet she had seen in the rest of this area. Maybe it was less of a carpet and more of a covering?

She continued forward into the carpet, letting the strange substance overtake her. As long as she kept moving forward, she would reach this “boat” eventually.

How dangerous could this Outside world be? 

“Any other details we’ve uncovered? Contact information? Relatives?”

Mona shifted awkward in her chair below deck of the SS Wario. The boss had insisted on only the cheapest materials possible. It was difficult to say if there existed a chair more stiff and uncomfortable, made worse by the splintered mess that made up Mona’s desk. 

Frankly, she should be happy to get a desk at all. Her last room on a WarioWare vessel hadn’t even accounted for beds.

Ashley shrugged vaguely, fingers tapping rapidly on a series of buttons. 9-Volt had loaned her his GameToy for the weekend, if one described outright robbery as a loan. As such, her primary focus was on navigating the tight corridors of Planet Milkshake with Princess Eclaire’s Waffle Blast. 

Mona groaned, rubbing her forehead irritably. She’d had a headache the entire trip. From navigating all the circular, contradictory paperwork of Wuhu Island, to traveling all the way here to discuss the “squatter” their construction guys were so worried about, to the irritating blips and buzzes from Ashley’s toy, the week had been a cavalcade of slowly building irritations. “Can’t you do some kind of… magic DNA test? Zoom through the family tree? Peer into a crystal ball to pull out some information?”

“Oh, that would be a good idea, huh?” Ashley’s voice was even flatter than usual, a telltale sign of oncoming sarcasm. “I’ll just pop open my cauldron and get cracking.”

The teen was still smarting from being told her magical supplies were a “fire hazard.”

Mona rubbed her neck as she fiddled with her goggles. “Geez. I guess we'll just have to keep an eye on her until we get her to shore and find something for her.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Who cares? She’s just a freak.”

“C’mon. She’s eccentric, sure, but she clearly loved her job...”

“More like she was obsessed with it. She’s basically a robot. Like, hey, having a job isn't a personality, lady.”

Mona raised an eyebrow. “And what would your traits be?”

“Not being a hag.” She tapped her foot impatiently.  “Can we tell the turtle to take off? I want off this island and her out of my hair.”

Mona frowned. “We still need to find someplace to put her. She clearly can’t be on her own, not yet.”

“That’s not our problem. We’re just supposed to get the fat man’s stupid island ready.”

“We can’t just dump her in the city!”

“Whatever.” The girl launched herself out of her seat, shoving the GameToy into her dress pockets. Conversation was draining and she was eager to retire to her room. “Just leave me out of it.”

"Oh, no way. You're the one handling this."

That successfully spawned a rare reaction from the girl. She spun around glaring angrily. "No."

Mona held strong, crossing her arms and fixing the child with a stern look. "This is our job. You have to actually pitch in."

"I will fill your socks with frogs."

"Which you can do after work is settled." Mona waggled her fingers in the child’s direction. “So help our friend get situated on board. And then take her into town when we’re done.”

Ashley sputtered angrily for a few seconds before quickly storming off, slamming the door behind her. Mona simply sighed and returned to her work. That strange woman was a puzzle, to be sure. But for all her fuss, she was sure Ashley could handle things from here.

It wouldn't be until much later that Ashley and Mona would regret putting the thought of the Wii Fit Trainer out of their mind.

Although, it wouldn't be the first time Ashley's decision to flake on a job would have international consequences.

The Trainer had been walking through the blue carpet for quite a number of hours now. It was odd enough that there was such a soft carpet permeating below the blue carpet. But it was especially fascinating how much it room such a vast blue could contain. In fact, she was beginning to suspect there wasn’t much room for air amidst the blue carpet. After a couple test runs of the Deep Breathe exercise, it was difficult not to notice how much of the blue carpet was entering her body so freely.

Yet that wasn’t the only oddity of interest in this Outside world. Her journey through the blue carpet had already resulted in several bizarre encounters with strangers. None of these individuals had scheduled a proper appointment, but she saw no harm in offering them free services. Especially if Wuhu really was to be closed down.

Still, it was hard to imagine the shapes of these strangers were inclined towards physical activity. Their arms were thin and stubby, their eyes were wide and thoughtless. They seemed to hover through the blue carpet, rather than put what managed for feet onto the ground. These were strange customers, to be sure, but it wasn’t kind to judge on appearances.

Drifting through the ocean floor, the fish could only stare blandly at the Trainer’s underwater display. If she thought these “strangers” confusing, the image of a pale woman leading yoga exercises beneath the lapping waves must have been absolutely mind-boggling to the brain of a fish.

One hour became two, became four, became eight.

The Trainer found herself more than a little frustrated with how slow one moved through the blue carpet. The pressure wore down on her muscles, making every movement an ever-increasing strain against the elements.

Nonetheless, she continued her steady, certain march through the Mushroom Sea. Her body adjusted to such conditions until she was walking through the waters with ease.

Perhaps this was a blessing, she reflected. A new method of training herself beyond traditional means. The blue carpet was a thrilling challenge, not something to be despised. Perhaps this was the Balance Board wanted her to experience.

Eight hours became twelve, became fifteen, became twenty.

For any other individual, the tedium of the walk would be enough to completely destroy one’s mind. For Trainer, locked away between four white walls, every step was a wonder. She couldn’t help but marvel and gasp at the sheer color and variety of the world around her. Pearls glistened, fish blubbed, reefs swayed. The world contained images that she never could have even conceived before now.

It's impossible to say how many days passed. The Trainer’s concept of time would come later and making such measurements would have been difficult for even the most scheduled.

Eventually, a shift. The sand beneath her feet began to slope, directing her to rise slowly but surely in geographic height. Another curiosity she hadn’t 

Soon, the Wii Fit Trainer’s head popped out from the salty waters. She rose, slowly, carefully, taking in the heat of the sun. Water dripped from her skin as her feet felt the warmth of the hot summer sands.

The Trainer had arrived at the Mushroom Kingdom.

Various men and women passed by the Trainer, all in divergent states of swimwear and undress. Fathers splashed water at children, cousins chased each other across free stretches of land. Some giving short apologies as they pushed past Trainer, others didn’t apologize at all. Some spared second glances towards Trainer’s unusual choice of beach fashion, but a third glance was never offered or received.

One child stared in confusion, hands paused on the outer walls of his carefully crafted reconstruction of the Bubblaine Lighthouse. The Trainer went unnoticed by most other beach-going locals, but the two made clear eye contact after her seaside emergence. 

She smiled lightly.

He smiled awkwardly back.

“Hello there.” She kneeled down slightly, trying to meet him on eye-level. The child seemed to be an expert in his respective field, and it was important to treat an expert politely. “Where might I find the closest building with the most unfit people?”

The child blinked. It was a question that didn’t make a lot of sense, but maybe strange women emerged from the waves to ask this all the time. He was only five, he didn’t have the firmest grasp of possibility yet. And in terms of unfit, well, he always started to cry whenever he was dragged to the louder parts of Toad Town.

He pointed off into the direction of the boardwalk and art walks. A short wooden staircase helped beachgoers climb up and down from the docks to the beach without much difficulty.

“Wonderful. May your construction be fitting.”

And she continued her march onward, moving away from soft sands and towards the scorching pavements.

The child watched her go. While he had received plenty of passive encouragement before now, there was a level of sincerity that caught even his young mind off-guard.

He was suddenly consumed with the inexplicable desire to build… bigger. 

He began constructing taller, thicker towers, the start of a verifiable fortress manifesting in his imagination.

Stairs was another new concept for the Trainer. She squinted warily at the concept, observing the comings and goings of nearby Toads and humans alike.

This wall was very unusually constructed. Why was it filled with gaps? Why was it slanted? Why were people able to walk upon it? Walking was meant for floors. Floors were horizontal. This wall was some sort of middle-point between horizontal and vertical. This combination of floor, wall gap, floor, wall gap, floor, wall gap… the whole of it seemed rather profane to her virgin eyes. 

It would be good to experiment though and she quickly took to imitating the process as best she was able. She slowly raised her right foot, moving carefully onto the next “floor,” before setting it down. She pushed off the ground and brought her left foot up the following step.

Incredible. The outside world used exercise equipment to help people go upward and downward in a building. There could be hope for them yet.

She continued up the steps fascinated, eyes glued to her own movements. It would have been nice to see these movements reflected in a mirror, but she’d have to rely on her own observational skills for the moment. The process persisted until the raised steps reached their zenith, and the Trainer was forced to redirect her focus back to the wider world around her.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

She knew these images, vaguely, from the Balance Board’s descriptions, pictures in the lobby, and other small descriptions she’d overheard up through the years. Yet it didn’t quite match the real thing. Light dazzle her eyes. The roads were more pristine, more clear than the pictures. Metal creatures traveled down those black roads, so much bigger in person than she had expected from the stories, the tops shimmering in the light, and emitting a large rumbling noise as they jet past the-- what were they called again? Oh yes-- sidewalk. Passerby were carried by their feet along this sidewalk, all moving with a sense of purpose and direction.

The Trainer felt her feet move forward in fascination, soon traveling down a plank that connected the boat to the city. She had been warned about cities. It was a testament to the sloth of the world. Everything was close, packed-together, barely any room to stretch or breathe (which were practically interchangeable as far as the Trainer was concerned). Nobody has to work hard for anything. It was all within their grasp whenever they wanted it. This, the Board explained, encouraged poor lifestyle choice and bad posture, which weakened the center of balance. But no one told her the city would look so beautiful. She lacked the words to describe it, largely because the Trainer didn’t know a lot of words.

She soon reached the street, crossing through it aimlessly, distracted by the wonders around her, absorbing them into her mind. The buildings shot into the sky, surely scraping the ceiling by now, glistening against the light. An abandoned piece of paper or wrapping occasionally peppered the streets, but by and large the world was clean.

Four sensations possessed her, one after the other.

The first was a small feeling of regret: she wished she had recovered her yoga mat. Having a piece of the Center with her would have truly made her feel at home in this fascinating new world.

The second was the feeling of heat on her back. She stopped her trek in the middle of the street, gazing around her. She had yet to find a single thermostat. Someone should really turn down the heat. Or at least dim the light above everyone.

The third sensation was puzzlement as her attention was drawn to one of the metal creatures. She couldn’t figure out why it was releasing that squealing sound as it rushed toward her.

The fourth was entirely new and the Trainer did not know the name for it. All she knew that it caused her to scream in agony.

Thought swirled like a torso-twist, yet lacking the rigid order and regulation she trained into herself. She was vaguely aware of various noises and sights moving around her, but her concentration was centered on this piercing sensation in her leg. Her eyes focused on her lower body. It appeared to be stuck under the beast she had been staring at just a second ago.

Sounds became more clear.

“Mother of mercy!”

“Is she alright?!”

“Someone call an ambulance!”

“Miss? Miss!”

A hand appeared in her line of sight, two fingers snapping together. The Trainer followed the hand to its source: a small figure with a strangely shaped head. He seemed to be wearing white pants and a blue jacket with yellow trims.

“Just- just stay calm, alright? W-we’ll figure this out!” Despite his advice, he was shaking frantically and looking around in a panic.

The Trainer nodded her head before attempting to stand up. This quickly proved impossible with her leg pinned and she collapsed back on the ground.

“Waaaah!” the creature wailed. “N-no no no! You gotta stay still, alright?”

“Oh my!” came a high-pitched voice. A tall woman in pink was standing behind the small person now, gloved hands covering her mouth. “Toad, you need to get the car off her leg! Quickly!”

The “Toad” nodded quickly before skedaddling back to the vehicle. Within seconds, the car moved backward, releasing the leg at long last. The Trainer attempted to stand on both feet again, only to discover the same result. Now that she could see her leg, it appeared to be swelling in a red blotch.

The woman frowned in concern. “Oh dear… I hope nothing is broken.”

The thought caused the Trainer to lose any small amount of color that may have existed in her face. What would she do if she couldn’t train? The Board would be so disappointed in her if she allowed her foot to break on her first day in the outside world.

“It will be alright,” the Trainer insisted, voice trembling slightly despite herself.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. We’ve never had an accident before. Come, let me help you up.”

The woman knelt down and put her arm around the Trainer. Toad quickly raced to the Trainer’s other side and pushed her back off the ground. The two lifted the Trainer to her feet, with the pink woman keeping a hold of the Trainer’s arm, supporting the injured foot. The two carried her into the beast, giving her a comfortable seat to rest.

“Don’t worry everyone!” Toad’s high-pitched wail bounced from the street to the beast. “The Princess will take her to the best medical facility we have!”

Sounds of relief made their way to her before the door closed.

The woman introduced herself. “I am Princess Peach. Sorry again about all this.”

The Trainer nodded politely. An odd moment passed where Peach appeared to be waiting for something. The Trainer recalled how Mona introduced herself just yesterday. She mimicked the movement, putting her hand forward, which the Princess quickly grabbed and shook.

“Princess Peach,” she repeated in understanding.

“That’s right,” she smiled. “Tell me, what’s your name?”

Mona and Ashley seemed unsatisfied when the Trainer told them her name. Perhaps, she reflected, it was because the Wii Fit Center had been shut down. “Wii Fit” no longer applied.

“I am Trainer.”

“Traynor?” Peach repeated in turn. “What an unusual name. It’s very nice.”

Before Trainer could respond, she felt the pain in her leg spike up again. She grit her teeth together, attempting to restrain the pain somehow. Then for the first time in her life, she felt her conscious mind vanish.

Chapter Text

The Trainer awoke in a room flooded with light. She was lying on another soft bed. Larger and comfier than the one before. She blinked experimentally, staring at the ceiling above her. No tiles. Instead a smooth, painted surface with complicated patterns and styles.

She shifted her head to the side of the bed. The Princess Peach was there, reading from a book. She looked up quickly at the sound of shuffling sheets.

“Traynor?” her mouth moved slowly. Seeing the pale woman moving about, the woman in the pink dress smiled. “Oh thank goodness. Don’t worry, you're safe now.”

For a brief moment, the Trainer believed she was back in the Center. But the surroundings were more colorful, more comfortable, with not a single trace of exercise equipment.

“I stopped moving and thinking,” she noted. It was an alarming experience.

“Yes, you lost consciousness for a little while there. How are you feeling?”

The Trainer wiggled her toes experimentally. The leg had been wrapped with a white bandage, which matched quite well with her regular skin, save the purple blotch down her calf.

“Don’t worry, we have one of the best doctors in the kingdom taking care of it.” Princess Peach’s voice was soft and soothing. It reminded the Trainer of the light breeze on the island.

Still, a doctor? That would imply a lack of physical perfection. She opened her mouth to object, but soon Princess Peach was interrupting her as well. “I must apologize again for the accident. I didn’t meant to hurt you! I hope it didn’t inconvenience you too much.”

Worrying customers about the Trainer’s own health was strictly against the rules. The pale woman shook her head seriously. “I feel perfectly fine. I should get back to work.”

The princess appeared alarmed. “Please, rest! You shouldn’t strain yourself so soon! I’m sure we can explain the whole situation to your employers. Who do you work with?”

The Trainer hesitated. She’d always been given complete control of her facilities, as long as she followed the rules of the Center. There had never been a reason for a fellow Wii Fit Center employee to step in.

“I work alone.”

Princess Peach’s mouth took on the shape of a zero. “How about family?”

“There is no one.”

The woman seemed very sad. The Trainer wondered why.

“Perhaps, if you don’t mind me saying so, you should stay here until your injury has healed. Just to make sure you return to your full health.”

“I am always at my full health.”

She smiled. “Then let’s try to improve it further.”

It was at that moment the Trainer decided she liked Princess Peach.

Thanks to the clock on the wall, the Trainer could once again see time moving forward. Without time, events just seemed to happen one after the other. It was a little inconsiderate. The hands of the clock were stretching as hard as it could. It couldn’t stretch any faster.

Or could it?

Thoughts such as these jogged through her mind occasionally. There wasn’t much else to do. Completing any of her exercises was difficult in this room. She could stretch her arms well enough, but her leg had trouble cooperating. A sharp sensation would echo through her entire body if she moved the leg too much. She had never felt anything like it before.

She found it disagreeable.

But it lessened as time continued marching forward. Soon she would be allowed to remove the bandage and the “pain,” as the doctor called it, would vanish.

The Princess Peach woman was pleasant and cheerful. The strange shaped “Toads” seemed to gain bounds of energy whenever she was around. At one point, after a series of loud bangs and screams in the adjourning rooms, the princess stopped visiting for a time. But she returned within a few days, apologizing for her absence. She explained the disappearance with words the Trainer didn’t understand, such as “Coo-Pa” and “kidnapping”.

One day she invited some “friends” over. The Trainer knew the word friend from somewhere, but the definition eluded her. They all had their own last names, yet they all had the same first name: “Princess”.

These women arrived from all walks of life, each with their own method of ruling. Princess Daisy of Sarasaland preferred direct action and clarity in policy work. Princess Zelda, strategist that she was, focused on subtle application of resources and covert displays of power. Princess Lucina, passionate as she could be, was a blunt force object. She understood battle and where to direct energy.

The final woman who attended these gatherings is unimportant. She merely watched and observed, as she had always done.

The Trainer watched silently as they chatted, words flying faster than she could follow. Unsure of what to add to the conversation, she attempted repeating someone’s words, in a different order.

“See, Traynor understands,” the Lucina woman nodded approvingly after one such comment. “The tournaments are a crucial event.”

Princess Peach sighed. “I understand what you’re saying, but I’ve simply never enjoyed them all that much. I feel it’s time for me to step down.”

“After so many tournaments, exhaustion is only natural,” Zelda sipped her tea calmly. “But your presence in the Smash tournaments remains essential. Do you really think your admirer will keep attending if you bow out?”

Peach frowned. “True… I would just appreciate more time to focus on other things.”

Lucina nodded again. “Being a ruler’s hard work. There’s a lot you need to balance. My father once told me that finding reliable friends to lessen your workload is essential.”

“Even so, the tournaments just take me away from the castle for too long. I just wish there was something to make it easier.”

“Sometimes we’re too close to a problem to see a simpler solution,” Zelda interjected again, gazing shifting over to the Trainer. “Tell me Traynor, what do you think?’

The Trainer’s eyes glanced quickly at the three women, who were now looking at her expectantly. Her mind raced, searching for anything from the conversation she might have grasped, any phrase or buzzword she’d used to help customers back in the Center.

“Experts,” she began cautiously “worry that our unhealthy lifestyles weaken our stability and balance. An increase in proper exercise is essential to further development and personal happiness.”

“By increasing the number of fighters!” Peach smiled in supposed understanding. “That’s an excellent idea!”

“Interesting proposition, Traynor,” Zelda noted, examining the Trainer with an unusual expression. “But where should we get these fighters?”

“I would be happy to lend the sword of myself and my comrades.”

“Your presence would be appreciated.” A sigh. “Yet I can’t help but think too many new fighters from one country would launch some accusations of bias.”

“True,” Lucina reluctantly agreed. “Given Ylisse’s alliance with Altea, entering the ring when Lord Marth is already an accomplished fighter… it could be taken the wrong way.”

Peach nodded solemnly. “The tournament is supposed to bring people together, after all.”

The words were far beyond the Wii Fit Trainer, but she was able to grasp one thing. Judging from their approval of her response, these “tournaments” had something to do with exercise. What a welcome relief. The outside world celebrated exercise with some sort of grand event, treated with tantamount importance and respect.

“Exercise is good for everyone,” she ventured with an enthusiastic chirp.

Peach’s eyes widened, clasping her hands together in delight. “Of course! What a wonderful idea!”

The other two Princesses raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Traynor’s come up with a solution to all our problems.”

“She has?”

She had?

“Of course! We open up registration to the public. Let the people, not just celebrities and royalty and representatives, get a moment of fame.”

“The boost in public morale would be incredible. I can’t believe we never thought of this before.”

Zelda stroked her chin thoughtfully. “The selection would have to be careful, yet impartial… But it could work.”

They all looked at her with an impressed air and a sense of pride echoed through the Trainer. Maybe she wouldn’t have to look far to spread the words of the Center after all.

The echo of royal heels vanished as the two women exited the quiet embassy building and reached the busy front steps. A few tourists gasped, pointed, and took pictures. Others missed them and continued their examinations of the outside statues. Cars zipped by on the street, with the occasional youthful face peering from the windows in awe.

“Well I thought we made a lot of progress today.”

Zelda hummed in what Lucina assumed was agreement.

“The Galactic Federation will likely have to send a new representative, given recent events in their area of space. Perhaps they might send a more military presence this time around.”

Another vague hum.

“Of course, we might have to cut back on some of our own fighters here and there.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Your knight will no doubt stay though. I believe he and the Princess have enjoyed quite a few training sessions alone together.”

Zelda whipped toward Lucina. “Excuse me?” Her voice was dangerously low.

A rare, mischievous grin crept up Lucina’s face. “Oh, so you are paying attention?”

Zelda’s shoulders relaxed and she allowed her own smile. “A joke? From you? Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Too much time around my fellow soldiers, I’ll admit. What were you thinking about?”

Zelda stopped on the embassy steps and gazed back at the building. “Interesting girl, that... Traynor.”

“She speaks a little strangely, but I found her input very helpful.”

“She’s a little quiet.”

“But when she did speak, she spoke wisely.”

Zelda hummed again. “I suppose it did appear that way. When you’re searching for the right words.”

Lucina raised an eyebrow, attempting to read Zelda’s expression. But before she could reach any sort of understanding, a smile plastered on the Hyrule ruler’s face.

“I think I’d like to talk to her more later.”

“You aren’t the only one. To be perfectly honest, I’m rather new to this ruling business. Yet I believe understanding the words of the non-royals like Miss Traynor is essential for us.”

“As long as you’re actually hearing what they say, I think you’re on the right track. We’ll talk later, yes?”

Lucina shook away her puzzled expression before bowing politely. “Of course. Have a good day, your majesty.”

“You enjoy yourself as well, your highness.”

Both princesses went on their way, in separate directions. But both spent their journey puzzling over their own private thoughts.

Lucina ruminated on Zelda’s strange behavior. It seemed to be brought on by the appearance of Miss Traynor. What could be so alarming about that? Peach, generous as always, taking the time to help the poor woman she’d hurt. It happened to be a lovely turn of events that Traynor turned out to be so helpful and...

It really was quite a coincidence, the longer she thought about it. A rather suspicious coincidence.

Chapter Text

Princess Peach Toadstool was a highly popular ruler for a number of reasons.

For one example, she was a financial genius without equal. The Mushroom Kingdom’s economy flourished under her rule. In fact, during one notable kidnapping involving the Beanbean Kingdom, in which she was unable to send her typical advice back home, the Kingdom had its worst financial disaster in decades. Upon her return, it was fixed within hours.

More important, however, was her extraordinary emphasis on diplomacy. Even after repeated kidnappings throughout the years, she had refused to increase the national military budget and extended offers of peace to neighboring countries. King Bowser Koopa of the Koopa Kingdom was a regular visitor to the local sports tournaments and generally allowed her to send messages to the kingdom and her rescuers.

She was also absurdly kind and transparent. She made the laws of the land very clear and strove to ensure everyone was treated fairly. The public was keenly aware of what their ruler was or was not capable of doing or where the country was currently directed, which she aimed to make clear in every public announcement.

If the princess happened to be free, reporters would gather for a summary of upcoming events, bills in development, or a standard Q&A session. The affair was relaxed and friendly, more like a meeting between friends than a monarch talking to reporters. The Princess would share cake recipes or provide tea and reporters would chat about their personal lives to the attentive ears of the monarch. It was so casual, in fact, it had never been officially placed on the Princess’s schedule. The schedule was generally very loose already, owing largely to the increasing expectation of another kidnapping. Announcements of these meetings were typically announced within a day or so before they took place. Few could remember how the  had begun and the meetings were so pleasant, no one wanted to question it. The “Direct Conversations with Princess Peach” (or the Direct, as it was so often shortened) meetings didn’t need any excitement shaking the boat.

In the lead-up to the June tournament, however, the meetings began to take on an atmosphere of expectation and high tension. The public craved news on the upcoming Smash Tournament and the reporters were grasping for anything information they could get their hands on. Peach was reluctant to divulge what measures and changes she would propose in order to prevent the tournament from getting dull.

But the time had come for the Princess to step forward and revealed her grand plan for the future of the tournaments.

In her speech, the Princess Peach Toadstool reassured the public that there would be a few major changes to the tournament, enough to keep the event interesting but enough similarities to ensure the tournament’s main purpose of bringing countries together didn’t fall away.

The announcement was met with thunderous applause: tournament applications would be opened to the public. The process would be very selective and only a few would be able to enter. However, applicants that didn’t make it to the final selection could enter the ring as an Assist Fighter or provide bonuses and support to their favorite fighter.

The Princess credited these new aspects of the tournament to her dear friend Traynor, who had suggested these brilliant measures during their discussions.

“Allowing the people of the world to exercise their right to meet new people and show what they’re capable of is the most valuable thing I can offer with our humble tournament.”

It was here, in the context of Princess Peach’s speech, that Wii Fit Trainer first came to the attention of the news media and entered the public light.

The Wii Fit Trainer rubbed her leg in consideration. Dr. Toadley had finally given her permission to remove the “band-dages” and walk around on her feet. Her skin was still strangely discolored and stung if she pressed on it. But she could walk and, more importantly, exercise.

She attempted a Single Leg Twist. Pain shot up her right calf and she collapsed onto the ground.

She climbed to her feet, her balance wavering. She began to lift her right leg before setting it down, relenting to the forces of pain.

Time for a deep breath exercise. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Slower. Calmer. Relax your stomach after exhaling to let the air back in your nose. Just like that.

Content with her balance, the Trainer decided to skip the Single Leg Twist today. She needed to focus on other exercises.

The Balance Board would understand, an unusually emotional thought echoed in her head.

This thought repeated itself during the series of failed exercises to follow.

Eventually, a balance bridge guided her to the correct movements. These movements, minus a slight pain, allowed her body to retrain itself appropriately.

In the afternoon, just before the Trainer transformed herself into a Jackknife for the twenty-fourth time that hour, a Toad scampered through the doorway.

“I have Kylie Koopa on the line for you, ma’am! From the Koopa Kronicle!”

He held out an object toward her expectantly. She stared at the creature for a moment. He made such loud noises with his mouth. Could he be trying to exercise his throat?

“THE KOOPA KRONICLE,” she repeated in a loud, booming voice. She could feel her throat vibrate, but not in any particularly effective manner.

“That’s right!” The Toad seemed emboldened by her response. “They want to ask you some questions, I think!”

Oh, so someone wanted her exercise advice. She normally preferred to answer those questions during a meeting, but perhaps just this once she would make an allowance.

“I would be happy to speak to them.”

The Toad continued to push the object in her direction, gesturing to it pointedly.  Maybe he was being coy and was asking for a personal demonstration? Its best to lead by example in situations like this. She stretched her arm forward, only for the Toad to place the object in her hands.

The Trainer only had a chance to puzzle about this action for a moment before a faint voice came from the device. Curious, she lifted it closer to her ear experimentally.

“-ello? Are you still there?”

The object was talking to her. What a truly baffling place this world was.

Feeling it rude to not look her conversationalist in the eye, she positioned the object across from her face, staring at the little holes on its head. Or was that its bottom? It was really difficult to figure out its shape. No wonder it wanted her advice.

“Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, are you Miss Traynor?” A woman’s voice, a little faint granted, but still there nonetheless.

“Correct.”

“Well dang! This is Kylie Koopa, Ace Reporter for the Koopa Kronicle! I was hopin’ to ask ya some questions.”

“Offering effective advice is my job.”

The voice hummed in interest. “Consultant work, eh? How long have you been a consultant?”

“My whole life.”

“Innnnnteresting. Your expertise?”

“Training.”

The voice seemed to approve. “Can you tell me more about your clients?”

Clients? She hadn’t seen any in months.

“I have nothing to say about my trainees.”

An odd noise. “You part on bad terms then?”

“I have nothing to say about my trainees.”

“Of course, of course. Let’s talk about the present. How much influence would you say you have with the Princess?”

The Trainer stared at the object for a few moments. Dare she show her ignorance?

“....Which one?”

There was silence.

“Hello?”

“Y-yes, sorry ma’am, I just… wasn’t… wow. That’s…. Wow.”

The voice didn’t seem disapproving, but there was a strange tone to it now. Trainer wasn’t sure she gave the right answer.

“What then, precisely is your relationship with the Princesses at this point?”

“I think you should ask the Princesses that.”

“Indeed. But I was unsure if I would be able to reach them, so I’m talking to you. What can you tell me about your conversation with them that Princess Peach was referring to?”

“I enjoyed it very much.”

Silence. “There’s been some discussion that you might be earning a position among Princess Peach’s staff. Do you wish to comment on that?”

Not really. “No I do not.”

“...Well, is there anything about your background I can-”

This conversation was immensely lacking in physical benefit, the Trainer decided and she didn’t feel quite the same need to be polite to this strange object than she did to Princess Peach. “I have nothing more to say.”

She quietly placed the object back into the Toad’s hand and returned to her exercises.

The next day, the Koopa Kronicle published a brief article on the Wii Fit Trainer. Without much information to go on, it kept to vague descriptions of the Trainer’s intellect and clear experience behind the scenes of the political world.

The fame of the Wii Fit Trainer quickly grew as the registration process for the tournament began.

In a dark gutter on a gloomy street on a raining day, a man was dead. It wasn't that big a deal, he had a 1-Up insurance plan set up just for emergencies like this. He'd be back on his feet soon enough. But he would be missing his delivery and would probably be fired quickly afterwards.

He should have expected it, to some degree. He had information, which other people wanted desperately. His bosses wanted the information, his boss' enemies in the other countries wanted the information, and the place he stole the information from in the first place wanted the information.

The issue was he had never been clear who each of those people were. He had held in his hands one of the most sought pieces of technological information in the world for three days. And he didn't even know the name of his own boss. He never would now. Because of how fired he would be, not because of being temporarily dead, of course.

The woman who killed him was far better off. She had obtained priceless information for her own fearless leader and would soon be handsomely rewarded. If she was quick, he could be informed and prepared for this new event on the political scene before his journey to the tournament began.

Their enemies would figure out the reason for the man's death soon enough. Those foul, high-class cretins always knew everything about the great king's plans. But it was of little consequence. The woman knew that the King would be victorious. He was destined to be powerful from the day he was born.

The Gerudo woman couldn't imagine anything that could halt the progress of the King of Darkness.

Chapter Text

Ballots by the thousands flooded the Smash offices from applicants across the galaxy. Anybody and everybody wanted a chance to gain glory and prestige among legends. Heroes, royalty, and various ambassadors had been the primary occupants of the tournament. A peaceful truce was guaranteed among particularly contentious political relationships. Much as the people of Hyrule detested the man known as Ganon, his representation in the tournament on behalf of the Gerudo was essential for diplomatic relations.

Bizarre stories and adventures tended to follow those who were accepted into the tournaments. Everyone loved a good origin story. In this particular year, among the wide and varied requests from the public, there were a few incidents of note.

The clerk squinted at the ID in puzzlement.

“Your name is... Kyle Drool?”

“THAT’S THE NAME DON’T WEAR IT OUT!”

The man shoving the paper into the clerk’s face was of a size unparalleled. He towered over the clerk with the girth of twenty goombas and the height of one and a half Bowsers. His teeth were as sharp as knives, his eye tinged red with wild glee. These were all signs of a bonafide villain.

On the other hand, he was also standing on a skateboard and wearing a baseball cap backwards. The clerk may suspect there was a crown underneath that cap, but the evidence before her eyes suggested this could also just be a fine, upstanding lad. And it seemed rude to judge someone based on their appearance.

“...How old are you, precisely?”

“I’M JUST A REGULAR OL' KID, TRYING TO MAKE IT BIG IN THIS WILD WORLD. SO PUT ME IN THE SMASH THING!”

The clerk furrowed her brow at Kyle Drool once again.

Kyle did a kickflip standing still on his skateboard.

Well, that was convincing enough for her. She quickly stamped the Smash form and added it to the pile

And K. Rool grinned a sickeningly wide crocodile grin.

Samus Aran hated fighting. It was long. It was exhausting. It cost things. But, well. She was good at fighting and when you’re good at something, its best to do what it takes to pay the bills. The Galactic Federation paid a pretty penny for her services and that allowed her to get whatever food and fuel she needed  to keep progressing through space. The rest of her credits went to whatever civilians needed it.

Recent events made it... somewhat less simple for her to gain the same payment she could before.

For now though, she could afford to simply sleep off the wounds of her last job. Against ADAM's advisement, she turned up the ship's heat, lowered the back of her pilot's seat as far as it would go, and prepared herself to enjoy the warmest, coziest nap she could ever imagine. Such goals somewhat hampered by the sudden buzz of her comm system.

Brushing her eyes and groaning against the back of her chair, she swiped a few keys of her dashboard pull up the information.

“explain” read the one word text.

She squinted at the word in utter bafflement before she finally processed from exactly where this text was coming from.

“Explain what?” She responded.

A picture loaded onto her screen. A poster of last year’s tournament, which she had reluctantly done a quick photo shoot for. She would have preferred to take the photos in her armor, but the journalists had been pretty clear about what they wanted.

“I see you’ve linked me a photo of myself and not answered my question.”

“what the heck are those on your feet”

Ah. This again. “Rocket boots.”

“what. i’ve been asking for rocket boots for years. how come you get rocket boots?”

“I built them.”

“for me?”

“Do you really think they’d fit you Cap.”

“you have the tech.”

“Chozo tech. Very rare and very mine.”

“i’ll pay you.”

“Are you really serious about this?”

“when would i ever not be serious about rocket boots.”

Sweet mercy.

“i’m begging you, at least just for one tournament. its not like you’ll need them.”

A gear clicked into place in her brain. That was right, wasn’t it? The Smash tournament would be coming fairly soon. She supposed a few interviews or autographs would put some comfortable change in her account. It was tacky and it wasn't the sort of activity she took much joy out of. But it could help keep the ship warm and the fridge stocked. Survival tended to beat out standards any day of the week.

Although, attending any public function could be an issue. She was currently persona non grata by the Galactic Federation. Too many arguments, too many fights, and one particularly notable instance of disobeying orders. In the wake of the SR388 disaster, their relationship had firmly entered the territory of irreconcilable. No more jobs, no more representing the Federation, and no more not getting bullets fired upon her the moment she entered their eyesight.

Well, she was never attached to the tournaments much anyway. She’d enjoyed meeting all the friendly fighters and so on, but the tournament herself wasn’t quite to her taste.

Still. She was curious. Turning on her signal, she let the local papers download to her server. Just to catch a bit of gossip and see who the Federation planned to send this time around. Fox was back in business it seemed, Falcon returning as well. Some new fighters, that certainly looked promising.

Her eyes finally reached the passage detailing the Galactic Federation’s representative. A new pet project from their labs. Repurposed for noble intentions.

Those absolute morons. Those dense hypocrites. Those lying buffoons.

Samus immediately shifted the ship into blast-off, speeding off towards the first planet where the tournament would be held.

She wouldn’t let him get away again.

The clerk returned to her station anxiously. “Sorry for the wait- I’m having trouble finding your identification? Its kind of a funny mistake,” she giggled. “The only name I could find that matched was from several hundred years ago.”

“That is me, yes.”

The clerk blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am Simon Belmont. I was born under a summer moon in 1669. I died some years later. Now I am back to finally put evil to rest.” The blonde man spoke with a confident and matter-a-fact tone.

“Oh, I see.” The clerk fished through some documents before she reached over the desk with all her tiny height to wave a series of papers in the man’s face. “Well, then you need to fill out this form first before I can submit your application.”

The man gripped the paper in his strong, scarred hands. “I will do what I must to enter this competition. My prey is protected by civilians, and I cannot allow it to escape while innocents surround it.”

“That’s nice of you!”

He waved a hand. “It is the right thing to do. As a member of the Belmont family tree, it is my sacred duty to defeat evil wherever it may be!”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be a shoe-in for the competition.”

“Thank you, strange creature. Tell me, what is this ‘W-1-Up form?’”

“Oh, well if your descendants were given an estate tax, you may be entitled to some compensation for your troubles, along with some health benefits and other privileges.”

“How fascinating…”

It was a dark alley. Dirty, filled with trash, forgotten by even those who lacked shelter in the evenings. Perfect for certain purposes.

The first man had been waiting for a few minutes now before the second arrived. They sized each other up, confirming this was the individual they had come to meet. The second man pulled out a small cigarette box. He opened up the flap and retrieved his small slice of rolled tobacco. The second man retrieved one for himself before lighting both of their smokes. The two enjoyed a few moments of silence before they got to business.

“We have a new mission for you, soldier.”

“I thought we agreed I was retired.”

“Its serious.”

“It’s always serious. Find someone else.”

“Only you can do it.”

“And why is that?”

“It’s a tournament matter.”

“I thought the powers that be didn’t want me in that anymore.”

“They’re willing to overlook it, this time.”

“Hmph. And why’s that, Colonel?”

“The White House is concerned about this… Traynor. Hell, forces higher than the president are concerned about her.”

“Traynor?”

“She’s the latest fighter in the tournament. She’s gotten quite close to the head of the Mushroom Kingdom.”

“Why would a new fighter concern the politicians back home? If its a control issue, I’m sure it could be easily handled.”

“That’s just the thing… they haven’t been able to turn up much about her.”

“What?”

“Where she comes from, what ideologies she follows… its a complete mystery. She appeared out of nowhere under the wheel of the local royalty’s car.”

“That’s impossible. Everyone has at least some kind of paper trail.”

“Not this woman. And that’s not all… A man died getting us what miniscule information we have obtained.”

“What?!”

“You heard me. That’s why they want you to investigate it.”

The soldier grimaced. “...That doesn’t quite sound like my expertise, Colonel. And it’s hard to believe that they’d be willing to forgive my… recent actions.”

“They’re desperate. They don’t know how to handle not having info at all. You’re their only avenue to get close to this Traynor. They’ll forget about your whistleblowing, for now, in the interest of information.”

The Colonel’s features softened in an attempt to ease the tension. “You know I wouldn’t bring this to you if I wasn’t sure they were going to keep their word.”

Hmph. The soldier didn’t like it. But if it got them off his back for at least a little while…

“Alright. What do you have for me?”

The Colonel handed over a folder. “This is what little intelligence we’ve managed to gather. The bits that weren’t snatched up and classified by people higher in command, of course. But they did give us this. Our analysts seem to think its a code.”

The soldier opened it wide. Inside was a single blank page.

“Are you kidding me, Colonel?”

“I wouldn’t joke in times like this. Although I can’t be sure we aren’t being toyed with ourselves.”

“Hmph. Any particular code name you have lined up for me?”

“They’re would be little point in this case, I should think.”

Solid Snake tossed his cigarette off into a corner and began to take his leave from the alley. Perhaps he could see Campbell’s point, in this case.

It took weeks of tireless work but finally, the clerk could enjoy some rest. It was hard work and someone had to do it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t exhausting by the end of it all. Still, it was fulfilling to help out the entire galaxy find a method of peaceful, albeit also horrifically violent, cooperation.

Stepping into her home, she idly glimpsed through her mail, opening up some official looking envelope and skimmed through the contents to-

“For your extensive diligence in working for the Smash Tournament process, the Board of Smash Fighters have decided to give Isabelle the opportunity to enter the Smash tournament itself. If you choose to deny this opportunity, you can instead recommend someone else you wish to see in the tournament. Thank you for your service in this matter.”

Several important signatures listed the bottom.

Oh. Oh goodness.

The last thing Isabelle saw was the official stamp of approval on the form, right before her eyes rolled back and she hit the ground.

“Well, I think we’ve built up quite a selection this time.” Peach slowly spun her spoon around in the cup.

“Its really incredible what you’ve done here, Peach!” Daisy smiled. “The Board has always been so strict in their selection. I can’t believe you managed to convince them to expand it like this.”

“Well, I can’t really take the credit. It was really Traynor’s idea.”

“So it would seem.” Zelda smiled a diplomatic smile as she sipped on her own drink. Lucina’s eyes darted between the princesses. There was a game here that was being played, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Speaking of which,” Lucina finally ventured. “How is Miss Traynor doing? Healing well enough?”

“Ah, she seemed in high spirits. She pushes herself rather hard. As soon as she was able to walk again, she’s been in the gym almost constantly.”

“Goodness. Such determination. I wonder where she gets it from.” Even Peach was starting to catch a weird tone to Zelda’s responses, frowning slightly.

“You know….” Daisy spun a spoon around in her hand idly. “She’s pretty athletic. Not to mention pretty good with diplomacy. She’d be a pretty good fit in the tournament.”

“I… beg your pardon?” Zelda’s relaxed expression vanished, utter bafflement on her face.

“Oh, what a wonderful idea!” Peach clapped her hands together. “It’s the least we can do for all her help.”

“Well, I’m not quite sure about that.” Lucina could spot a bead of sweat trailing down Zelda’s forehead. “I mean, we barely know anything about this woman. Where does she come from? Where do her allegiances lie?”

“Allegiances?” Peach blinked in utter, perfect, naive confusion. “She was hit with my car. What do allegiances have to do with anything?”

Lucina wasn’t exactly one skilled in political games, but she knew when it was time to push in order to gain some information.

“I don’t think I see any harm in entering her in the competition. If you have some kind of concern regarding Traynor, Princess Zelda, I’m sure the information will emerge quickly. Unless there’s something specific you think we should know.”

Zelda glanced at each of the women in the room hesitantly before leaning back into her chair. “No, I… I suppose there’s no harm.”

“Then it’s settled!” Peach grinned one of her radiant smiles. “Traynor will be the next of our little fellowship to join the ranks.”

Daisy shrugged. “Fine by me. There’s always next time.”

“Next ti- Daisy, you have checked your mail, right?”

“....Should I have?”

The brunch continued as usual from there.

“Zelda- do you mind if we talk privately for a moment?”

The Hyrulian princess paused with her hand at the door, glancing back at her friend. Peach’s hands were fiddling with themselves and her eyes were on the floor. “Of course, my friend. Is something troubling you?”

The blonde sighed, allowing herself a moment to slump into her chair. Peach rarely did anything without proper posture. The sight was difficult to process.

“I’ve been working on the final slots of the tournament and… I received a message from an old friend of ours.”

Zelda tilted her head, curiously. Perhaps it was time to be bold with her suspicions. Calculated moves could only go so far without some chance sacrifices. “Someone hoping to enter the tournament? I assume the arrangement for the Trainer’s placement in the tournament.”

“Traynor? What does she have to do with this?”

…Dammit. “Ah, my mistake. Someone else then? Perhaps Mayor Pauline, then?”

“No, someone who wants to return to the tournament.”

Zelda returned to her seat across from her friend. “Well, I’m sure they’re well aware that they’re free to return once again.”

Peach sighed. “That’s just the thing. I’m not sure she is free to return.”

“Ah. Some sort of injury then?”

“More like… a criminal charge.”

Zelda had to take a private moment to curse the Triforce of Wisdom for seemingly failing her so often. It really should be more useful than it ended up being. But really now, she expected much more from the bounty hunter.

“This is… Samus we’re talking about. She certainly knows better than to go right where the Galactic Federation will be looking, won’t she?”

“That’s what I assumed. But she’s insisting that she’ll be here within the day.”

“...Oh goodness.” That was… a significant wrench in things. “Did she offer a reason? Of any kind?”

“She just said it was important to her.”

Another thing for her agents to look into, Zelda noted to herself. “I assume you know how the Federation will react once they learn that their most wanted criminal is here.”

Peach’s fingers were practically tied in a knot. “But I can’t simply… abandon her. She needs our help. She’s our friend . I mean, I can’t believe any of the things they’re claiming. There must be some misunderstanding.”

Zelda paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t know if that much matters to them.”

“But maybe, if we could uncover the truth-”

“We can, and will, search as much as we like. But they will still want to capture her regardless. It’s a matter of galactic embarrassment to them.” She reached forward to put a more comforting presence on Peach’s hand. “They’ll put their foot down, on this one.”

Peach stared back at Zelda, then down at her hands again. “But… I can’t leave her. I can’t. I… I feel disgusting just thinking about it. Like there’s this awful, horrible pit in my stomach, eating away.”

...by the Goddesses. She really had been getting cynical. It was easy for her, with the power of Wisdom flowing through her, to see all the angles. All the political sides, all the little secrets, and all the little pieces moving on a board. She always forgot, somewhere down the road, that not everyone was playing the same game as her.

It occurred to Zelda that perhaps Peach didn’t know what she knew about the Trainer after all. But the thought vanished quickly. How could she not know, if she was so eager to put the woman in the tournament?

Either way, that game had to wait. There were more important things to consider.

“She reached over to place a hand onto Peach's. "My friend… if you’re willing to take the risks, then I think you have to do what your heart says.”

Peach looked up in surprise, a wave of relief already shimmering down her entire body.

“You really think it’s alright, then? To give her asylum? Even if it puts the Kingdom at risk?”

She smiled at her friend. “I don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t.”

Peach giggled. “I suppose not, no.”

“Did you really need me to tell you that though?” It seemed to Zelda that her mind was already made up.

Peach considered. “I think I just… needed to know it was okay.”

“Then, even with the risks, I think its okay.”

The two princesses smiled and laughed with each other, a quiet tension evaporating at last. It would be nice, Zelda supposed, to have Samus in the tournament again. Political consequences aside... she just plain liked the woman. She was tough, virtuous, and made the decisions few else could make. How much could things change with someone like her around?

The pieces of the board moved a few spots.

Chapter Text

As she trained her typical routine, the Trainer found herself interrupted frequently. Toads and secretaries and clerks of all measures would race into her room, carrying that strange device in their arms. Each time, the voice of the device changed slightly. The pitch of their voice, the words they chose, and even their names differed drastically between conversations. One time, the object even claimed to be Princess Lucina, who the Trainer had met previously with Peach. The Trainer was beginning to suspect these were different people entirely. The Toads all looked the same, perhaps all these small fellows operated under the same principles.

The conversations were very strange. Lucina, for example, spoke at length about "inspiring troops" and "providing leadership asked about the Trainer's background provided her these things. So, she thought back on her training room. When students looked at her, they could also look at the mirror behind her. She supposed, to the students, the mirror was the background.

"Reflection." She told the Lucina Object. It was the simplest way to describe it.

After a long silence, the device responded. "How incredible... I just need to examine myself in order to give them what they need. Thank you, very much, Miss Traynor."

This was the pattern of several of the conversations with the object. They would ask her questions and she would answer, to the present of her ability.

"Build our core?" said the so-introduced Yoshi object. "Yes, perhaps moving closer to the lake in preparation for the coming drought could help our island. Thank you very much, Miss Traynor."

Even stranger, one deep, serious voice rambled at length in variety of words she didn't know. Not wishing to alarm the client, she quickly said: "Understood."

"Excellent," said the voice. "Continue your operations. Let no one suspect otherwise."

Then the familiar beep of the end of a conversation echoed back through the object. The Trainer almost felt insulted. At least the other voices said goodbye.

 It was in one of these irritating conversations that the voice said something that caught her attention. “Listen, Miss Traynor, I’m sure you’ve given quotes to a lot of people. Why don’t you come down to the studio, talk to us in person?”

“In… person.” How fascinating. Could these devices transform into human beings?

“Yeah! People are eager to meet the latest Smash contestant and friend of the princesses. Getting a look at you and what you’re all about is what folks are really craving these days. And, in all honesty, our planned guest was unable to make it. It would be a great help if you could fill the time.”

“I understand.” She did not understand. But that would be admitting a weakness and it was easier to just repeat what other people said.

“So you’ll meet?”

“Yes. Eager to meet”

“Wonderful! Why don’t you come on down at seven? Its a live program, so we’ll send a car for you at six. That’ll give us plenty of time to prepare”

“Yes. At six.”

“Perfect! See you then!”

There was a familiar click from the device that signaled to the Trainer that the conversation was over.

She was interrupted once again when the smaller hand of the clock had moved past several notches. A Toad arrived and escorted her to the front of the castle. She had yet to visit the Outside again during her stay in the castle and was stunned to see the change of the light. Somehow, the giant light-bulb up in the rafters of the Outside had lowered. As a result, the brightness of the outside had dimmed considerably, the light-bulb sitting comfortably somewhere in the far off distance. She was unclear where, exactly, it was sitting or how it had been moved or even how it was still operable when not hanging in the ceiling.

Before she could ponder these problems, the side of one of the hulking beasts that had hurt her so many weeks ago was opened wide. The Toad gestured to the insides of the beast. She knelt down to look inside, curiously. The beast was empty of any organs. In fact, there seemed to be another couch inside, with just enough room for people to sit inside of it. She looked at the Toad. The Toad smiled. Reluctantly, she stepped into the beast.

The opening was resealed behind her before she could react. A flash of panic overtook her, images of remaining still and slothful forever pounding in her brain. She clawed where the opening once was, only for the beast to lurch forward. She could feel herself lurching along with it. While from the outside the beast appeared impenetrable, she could see the Outside moving past. The beast hummed and shook, but as far as she could tell the digestive process had yet to begin. Perhaps it considered food a waste of time. Some common ground was welcome in the midst of this terror.

After a short period of time, the beast reached to a complete stop once again. The beast’s side was opened again and another face smiled down at her.

“Miss Traynor, right? We’re so glad to have you here.”

She stumbled inelegantly Outside, resting a hand on the side of the beast to balance herself. Across from her was a Toad and an unfamiliar figure sitting perched on what appeared to be a giant puff ball.

“Oh goodness- are you feeling alright? The car ride wasn't bumpy, was it?” The Toad’s face was a perfect picture of concern.

“I am always healthy.”

“Oh, good. We wouldn’t want you to get carsick or anything before the interview.”

“I am never sick.”

“...Golly! Maybe someone else could borrow your health plan, if you aren't using it!”

They moved forward towards the building before the Trainer could do just that. Without much else to do, the Trainer followed them obediently. They pushed through the door, under a giant yellow sign that proudly displayed the “Kingdom News Network” brand.

“Our make-up man can do a few quick touch-ups before you go live-” He glanced over the Trainer again. “Well.. perhaps more than a few touch-ups, but I’m sure he can handle it. And our host, by the way, would be honored to meet you before the show goes on.”

The Trainer glanced at her surroundings, desperately trying to form some sort of impression. Framed pictures scattered the walls, some small bits of text here and there. Lots of people and Toads and floating creatures left and right. She was escorted to a large adjoining office and offered a drink. She refused, of course. Who needed liquids when you had exercise? The Koopa they referred to as the Host emerged quickly, although she was unfamiliar with whatever he hosted. She listened politely to his rambling, nodding every so often when it seemed appropriate.

Eventually, the Host left the room and the Toad and the Make-Up Man returned and placed the Trainer in front of a mirror. Brown powder was sprinkled around her face. Unsure how to react, the Trainer opted to remain completely motionless.

“Have you appeared on television a lot?” asked the Make-Up Man.

What an unusual question. She decided to venture forth with something one of her students had said once. “No. I hear it rots the brain.”

The Make-Up Man and the Toad laughed as they finished their work.

Within minutes, she was once again left alone in a new room. A strange black mirror sat against the wall. In the middle of her examination, it burst to life. She stumbled backward as the sound of cheers and hands hitting hands and stomps of feet echoed around the room. The Host appeared, waving and bowing and generally behaving with a general sense of self-satisfaction. How had he gotten stuck into that tiny thing?

“Host?” She attempted. “Would you like to work on toning your ab muscles?”

The Host failed to respond, so she decided to show him the Jack-Knife regardless.

“First, form a v shape at the first whist-”

“-And what a show we have for you, ladies and gentlemen! Our guests tonight-”

“...Now up and do-”

“Not much is known about this new participant in the tournament, but she seems to be a trusted friend of the Princesses and that’s good enough for us!”

No matter what she said, the Host paid her no mind. They spoke at each other, but they did not talk to each other. The sounds of laughter and applause seemed to approve, however, so the Trainer continued her exercises for their benefit.

“Ma’am?” The Toad reappeared, a puzzled expression on his face. An odd sense of discomfort rumbled in her stomach.

“I was completing my exercises.”

“Oh- how profound! I haven’t seen any celebrities do that!”

“Working at exercise every day will tone your abs.”

The Toad’s eyes were bright with excitement. “Abs?”

Perhaps repeating words was common after all. “Abs.”

“Wow… I’ve never had abs before…” His eyes were lost in a world of possibilities before he shook himself back to form. “A-anyway! Its time to begin!”

Ah, perhaps this little one was who she was supposed to train. She stood up and followed him through several rooms. They reached a heavy curtain and the Trainer could hear the voice of Host yet again.

“Without further ado, let me introduce to you… Miss Traynor!”

The curtains parted slightly and the Trainer was hit with the glare of lights. She squinted through them, stepping out onward into the bright. She could see the audience now, but she couldn’t make out individual faces. The only assurance she had of their presence was the hoops and hollers and claps emanating from beyond the lights. Shapes and bodies moved about in this hulking mass of noise and energy. Strange boxes of metal surrounded the stage, dangling in the air in the hands of the floating turtle men.

To her right was the Host, a bright smile plastered on his face, standing with dignity and poise. Desperate for a somewhat familiar face, she approached him quickly. He offered his hand, as others had before, and she grabbed it and shook it, as others had done before. He seemed pleased with this greeting and sat down in his chair behind the desk. Reluctantly, she imitated the movement, sitting across from him.

“I’m glad to have you with us, Miss Traynor, if I may call you that.”

She completed a nodding exercise. Perhaps this would be a good time for a deep breathing exercise. She couldn’t explain it, but she was suddenly feeling short of breath.

“I’m sure the millions of viewers from Kingdoms around the world are eager to meet you as well.”

She froze mid-breath. “Millions?” Numbers were a concept the Trainer was familiar with. She had once spent a whole studentless day attempting to see how many push-up exercises she could complete. Even she had never managed to reach a million. She couldn't imagine a million people, cramped together in one room.

“That’s right! I’d say our ratings are doing pretty well, all things considered!”

She heard the Host chuckle and the audience laughed with him. She tried to count the voices and while there was certainly a good number of them, there certainly wasn't a million.

The Trainer was suddenly struck with an unusual sensation. A tingling in her brain. As though pieces of an image were clicking together in her mind. A realization. Just moments ago, the Host had appeared on the mirror, talking to her and her alone. The image reflected what she was experiencing now, with a desk and a stage and loud noises aplenty. There was no possibility that the Host could have traveled from the mirror to the stage quick enough to beat her there. The only possible conclusion, no matter how impossible it might seem, is that the black mirror was a way for the Host to appear before the Trainer.

If that was possible, it seemed equally likely that someone else, through the black mirror, was watching the Trainer now as well.

If there was more than one black mirror, more than one person could be watching the Trainer right now.

Millions of persons could be watching the Trainer right now.

The idea of reaching so many students would normally fill the Trainer with glee. Informing proper exercise habits was her entire purpose in life. Yet, somehow, this moment stole away her enthusiasm rather than support it. Thought began to drain from her mind. Her movements, her exercises, all things that were unique to her, no longer felt her own. They were things anyone in this world could observe and take for themselves, without any input from her own hands-on experiences. They would never meet her or learn from her, but they would have that image of her for themselves. Every essence of her, every piece of her, was being taken and lost and absorbed into the world with every second. Her moments in her old gym, transforming into things old and new, suddenly paled in comparison.

What would be left, when all  was stripped away?

The Host was talking again, and the Trainer had to fight and claw her way back into the real world to hear his words.

“-a dangerous injury. But you seem to be in pretty good shape, all things considered.”

“Y-yes.” This she recognized. “It is important to work hard every day to maintain your physical abilities.”

He nodded politely, smile still strong on his face. “Miss Traynor, let’s get to brass tacks here. I want to be perfectly frank.”

She nodded at Perfectly Frank. “I understand.”

“We’ve heard lots of rumors about this year’s Smash tournament. And I understand you were on Princess Peach’s little council of advisers this time. So I ask you: do we really need these tournaments?”

There was silence. She could feel them on her. Crawling on her skin, her brain, her life. Eyes everywhere, eyes watching, waiting, anticipating. All on her.

“I don’t understand.”

Perfectly Frank humphed, eyebrow raised. “It seems to me, and to many of of our viewers, that the Smash project has failed. The universe is just as divided as it is before, if not more so! The Princess’s view, in which she said-” he shuffled through some papers on his desk. “‘Allowing the people of the world to exercise their right to meet new people and show what they’re capable of is the most valuable thing I can offer with our humble tournament.’”

He set down the papers dramatically. “Can you really say that the tournaments are doing anything to better the global political state of affairs?”

That’s right. Exercise. This is what she was here to do. All the eyes on her, with the Board counting on her. The message of fitness had to be spread.

Deep breath exercise. Inhale. Exhale.

“Exercise is essential to the human condition,” she said firmly. “I have spent my entire life focusing on exercising many things. Exercise helps us maintain balance. That balance aids every facet of the body. Without balance, people are unsteady and unhealthy.”

There was a series of claps from the crowd. Then an explosion of applause, followed by a sputtering of boos and hisses. The Trainer glanced around, eyes reaching another mirror, reflecting her own face. It provided her comfort, for a second, seeing her reflection once again, like in her training room. Then the mirror rapidly shifted to show the faces of the audience. Some were pleased, others were insistently angry.

Perfectly Frank waited for the noise to die down, a tinge of frustration on his lips. “Even so, Miss Traynor, that was very well put, but I think the people are tired of being forced to endure such unsavory characters as those residing from Koopa Kingdom or other such countries. Let us not forget, the Galactic Federation’s own candidate, Samus Aran, has become a fugitive from the law. Are these the sort of people we want to be associating with our princesses? This balance, as you’ve so phrased it, hasn’t seemed to have turned up many benefits for ourselves.”

“The body cannot survive, without maintaining balance. While it is important to stretch only as far as you feel comfortable, you still need to stretch every day. Focus on keeping your balance steady.”

Perfectly Frank’s expression of astonishment was lost in the uproarious applause that popped into the air. She could see the shapes of creatures aplenty standing in the audience, clapping their hands together or shouting or whistling or pointing their fingers at her.

Perfectly Frank lifted a hand to calm the crowd before returning to the conversation at hand. He continued to ask some questions about herself, the Princesses, a "tournament," and more about balance. She answered to the best of her knowledge, emphasizing the important of toning each limb to support the whole body. Eventually, Perfectly Frank offered his hand to the Trainer. Understanding the pattern now, she shook it kindly. He squeezed it tight, perhaps tighter than necessary.

“Thank you for coming to talk with us today, Miss Traynor. Your words will be remembered.”

There was another burst of applause and the Trainer was escorted from the stage out through the building. More than a few of the Toads and other creatures who had politely waved at the Trainer upon her arrival turned away from her. Others greeted her even more warmly.

“Oohhhhh wow, I’ve never seen the boss so mad!” The Toad shook her hand wildly, much more frantic but looser than Perfectly Frank. “He was expecting a real pushover I wager- but you really showed him. I can’t wait to see the viewership on this one. Something tells me you’ll be a hit!”

Within minutes, the Trainer was back in the metal beast and returning to Peach’s home. Despite her fear of the metallic monster, she found comfort in its solitude. She could breathe now and reflect on the strangeness of her day. The mirrors. The crowds. The strangely passionate reactions to her fitness advice. The sensations in her stomach and veins when placed in the middle of it all. What could it mean?

This would be the first time the Trainer thought about people as something that existed outside of her fitness lessons. It would also be the first time her own emotional state was something she took the time to consider.

It took significant effort to find a quiet place to land the ship. Peach had sent a limousine for her arrival, deep within the dark forests of the Kingdom. Samus was never one for subtly, but she knew the risks of her presence in Peach’s kingdom. The Galactic Federation would be outraged. They’d wield the entire scope of their army if they thought it wouldn’t endanger their political reputation. Hell, they might call on their alliances to get Fox and his team to drag her down.

But they were the ones who crossed the line. And Samus would put him down, if she needed to. As she had done time and time again.

The drive to Peach’s castle was relatively peaceful as she went over the information she had gathered. Most of it she understood implicitly. She had to keep herself within the castle, she couldn’t go anywhere without protection, she couldn’t antagonize the Federation officials too much. Standard asylum protection.

The mystery to Samus was this Traynor woman. She had never heard of the woman before yet she appeared to be a trusted friend of the Princess, especially if they were to attend the Smash opening reception together. Yet she wasn’t provided with much information about her. The photos of the woman suggested a calm, detached demeanor. Her face was without expression, perhaps lost in thought.

It seemed to the bounty hunter that, perhaps, the woman had seen enough strange sights in the universe that little managed to faze her. It was a sensation Samus understand all too well.

She brushed these thoughts aside. There was no use theorizing before she met the woman herself. And there was business to attend to. She would just have to judge Traynor herself when the time came.

Mona often worked until she could no longer concentrate, then flopped onto her bed to drift away to slumber. There wasn’t enough time at the Wario building to complete her work there, especially when Ashley was so insistent on not doing work of any kind. This particular evening was no different. She tossed her jacket on a chair, changing from her dress to her sleepwear. With the push of a button, her television flickered on. She needed the noise to fall asleep, a habit picked up from a variety of city experiences, including taking catnaps backstage during her rock band days.

The program was some sort of commentary about the Smash tournament and the speech from the Princess. Mona was a big fan of the tournaments. The excitement and energy of the battles amped up her excitement to the max. Yet even she had began to feel cynical. She couldn’t see much improvement on the political scene from these events. Kidnappings progressed just as regularly as before, no matter how many kart races and sports tournaments the Princess organized. The other kingdoms and space groups seemed to prefer to keep their lives separate rather than indulge themselves in the affairs of their neighbors.

Nonetheless. It would still be really cool to be accepted. Even now, knowing how greedy Wario could be, it was hard not see the style and success her boss managed to cultivate with his brand thanks to the tournaments.

The host of the talk show, whose name escaped her, introduced a Miss Traynor. The addition of Miss was surely a form of politeness, but Mona had never understood the necessity among people to add more names and titles to things. Last names were a thing Mona couldn’t see a use for her in day-to-day life.

The guest was sitting across from the host now. The image was sharp and the color faithful. But even before that full face materialized clearly on the screen, Mona felt that she had seen this woman before somewhere. Perhaps she had been another program, another talking head that appeared on every network and channel to promote her own brand, where restless cameras showed every angle of a person’s head and body? There was something so acutely familiar about the woman.

She was so absorbed in trying to remember if and when she had ever seen the woman that she completely missed what Traynor said and what it was exactly that sparked such a loud response from the audience. This particular host on the KNN was known for some anti-Princess views, but the tickets to live shows were relatively cheap. There was no was of determining which way the crowd was leaning today.

Traynor’s segment ended before Mona could ascertain anything about what the woman had said and her focus was slipping when the second guest arrived. Another diplomat or fighter of some kind from another kingdom. His features certainly resembled Princess Lucina's kind of people. Mike or something along those lines.

“She certainly seemed to know her stuff,” the guest nodded. “She doesn’t mince her words like other fighters I’ve met. The tournament needs down-to-earth people like her. Royals will certainly benefit from the new perspective.”

“A simple view, from a mercenary. Is she really all that different?” The host retorted. “It seems to be she’s just saying what they want to hear.”

“Which just so happens to be what you don’t want to hear.”

The crowd whooped and hollered again. Mona allowed her eyes to close. It was late and she was tired and the mystery of this Traynor woman could wait for later. She doubted it was of much importance. If she did know this Traynor, she couldn’t imagine it would be something that effect all that much.

How many ripples could one person make, at the end of the day?

The Trainer stared at the mirror. She had never paid it much heed before. It sat on the wall of a tiled room that had been to directed to the Trainer as "bathroom for when you need it." She had yet to need the bathroom.

Yet now here she was, staring at her reflection, checking to make sure all of her was still there. Nothing had been stolen after all. People all over had seen her and she had not seen them. But she still had herself. She wasn't sure she felt like she had all of herself, but physically she was the same. And the physical body was what truly mattered in the end.

Still, she maintained her examination for several minutes, watching for any cracks or changes between herself and the reflection. Everything was fine. Her balance was maintained. She was still herself.

She nodded to her reflection. The reflection nodded back.

"I am still Mii."

The issue now was believing it.

Chapter Text

It was Thursday. Dr. Toadley had recommended staying in bed for eight hours every night. The Trainer didn't really understand his reasons, but it seemed to please the Princess to obey his wishes. So the Trainer had spent every night doing so, staring at the ceiling patiently until the eight hours were fulfilled. Today, however, she could hear the sounds of Toads racing around eagerly from room to room. She felt reasonably safe emerging from her sheets earlier than usual today. As she strolled through the corridors, they would stop to greet her warmly.

“That was a very fine speech you made, Miss Traynor,” said one Toad on the stairs.

Another opened a door for her. “Thank you, Miss Traynor. Just thank you from a simple Toad who’s seen a lot!”

On her usual walk around the castle, she was stopped by an older Toad. He was often by the Princess’s side. Today, she could feel warmth from beneath his bushy mustache.  “That was a truly a remarkable performance, ma’am. I have never seen anyone more at ease or truer to herself. Thank goodness we still have people like you in this country.” He coughed into a piece of cloth. “Oh, by the way, the Princess would like to see you. She absolutely loved your speech today and wanted to talk with you in private.”

The Trainer estimated the difference in distance between the room and the Princess’s office and concluded it be easier to visit with her now, rather than later. She diverted her route through the castle and entered the office without any trouble.

The Princess was practically buried under piles of papers, signing document after document, again and again. She glanced up from her work at the Trainer. Her entire head soon followed the direction of the eyes to treat the Trainer with a beaming smile. With a speed the Trainer had to admire, she quickly stood to meet her guest.

“Traynor! Oh, you were absolutely wonderful last night.” She wrapped her arms around the Trainer, much to her confusion. She had never seen an exercise such as this. It didn’t appear to be very efficient. In fact, it restricted movement. She attempted to mimic the movement, but still found the whole procedure unsatisfying.

“I did nothing.” It was important the Princess know how limiting this whole exercise was.

“Oh, you did much more than you know.” She pulled away, still smiling her kind smile. “You have a rare gift, Traynor. You’re a natural. I wish I had your talent for it. I never seem to know the right thing to say.”

“Strength requires consistent training. It comes naturally to everyone if you do it every day.”

“You really think so?” She pulled back further and tilted her head, the smile more doubtful but pleased nonetheless. “I suppose I do work every day but... it never feels quite enough.”

Trainer was surprised. She had no idea the Princess exercised daily as well. And she still didn’t think that was enough? That was something to be truly admired.

“Be sure not to overexert yourself. Only stretch as far as you are comfortable.” It wasn't something she said often to students purposefully. She had to say it every now and then due to "health regulations" but she didn't enjoy it.

Yet somehow, the Princess’s smile grew even wider. “Oh, Traynor. You really are the kindest, most upstanding friend I’ve ever met.”

The Trainer’s brow furrowed. The Princess had used this word before. The definition still eluded her.

“I am a friend?”

“Of course! You’ve been nothing but incredibly kind and helpful to me. I truly value your presence these days.”

The Trainer felt a strange sense of pride at these words. Well, if being a friend meant being helpful and valued, she liked the idea. Her stomach felt lighter already.

“In any case, I have a favor to ask.” She strolled over to her desk, picking up a stack of papers. “A good friend of mine, well, she’s in… some trouble. She’ll be arriving at the Smash reception this evening and her presence might be… controversial.”

There was a silence, and the Trainer realized the Princess was expecting a response. She completed a nodding exercise, which seemed to suit her needs.

“I’m worried that people might think… well, I don’t want to appear to upset the balance, as you’ve said. Would you mind escorting her this evening?”

The Trainer nodded quickly, agreement more intentional this time. “Of course. Maintaining balance is all of our responsibilities.”

The Princess's smile glowed. Then, she bit the inside of her lip, grin flipping downward.

“Traynor… I hope its not forward, but you don’t often talk about yourself. I appreciate if you feel you have to repay me but… I don't want to force you. Are you really alright helping me?”

The Trainer had never been asked a question such as this before. She had never even thought it a question worth considering. What did emotions have to do with fitness?

But it was something that appeared to be weighing on the Princess. And weight needed to be removed in the long-term. So she forced herself to consider it.

“I am… happy… to help.” The words strained out of her lips, entire body scrambling to force them back down inside. But it seemed to please the Princess. The two of them relaxed, regarding the other with respect.

“Thank you, Traynor. I’m glad I can count on you.”

They paid their regards and said goodbye. The Trainer returned to her walk, feeling… feelings. And for the moment, she didn't particularly mind them.

The opening ceremonies kicked off with a successful display from each of the participating arrivals. Each country or territory that wanted to could add an enormous float to a lengthy parade procession. The floats were astounding, highlighting the locations of most value and importance to the participating fighter. If the floats were secure enough, they would often be reused as arenas during the tournament to come.

Some fighters chose a large, sprawling castle, the center of their country’s culture and government. Some chose small streets or neighborhoods from their hometowns. Some chose arenas and boxing rings, from their other tournaments of note. Some chose beautiful islands or stunning hills and natural sights. Some chose blank, featureless parades with a few hovering platforms, pits, or other fighting hazards of note.

It was hard to deny the appeal of seeing something that symbolized what fighters saw important in this stage of their life.

No one quite understood the selection of Traynor. A fitness room seemed rather simplistic. But it seemed to meet the approval of old timers such as Game and Watch. It was nice to her to appeal to the older generation with a new, modern style. Within a few days, information would leak from anonymous sources that even getting this much information from the mysterious Traynor took days of effort and prying. She really did seem like a thoughtful. secretive person.

Whatever the reasons, this year’s floats were largely approved of by the populace. And the Trainer’s popularity increased once more.

Most of the public conversation regarding the floats, however, vanished quickly. Samus Aran’s surprise appearance at the festivities was quickly taking the news cycle by storm.

Samus had to leave the proceedings as soon as they were complete in order to avoid an immediate confrontation with the Federation representative. Their competitor didn’t make an appearance, of course, hidden away in some cage in a transport ship. The only thing comfort to Samus is that her replacement fighter was surely as angry as she was about the current state of affairs.

An odd, pale woman was already waiting by the car when she arrived. She was regarding the car curiously, although Samus could not decipher why.

“Something wrong?” The woman turned in surprise at the bounty hunter’s words, before treating her with a soft smile.

“Good evening. Ready to work out today?”

This was not the first greeting she expected. “Beg pardon?”

“We have a lot of work to complete before the day is through.”

Oh, of course. She must be referring to the stress that this opening dinner was sure to be.

“You got that right. Its going to be… strenuous.”

The woman tilted her head, still smiling. “It can be difficult. But that’s why it is important to complete.”

Samus took a moment to regard the woman carefully. Few people took the time to consider their words so precisely before speaking. Yet this woman's words held a strange power almost immediately. Direct. Confident. Clear.

“I suppose you’re right. I don’t believe I caught your name, Miss..?”

“Trainer.”

Oh right, the Traynor girl. “Right, right, Peach told me about me about you. I’m Samus Aran.”

Traynor smiled and nodded. “It is good to see you here today.”

“Pleasure to meet you too. Should we get going?”

The two entered the vehicle quickly. Within moments, it puttered to life and they bumped down the smooth, paved streets of the Kingdom.

Samus rested her chin in her palm, watching the buildings and people speed by. The occasional paparazzi did their best to keep pace with the limo, hoping to catch of the glimpse of the famed bounty hunter.

She paid them little mind. Her thoughts were already focused on her travel companion. She hadn’t encountered anyone in years who didn’t spend a few moments fawning over her reputation. She supposed Traynor was used to celebrity if she was close friends with Peach. Samus was struck by a sense of relief. She had forgotten how many refreshingly straight-forward tournament people were.

She peeked over at the other woman. Traynor was laser-focused on the passing buildings. She hadn't seen anyone so interested in a city for a while.

"See anything interesting?"

The pale woman turned in surprise, before offering a polite smile. "It is nice to see so many people excited for exercise."

Samus turned to look back outside. Among the media were eager tournament fans, thrilled for the start of the festivities. She could make out a few children sitting on the shoulders of their parents, lights glowing in their eyes. She had almost forgotten that delight on people's faces.

The bounty hunter leaned back into her seat, smiling. "You're right. Its a pretty welcome sight."

"Your legs are shaking." Said as a statement of fact, a simple observation. Her face and features utterly pleasant and unchanged. She said it so easily, Samus almost didn't process it as a non sequitur.

"I..." She looked down to find the woman was correct again. Samus hadn't even noticed. She steadied herself, bringing them into a firm position. "Sorry- I hope it wasn't troubling you."

"Not at all. A strong balance is hard to maintain."

Balance..? Yes, Samus supposed it was difficult to stay balanced. How could it not be? In the past year alone, she'd been labelled a "traitor" to the Federation and forced on the run. That wasn't even getting into her life before. Space pirates, illegal lab experimentation, destruction after destruction of innocent homes... keeping in mind the lessons of the Chozo was only getting harder and harder with each mercenary engagement. The stress tugged away at the light and strength within her.

She had never met someone who ever brought up the concept of balance so openly. She wondered if Traynor was familiar with Chozo teachings.

“I think everyone has trouble balancing themselves. The universe can be…" She sighed wearily. "Cruel. And we all have to deal from that from time to time. Keeping ourselves ‘balanced’ between what’s right and what’s wrong... It’s hard, figuring that out. But its worth it.”

Her companion's eyebrows went up, blinking in surprise. A wave of shame washed over her. This was why she spent all her time in space to begin with. She never knew what was too much or too little to say.

"That was, erm... probably a bit too much for a first meeting, hm?"

"Its interesting." Traynor gazed at the hunter curiously. "Tell me more about your balance."

The Trainer and Samus arrived at the main Smash building within the hour. They were greeted by a variety of guests, officials, journalists, and diplomats of all sorts. They were escorted to one of the private tables, separated from the non-fighters, although there was certainly space to mingle. It soon became clear to Samus that all eyes in the room were on them. A fugitive and a mysterious new political figure… there were certainly things to talk about.

Peach and Daisy were ready for their arrival and quickly accompanied them to their table. “I hope the paparazzi haven’t been too stressful?”

“No, no, the drive was peaceful enough. Traynor was nice enough to distract me on the way.” She checked briefly on Traynor, who had been whisked into a conversation with a young squid girl, before pulling Peach aside. “You said you ran over her?”

Peach huffed, a sheepish look on her face. “Unfortunately, I told my Toad to hurry that day. Luckily nothing was broken, but she was bed-ridden for several weeks.”

“She’s fascinating. I wasn't expecting much but... she's got a hell of a mind.”

Peach pursed her lips at the language but shook her head. Best to let it slide. “She always seems to say what people need to hear.”

“That’s an understatement. Is she spiritual?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“She asked me about my balance. It really caught me off-guard. I barely remember what I said, but... it seemed to interest her.”

Peach nodded in understanding. “She really does preoccupied with how other people feel. She’s so refreshing.”

“I’m glad you put your trust in her. I feel safer with her here already.”

“Miss Trainer, yes?” A man with the orange beard took a seat next to the fitness enthusiast, smiling a large smile. The Trainer blinked in surprise, her view cut off from the young girl she had been conversing with. The girl peeked her head out from behind the new arrival, glaring in annoyance. The Trainer wasn’t super cognizant of most rules of politeness, but it did seem rude to cut off a conversation like that.

“Hello there.”

He offered a large hand. “A pleasure to meet you. I am the King of the Gerudo. Lord Ganondorf.”

Having mastered this rule of the world, the Trainer quickly shook his hand. She was surprised by his firm grasp. She was further surprised when he drew her in closer towards him and whispered in her ear. "Master command: report findings. Remain in social mode."

He pulled back once more and stared at her expectantly. Unsure of what else to say, the Trainer decided that perhaps he wanted to know about his health. The Board usually handled more complete evaluations, but she could fill in with small observations.

“You’ve got amazing ab strength. You’re pretty strong, aren’t you?”

He blinked in surprise before quickly regaining composure, smiling and eyeing to see if there were any listeners. “You’re very kind.”

“Unlike some people,” mumbled the girl behind the king. Yet he paid her little heed.

“I’m sorry we didn’t meet sooner. I saw you on the news and must say that I was very interested in your down-to-earth philosophy. I’m not surprised it was so quickly endorsed by the Princess.” He drew his chair closer. “Tell me, Miss Trainer, how is the Princess doing?”

Once again unsure to which one he referred, the Trainer opted for: “Very well. Her balance is incredible.”

“So I understand, so I’ve heard.” He did not seem particularly pleased with the fact, leaning forward once more. “We should speak privately, I think. I want to be perfectly candid with you.”

The Trainer nodded at Perfectly Candid. If he wished to change his name, who was she to judge? 

Just as Ganondorf rose to lead her to a private area,  a large turtle like creature crashed right into the table next to them. The table toppled to the ground, plates crashing into pieces.

Bowser's gate crashing had lost its appeal many years ago. Ganondorf pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did all his alliances have to be full of such utter imbeciles?

The Trainer observed the proceedings carefully, unsure how to respond to the burst of all this enthusiasm. She decided to wait patiently, for a few minutes, before taking a chance to politely depart. This Candid was... a strange one. But she couldn't see a reason to deny his request to meet for a private session at some point. Besides, how could a man as fit as Candid ever be anything less than an upstanding member of this outside world?

As these events proceeded, a princess and her personal knight sipped drinks from across the room. They took in the dramatics at the villains table, carefully analyzing every movement made, every potential sign of an oncoming threat.

“Its her. She's exactly who we thought she was.” A fact. Zelda didn’t voice her suspicions until she was absolutely certain in the validity of her statement.

The knight nodded. He nodded to most things. He would agree to anything Zelda said to him.

“The question is how much she knows. If she's his eyes and ears on the inside of the castle... She could tell him all sorts of things.”

The knight’s hand was already on his sword, but Zelda quickly placed her hand on his.

“No, Link, we need to know more. Besides, you can’t just attack people in public.”

Link didn’t understand the issue. But it mattered little to him whether he attacked Ganon or the Trainer now or later. He could wait.

Zelda knew this about Link, although for once she wasn’t sure how. She was adept at understanding most people, but Link in particular she always had an inkling for how he thought.

Wisdom told her that she was needed elsewhere. Diplomatic duties.

“Keep an eye on her. Get close, if you can- not right away, but slowly. We don’t want to make ourselves too noticeable. We might have a chance to refit her programming back to normal.”

He nodded. It didn’t matter to him whether he became noticeable. A lot of things didn’t really matter to him. But Zelda asked for it, so he would do so.

It was easy to do things without question when you lacked the fear of consequences that might result.

In the hubbub of the evil kings and one perplexed Trainer, no one noticed the Inkling scuttle off across the room. It was fine enough with the hot new excitement that was the Traynor, but the Inkling couldn’t handle be near all those un-fresh weirdos all at once. I'll just have to get a selfie with her later. 

Her eyes trailed across the room, gazing for other potentially exciting fighters to chill with. The Princesses might be interesting but they were also so last year. The Pokemon were always a hot commodity, but she wasn’t entirely sure what they ate. She would hate to be on that menu. It seemed like the best option was to find a table of new fighters to hang with. They were newsworthy and exciting. That would up her freshness for sure.

And, if she was being honest, that dog girl was pretty cute.

She quickly hopped up into a chair next to her and the blondie, trying to make the movement look as stylish as possible. “Heya. You guys staying fresh?”

Blondie raised an eyebrow in bemusement. “As fresh as one of the recently living can be.”

“I hope so!” The dog smiled, wagging her tail happily. “I picked my best outfit for this day. I don’t stand out, do I?”

The Inkling glanced over the ensemble. It was… pretty geeky. Plaid was like the opposite of fresh.

“You do, yeah.”

“Wha?!” Inkling’s heart broke immediately as tears started to drip down the dog’s face.

“Fear not, Isabelle! It is a… good standing out! The standing out that would be the envy of nations!”

“You really think so?”

“Most certainly!”

The dog’s features relaxed and the smile returned to her face. Satisfied, the Blondie turned his attention back to the squid. “Tell me, little one, who was that woman you were previously engaged with in conversation?”

“Traynor? Oh, she’s a real popular figure right now. Her freshness is out of the park. If you want more points, you should totally go talk to her.”

“Hmph." Blondie crossed his arms warily fixing the Traynor party with a stern glare. "I do not think I like the company she’s keeping.”

“I getcha. They’re pretty lame.”

“They are downright villainous. I can see the aura of evil surrounding them. I fear that she may be precisely the prey I have been seeking.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true, Mr. Belmont!” The dog quickly waved her paws in blondie’s direction to calm him down. “She said all sorts of nice things on the news recently!”

Simon grimaced, crossing his arms. “Dracula and his ilk are all too talented at deception. If she is seducing the populace to fall under her control, I shall have to stop her.”

This was… super unfresh. “I don’t think that would go over well.”

“She’s right! You have to get to know a person before you make decisions like that.”

“That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” It was a new voice. A gruff voice. The trio turned to see a single light flicker and vanish from the shadows. Slowly, a cigarette emerged, followed by the man holding it in between his teeth.

“No one knows quite anything about this ‘Traynor’ character… do they?”

Simon stood up warily, hand reaching for a sword that Isabelle frantically tried to put back away. “And who might you be, eavesdropping from dark corners?”

“He’s Solid Snake.” The Inkling leaned back in her chair. “Big shot military guy. Destroyed some terrorist. Was pretty legendary for a while. Kind of an anti-authority hero for the 90s. Now he’s just old news.”

Snake glared at the teenager. That was a hit to his psyche. “And you’re one of the inklings. Always chasing the latest fads, forget the history behind it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Smoke exhaled from his lips. “People like this Traynor woman don’t just show up without any background in that powerful a position unless they’ve got big friends and something to hide.”

“Hey, there’s no smoking indoors!” Isabelle quickly jumped up and snatched the cigarette from his hands and throwing it to the ground, stomping it under her heel. Snake could only stare in absolute bafflement. Hi huskies never stole his smokes before. This was new territory.

Luckily, the Inkling was a distraction. “So what? Why does it matter where she came from?”

“Quite simple, little one.” Simon’s fist met the table. “If she has ill intentions, it is our duty as appointed fighters to halt her machinations before they begin.”

“Something like that.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone though…”

“And she’s fresh right now. That’d be ranking suicide.”

“Obviously, no one’s hurting anyone.” Snake fiddled with his box of smokes and Isabelle fiddled with trying to take them away. “I’m just looking for more information. If anyone else is as curious as I am, I’m sure we could all benefit from trying to learn more.”

Isabelle frowned. “Like spying? That’s not very nice…”

“Learning. Someone could get close to her. Ask her questions. Gain knowledge.”

That finally grabbed the Inkling’s attention. “Ooooooh, me me me me me! I can get close to famous people, no problem!”

Snake smirked. “Then that’s your assignment, kid. Anyone else interested?”

And so yet another group formed to learn more about the mysterious Traynor.

Little Mac considered himself a pretty down-to-earth guy. He was excited to join the tournament and prove himself among all these experienced brawlers. But he wasn't particularly comfortable in this kind of environment. He was always better in the ring than in these kind of social, diplomatic scenes.

Ike also considered himself a pretty down-to-Earth guy. He didn't have much time for the excesses of royalty and the other high-class contestants. He was born a mercenary and he always would be a mercenary. Walking around with all these fancy sorts playing fighter wasn’t his particular jive.

It was natural, in many ways, for these two gentlemen to get along with each other.

“No, really, it could have gone either way.”

Ike tilted a glass towards the boxer, shaking his head emphatically.

“Please. I appreciate your modesty, but you completely destroyed Glass Joe. As every competitor has for years.”

Mac failed to stifled a grin behind a serious look. “I’m sure he’s got a comeback coming, man. Give him some slack.”

“He can do it!” The screech was so high-pitched it startled the men, having nearly forgotten the additional competitors at the table.

“He can do it!” screeched another, somehow higher, voice.

“He can do it!” screeched the mercifully lower third voice.

Their other dinner companions were much less easy to get along with.

It wasn’t as though they were bad people, per se. The two men just weren’t sure if they were… people. They smiled constantly, but their smiles failed to reach past their noses. Were those noses? Their eyes seemed dead and blank. The shape of their heads were perfect ovals, barring slight deviations. And when they spoke, their voices were high-pitched and nigh-unintelligible.

It was hard to ignore them, despite how hard the fighters were trying to.

Mac fumbled for a moment before trying to regain the conversation. “Y-yeah. People used to say I had no chance of beating anyone. If I can become the champ, maybe he can too.”

“You’re too kind. He has yet to win more than a single match in thirty years.”

“But he keeps going. You can’t deny he’s got determination to spare.”

“To spare!”

“Lots of determination!”

“He keeps going!”

Another silence enveloped the table.

Ike poured himself a drink, eyeing the other figures. “And you three. Tell me about yourselves. What brings you to the tournament?”

The low-pitched one in the blue shirt. “I’m Mii!”

The the high-pitched second in the yellow. “Mii too!”

The middle-pitched third in the red. “Don’t forget Mii!”

Ike handed the bottle to Mac, who seemed eager to pour his own glass. “Yeah, but uh… Where are you from? How’d ya get into the tournament?”

“Here to fight!”

“Ready to have fun!”

“Boogie down!”

Mac and Ike shot glances at each other and silently downed their drinks.

And the Miis simply smiled.

The celebrations ended before long and the Trainer and Samus Aran were among the first to leave. They never were much for conversation. The two women returned to Peach’s castle, bidding each other farewell, and departed to their respective rooms.

Samus knew tomorrow would be difficult. The Galactic Federation ambassador had not appeared at the ceremonies. They would undoubtly file a protest and demand the Princess return Samus to their jurisdiction. Yet, somehow, she felt hopeful. There were people here she could trust, for once. People who would listen to the threat the Federation’s new competitor posed to the galaxy, much less the tournament. For the first time in months, she could rest easy.

In her own room, The Trainer found herself reflecting on all the people she had met, particularly Samus Aran. Their conversation in the car had been absolutely fascinating. They had discussed balance and stability and all those important things. But the way Samus discussed those topics was so fundamentally different from anything the Trainer had heard before. The Trainer had never considered balance to be something independent of the body. The concept of an inner balance was… novel. She had to admit, she didn’t feel very balanced in this outside world. More and more, it was starting to feel less like the world was wrong and that there was something wrong with her . She felt…

Well, that was something in itself. She was feeling things. She wasn’t sure precisely what she was feeling. She was too unfamiliar with feelings to really understand the precise nuances of them. She supposed she felt… like she was failing the Wii Fit Center. That their noble mission was failing thanks to her. But she also felt like she was always a few steps behind of everyone else. The world moved so quickly and it was hard not to feel overwhelmed by it all. To feel stupid surrounded by things she didn’t understand. But she was learning new things, fascinating things. And perhaps, somehow, learning more would help her find new ways to spread fitness across this land.

But was she learning the right things? Or was she just getting distracted by the decadence of unfit society? Her stomach was tying itself into knots over all these new decisions plaguing her. She had never had to think this way before and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

...Perhaps it was time to reopen her training sessions. Get back to what she understood. And from there… everything would become clear yet again. Yes, she nodded to herself. This would be the best way to resume the Balance Board’s mission.

Soon she would feel like who she was supposed to be again.

Confident again in her normality, the Trainer slipped under the covers her bed and stared at the ceiling for the appropriate number of hours.

Mr. Carpainter, broadly speaking, was in quite a bit of legal trouble.

When he founded the Church of Happy Happyism, success seemed to finally drop in his lap. Donations were plentiful. Followers were constantly increasing. His ex-wife was convinced to come back. These were the sorts of joys that could spread once someone embraced the color blue. If he could paint everything blue, then his life would just get better and better.

Then some plucky kids had exposed some “evidence” of “kidnapping.” And then his ex reported to the courts that his followers had “threatened” her to “return or else.” And further investigation revealed that his congregation may have “stalked” and “assaulted” individuals who refused to donate.

Was it a crime to have a passionate flock?

In Eagleland, yes.

Thus, he was forced to flee the country. Minch industries provided some measure of support, but their funds were paltry compared to the lifestyle he was used to.

In his dingy motel room, Carpainter could only lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling. It was like the old days, before the Mani Mani Statue. He was lost, directionless. He used to find blue such a comforting color. It filled him with a sense of peace and tranquility. It would stare back into him and fill his soul with perfect, overwhelming hues. 

The TV blasted the latest tournament. The stupid quiet boy in a hat was there, baseball bat in hand, heart bursting with passion. The cult leader tossed a stale bagel at the screen, cursing under his breath. 

And then he saw it.

That new arena stage.

Her walls were bland, empty. Not a touch of color tainted its walls. It was a simplistic gym, but in its emptiness one could be soothed into an identity free of pain or sorrow.

And the woman. Just as pale as her room, hair just as gray. She was empty. She was blank.

She was beautiful.

She was Gray.

It was so clear now, his folly. Blue was not the answer. Gray was the answer. Painting the world in garish colors- that only brought suffering. But Gray was a blank slate. It was uniform. It erased all biases, all flaws. It was everything a society should be.

And thus, Happy Happyism was reborn.

As the final guests parted to their respective hotels and the paparazzi vanished, three fighters in particular paused in the middle of the sidewalk. They turned, in unison, towards the embassy of the Galactic Federation. They stared at it for several moments before turning to look at the other fighters. It was important to follow what the others were doing.

No one else noticed a thing. 

Satisfied, two of the fighters continued their passionate conversation. If no one else had heard it, it must not be important. It might not have even happened at all.

"Fun time all around!" said the Mii Brawler.

"Great dancing!" agreed the Mii Swordfighter.

"Boogie down!"

The final of the Miis did not follow her compatriots or continue with the conversation. She stared after them momentarily as they disappeared into the hotel. 

Then the Mii Gunner crossed the street and stepped inside the Federation building.

Chapter Text

One of the toads was the first to greet her in the morning. “Ma’am, I’ve just seen this morning’s papers! You’re in every one of them and the photographs are stunning! You’re the talk of the town!”

The Trainer nodded politely, privately considering what sort of shape a talk could be. Perhaps she could incorporate it into her exercises.

“They’re all asking for an interview- or another television appearance!”

The Trainer thought back to her interview with the black mirrors and the millions of eyes that were on her. It came easier than usual, in that moment, to use her own words. “Maybe later.”

“You got it, boss!” The Toad tottled towards the door before stopping. “Oh! Before I forget, the tours of the Smash tournament facilities will be this afternoon. Be sure to be ready!”

The Trainer nodded once again, quickly returning to her exercises. There was so much work to be done.

The Ambassador of the Galactic Federation was furious. The moment he returned to his office, he flung papers about and toppled over the lamp on his desk. His poor clerks cowered in their chair in the hall outside.

The meeting with Princess Peach had gone exceptionally poorly.

The Ambassador was used to getting what he wanted. He was born to a politician who worked closely with the Council. As a child, he had access to all the things in the world he wanted. He learned how to grease the political wheels of the system and keep things treading his direction. He had, in his own way, admired Samus Aran and her ilk. Bounty hunters who stood by the side of the Federation against the menace of the Space Pirates were worth admiring.

He, and many others, felt personally betrayed when Aran destroyed the BSL station. He couldn’t understand why Aran would destroy a valuable weapon to be used against those who would hurt the Federation.

As such, perhaps he had let his anger spill through during the course of the diplomatic meeting.

He began by calmly explaining the concerns of the Federation and request Aran be turned over to the Federation post-haste. He appealed to her sense of law and order.

The Princess disagreed. “I just don’t think I could turn over a civilian who requested asylum who hasn’t hurting an innocent soul.”

Second, the Ambassador began to ask what the Princess wanted in return for Aran. He understood the political game. Everyone wanted something.

But the Princess didn't follow the rules. “There’s nothing you could give me that would convince me to betray a friend. I hope you can forgive me.”

That was the point where he snapped. He accused the Princess of subverting Galactic peace and sabotaging the Federation by allying herself with terrorists and villains. The Federation would not let this stand, you blonde bimbo.

The most frightening thing about the Princess was how calm she was at his less than polite display. She let him bluster and hiss and wail for as long as he pleased before calmly standing to her feet.

“I think that’s the end of our conversation, Ambassador. If I may offer some advice my good friend Traynor offered me: proper exercise is essential to further development and personal happiness. Now, I am going to exercise my right to forget your behavior today, in the interest of our diplomatic relations. I hope you will do the same.”

The Ambassador hadn’t been scolded since he was a child. It was sobering and infuriating all at once.

As soon as he reached some level of calm, he called in his secretary, his clerks, and his bodyguards. When they entered, he was already pouring over every scrap of footage the journalists had captured of the notorious bounty hunter.

“I want eyes on Aran at all hours. I want eyes on everyone she talks to, every place she goes to, I want eyes on anything her breath has been close to, and I want it now.”

As his workers scuttled about, the Ambassador’s eyes focused on a single pale woman, smiling next to Aran as they exited their limousine.

He quickly wrote a single word on his notepad: Traynor?

Many of the established veterans chose to avoid the tour this particular year. It largely covered the same beats as always. Here were the restrooms, here were the bunk beds for those who wanted to rest between rounds. Here were the lockers, here was the arenas, etc etc.

The newcomers were amazed and astonished by the sights before them. Few had experienced such elaborate facilities. The fighters gawked and delighted in the tools and luxuries afforded to them. Isabelle hopped up and down hopelessly attempting to reach a locker before Little Mac gave her a hand. The veteran hedgehog hopped into a bunk to nap, quickly imitated by the Inkling and the Miis. Incineroar fiddled with the ropes of one arena, practicing his boasting and gusto that would suit his performance during the tournament. The veterans that were present laughed among themselves at the antics.

Several of them kept their distance from one Samus Aran.

She wasn’t surprised, really. Being on the run from the government changed things. Who wouldn’t think differently about a friend after they’ve decimated a research station?

The galactic politics were tense. Fox and Falco in particular had their own obligations to fulfill to the Corneria Defense System. Wolf, naturally, was probably wondering how he could capture her and send her to the Federation for the hefty price. Olimar was beholden to his company’s interests. Falcon was his own man and one who hadn’t bothered to worry about someone tracing his calls to her. He was also a man who wanted rocket boots, but not enough to sell someone out for them. The Dreamlanders… well, they didn’t care what anyone did as long as they weren’t threatened. There was almost something comforting knowing Dedede's gruffness was typical.

Then there were the Earthers. The Eagleland children probably only heard whatever their parents heard, so who knows where they stood. The climbers wouldn’t care much. Sonic definitely wouldn’t care but they weren’t that close to begin with. Various royals would keep their distance. Snake would probably throw her a party, if parties were the sort of thing he had the patience for. Pikachu…

She had a feeling there was a reason the Pokemon Trainer wasn’t at this tour.

That left the newcomers. She didn’t know any of them enough to judge their feelings on the matter. Would they resent her for taking the spotlight? Or were they the more patriotic sort who considered any kind of resistance improper?

As the tour drifted onward, she couldn’t help but feel isolated. Sure, she spent months alone in the vacuum of space with only the occasional message from allies. That was nothing. It was the feeling of loneliness in a crowd that hurt. It stung a special sting that told you people vastly preferred it when you were far far away.

Looking around at the crowd, she was suddenly struck by a curious thought.

“Has anyone seen Traynor?”

The crowd of eyes turned on her before turning to look among themselves.

“She was here a moment ago,” pondered the boxer.

“Ah, you don’t think she got lost, do you?” worried the dog.

“Lost!” Everyone winced as the Miis chirped up.

“Took a wrong turn!”

“Boogie down!”

The Toad leading the charge quickly put up her hands. “Don’t worry everyone, she could just be following behind. I’ll send someone to go find her.”

“I can go look for her.” Eyes swiveled back to Samus. “I’ve been on this tour before, after all.”

The Toad hesitated. “Does anyone want to go with her?”

There was silence.

Samus steeled herself to take the journey alone. It didn’t bother her. It was just how things had to be.

Then the jingle of bells as the dog hopped from the middle of the crowd. “I could help!”

Mona sighed as she slipped another document into another envelope on another day.

It wasn’t that WarioWare was a boring job or a bad place to work. Well, no, it was a horrendous place to work under an absolutely greedy tyrant. But it wasn’t boring. Mona couldn’t stand boring.

The issue was that the excitement… wasn’t the same as it was before. She used to lead bands and motorcycle around town. She used to be at every dance club and dressed at the height of fashion.

Now she drove a car, wore suits, and got her thrills from earning the company more money.

She leaned into her hand, blowing hair out of her face. Where had it all changed? She used to be so… was perky the right word? Irrevent, maybe. Just more wild, less routine. She still lived fast paced and curveballs still went her way. WarioWare Insurance kept her busy enough in the day to day with sudden attacks from villains to manage and finagle the finances of. The tech division was developing all sorts of exciting new properties with applications that made her laugh and gasp. She wasn’t bored. She wasn’t unhappy. It was just… routine.

She pushed herself out of her chair and made her way to the coffee in the lobby. The sweet dark nectar poured into a little paper cup. Steam wafted upwards as she stirred it about, hoping to cool off the concoction. It was cheap and bitter, much like the boss, but it kept the senses moving.

That was the true mark she had lost her way. She was excited about coffee.

The job just wasn’t quite the same as it used to be. She missed the wind in her hair and the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The thrill of hunting down the new talent hiding in the city for her to uncover. Investigating new mysteries in her trustworthy city.

But she had responsibilities now. She couldn’t do those sorts of things anymore. The work was too important. Too many divisions and contracts to keep track of. Too many tensions to cool between Wario and the staff, making sure he wasn’t bleeding everyone dry. No time for the things she used to enjoy.

Her eyes drifted to the television. The news was once again all about the tournament. That used to excite her too. The announcements, the anticipation… but the cynicism that came with adulthood was too strong for her to find the feelings she had all those years ago. She didn’t even remember some of these fighters being announced for the-

Hold on.

Her eyes zeroed in on a singular figure. A pale woman. The same pale woman that was on tv just a few nights ago. Mona had completely forgotten all about her. Yet once again, she was struck with that same sense of familiarity. She had met this woman before, she was sure of it now. But where...?

Reporters had cornered the woman after the opening dinner, badgering her and Samus Aran with questions. In the buzz of it all, one question managed to slip through the cracks.

“Miss Traynor, how are you feeling about the tournament?”

The woman stared in confusion before she recollected herself and offered her startling familiar smile.

“Ready to work out today!”

The feed cut to the newscasters, dithering and speculating about all the various ways the words could be interpreted. The only person who could listen was a single cup of coffee, long forgotten.

It was her. It was her.

A rush Mona hadn’t felt in a long time was returning..

The walk through the facilities was quiet barring the quiet jingle of Isabelle strolling down the hall. Samus couldn’t help glancing down at her new companion. Where was that jingling coming from…?

Isabelle looked up at Samus.

Samus stared back.

Isabelle smiled warmly.

Samus smiled back.

Good dog.

“The tournament is pretty exciting, huh? I’ve never seen so many people before!”

She chuckled. “Very. First time, huh?”

“Oh yes! I’ve never even been in a fight before…” She gripped her tiny paw. “But I hope the Mayor and I can do our town proud!”

Very good dog.

“I’m sure they’ll be impressed.”

Her smile could light a thousand stars. “Really? Wow! What about you? Who are you representing?”

She winced. “I… used to represent the Galactic Federation. Since the beginning, actually. But I’m independent this year.”

“Oh, you’re giving someone else a shot to be a fighter! That’s so nice of you!”

Samus gladly took the opportunity not to correct her.

“Oh! I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Isabelle.” She offered a paw to the woman, tail wagging. Here, most certainly, the truth would come out. Still, Samus shook the hand.

“I’m Samus Aran.”

“Nice to meet you!”

And that was the end of that. Samus waited for a moment of shock or discomfort that never came.

Huh.

“Aren’t you worried?”

Isabelle tilted her head in confusion. “Worried?” A lightbulb appeared over her head. “Oh! No, I think someone can fill me in on anything on the tour I might have missed.”

The dog blushed sheepishly. “Besides, I forget some of the things they’ve talked about already. Heehee.”

Samus had only know this dog for a few seconds, but if anything happened to her she would kill everyone and then herself. “Well, I’m happy to help if you have any questions.”

Isabelle beamed again. “You’re very nice, Miss Aran! Everyone else seemed too busy to help find Miss Traynor!”

She chuckled again. “Well, I’ve shared a few conversations with her that certainly helped me. It seemed only fair to return the favor. Why did you decide to help?” She had a feeling helping was simply in Isabelle’s nature.

“I didn’t want anyone searching on their own! Besides, Mr. Snake said it might be a good idea to- eep!” She quickly clamped her paws over her mouth.

Samus’ brow furrowed, her pace slowing. “Snake? You mean Solid Snake?”

Isabelle glanced at the floor, searching for something to salvage herself. “Did I say Snake? I mean… rake!”

Samus stopped in front of Isabelle, crossing her arms. “Did Snake ask you spy on Traynor?”

“He didn’t say we had to spy! Just… learn! It was important to learn as much as we could about her. And it’s good to learn about new friends!”

Samus sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She always knew Snake was a suspicious guy but she really couldn’t understand his paranoia in this case. What could possibly be nefarious about Traynor? “As long as that’s how you’re approaching it, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“How else would someone approach it?"

Such a good goddamn dog.

Isabelle peeked her head into the gym. “Oh! There she is!”

And there she certainly was. She was in the middle of a stretch, her feet and back planted on the ground. She lifted herself up to her knees repeatedly in a quick, swift movement. After a few more of these, The Trainer climbed to her feet. Spotting the duo, she smiled at them warmly.

“Hello there! Ready to work out today?’

Class was back in session.

Chapter Text

In the preparation for the previous tournaments, the fighters often kept to themselves. This wasn't to say they were unfriendly towards one another. They would socialize with each other, watch matches together, and enjoy pleasant company and conversation. Tight bonds between competitors had been known to form quickly between rivals of all sorts. But when it came for training and preparing for the fighting itself, more than a few would do so privately. While there was no official award for winning the tournament, it was still a matter of national and personal pride to do so. Few wished to give away any advantages that the other fighters could use against them.

Yet in this, the fifth tournament, it became relatively common for fighters to train together. Part of this could be attributed to the sheer size of this tournament. With over seventy fighters, including returning figures from tournaments who had reappeared after an absence, the tournament size had nearly doubled. It would be impossible by this point to avoid training near someone.

However, whether accurate or not, some began to attribute the newfound group training to the efforts of Miss Traynor herself. From the first day at the tournament building, she had started group training sessions that ran nearly the entire day. Little Mac enjoyed Rhythm Boxing. Sonic sped through the lunges and poses. People came and went as they pleased, and each remarked at the ease Traynor took to improving the skills of the entire league.

It also provided several of them with the opportunity to try and learn more about the elusive figure.

Samus leaned forward on her knees, rising from her pose. “You’re pretty serious about these exercises, huh?”

The Trainer smiled at her warmly. “Train every day and aim for a toned waistline!”

She wiped her brow. “I think I’m pretty covered on that front. What made you decide to learn so much about work-outs?”

The Trainer had never considered a question like this before. Stretching and exercise just came naturally. She wasn’t sure how to put that into words.

“Helping others achieve their ideal selves is all I’ve ever done.”

Samus smiled softly. “I think I can understand that. It feels like it would sort of betray my upbringing otherwise.”

The Trainer found herself nodding. “Yes. It’s important to live up to those who trained us.”

“Exactly. I can’t even imagine what I would do otherwise.”

“What else is there to do?”

The two stood silently for a moment, wrapped in the thoughts of legacy and its spread.

Then Samus rolled her shoulders casually, shaking off the memories of the past. “Alright, what’s next?”

“Let’s do some yoga today.”

The Trainer moved into a tree pose, letting the feeling of becoming something else wash over her. Some standard words of encouragement were voiced, but for the moment she could just… be.

Satisfied with her own journey, she returned her focus to Samus.

The woman had contorted into a ball on the ground.

The Trainer stared for several seconds. Synapses in the brain desperately cobbled together in a furious attempt to form an opinion of fitness that went beyond her wildest imagination.

Eventually, her mouth managed to say something completely and utterly original, unprompted from outside sources.

“...Could you teach me how to do that?”

His entourage had prepared his room for his stay days in advance. By this point in the tournament, it was almost as familiar as his rooms back in the valley. Banners proclaiming the proud symbols of the Gerudo hung from the walls. The bed sheets and the mattress had been replaced to better fit his preferences. A desk had been placed comfortably near the windows, for when the King needed to do some measure of paperwork or business. A little mirror, shimmering with mystic energy, was placed carefully on a comfortable pedestal. From there, his generals and agents could report to him efficiently and quickly.

His general was yammering on in detail. Hyrulians they had captured on the outskirts of the valley. Information spies had acquired. New statues to be built in his honor.

All things were as they should be.

Ganon could barely pay attention.

He stood over his private balcony, gazing over at the streets of the kingdom. He could see motorized vehicles sped down streets. Children with backpacks shoved and pushed each other as they raced off to school. Men and women in suits walking at an almost unified speed to their work. Fools filling about their little schedules and routines. Obeying whatever commands their betters gave them.

That was the thing that was so perplexing about the Trainer to him. Who would have thought it? A being like that, gathering followers. Supporters. Fans.

“General, remind me.” He ignored the look of discomfort on the General. She cared far too much for her reports. “What are the current odds for the Trainer again?

“At last count… +130, sir.”

“Ah, of course. You may proceed.”

No one had even seen her in action, yet lemmings were lining up to support her. It was fascinating. If anyone had told him that a thing like that would be essential to the global political stage before now, he would have them thrown off the highest tower.

On the other hand, it made sense, in a fashion. The weak, powerless peons will always gravitate towards what they think is charisma. And the Trainer provided so much to project onto. A mind completely void of thought and meaning. Or purpose or soul. Still, the historical records had never mentioned that their creations possessed social programs as advanced as to function in high society. And now that she- it was rightfully under his control, he could use that to his advantage. All it needed to do was repeat some words, which obviously came naturally, in front of a crowd praising him. Building up new followers in kingdoms abroad. Gaining forces to revolt against the pathetic wastrels that currently occupied their offices.

And the weak would fall to the mighty.

The issue was getting that into its empty skull. For all its advanced actions, its program didn't seem to be working quite the way it should be. He had double checked his notes. He had given it the entire spell or code or what have you and that should have made it the perfect, dutiful servant.

“General-” Another tinge of annoyance in her posture. “You are positive the initial activation sequence in our tool was completed?”

She nodded with certainty. “It responded as expected when we first made contact.”

“Hm. Yes, I suppose it did. Carry on.”

It was troubling. He despised the uncertainty of the situation. He liked all his ducks in a row. Conquest needed to be swift, efficient, and merciless. And his little canary in the princess mine had to be providing the information he needed.

But he hadn’t had the opportunity to get it alone since the party. And the Mushroom Kingdom’s Princess had done well to keep it hidden from open public spaces. He briefly wondered if Zelda had informed her of the creature’s true nature before dismissing the thought. Knowledge was power and he couldn’t fathom why the princess would share even a slice of that advantage.

Perhaps… it was time for a more direct approach. He could always afford to stretch his limbs.

The soldier named David, known only as Solid Snake to those present, found himself wondering if he was in over his head. He often was. Trudging through enemy bases and destroying weapons of mass destruction may have come naturally but it wasn't exactly something he'd call easy.

This particular mission though felt completely out of his repertoire. He was a soldier for a reason. He was never one for leadership positions, much less detailed spy operations. He had trouble with just Otacon and the kid. Managing an entire team...

Managing this team...

Simon sat down across from Snake, jolting the latter from his thoughts. “I observed her actions for several hours. She has yet to leave the facilities. But she has already amassed a small following among the other fighters. Her powers of charisma cannot be underestimated.”

“Hmph. Interesting.” He fiddled through his pages, looking through his chicken-scratch. Isabelle quickly retrieved the paper in question, handing it over perkily.

“You better not go back there today. You’ve already filled out two shifts. It might arise some suspicions.” He glanced around, annoyed. “Where the hell is the squid?”

“Um!” Isabelle lifted a paw. “She said she was going to check out the town! She had to update her outfit to be fresher, I think?”

Snake groaned irritably. “Great. Go find her, would you? She was supposed to be in position hours ago.”

Isabelle quickly saluted before trotting out of the room.

He hadn’t really planned for this. He had hand-picked people that passed background checks. The perfect agents that could move relatively unnoticed at his command. The historical records described Simon as dutiful and heroic who would go in whatever direction justice was required and he certainly proved to fit that title. The squid was like all other squids. Eager to please and more eager for attention of any sort. The dog was as polite and thorough as all their information suggested and just as easy to sway as the higher-ups had suspected.

But none of this was him. Running a team like this and keeping information hidden from fellow soldiers were nowhere near his expertise. Hell, military work in general wasn’t in him anymore. He would give anything to retire back to Alaska to take care of his huskies. But that wasn’t an option anymore. His life was decided by people with dark rooms long before he was born. And now here he was, still moving to their tune and dragging others along with him.

He needed a smoke. 

It took Ganondorf several minutes to remove all his armor. As the King of the Gerudo, he had many enemies to protect himself against. Here, however, he was relatively safe from harm. It would be politically inconvenient for the Princess and her attack dog to make a direct move.

In all honesty, it had been some time since he had even been able to consider dressing down to workout gear in public. He used to train in front of his guards, before he found the practice to be a waste of time. Besides, it hadn’t really been about toning the body.

It was about proving to them how much stronger he was.

He entered the gym quickly, looking for the Trainer. It had gathered some hangers-on and was demonstrating what he believed was the Sun Salutation technique. In the middle of its exercise, the Trainer’s gaze drifted over to him. It offered an empty, practiced smile that it no doubt thought was a friendly gesture.

“Hello there! Ready to work out today!”

He put on his own fake grin naturally, for the farce of the people around him. “Of course, Trainer. Perhaps afterwards we could return to our previous conversation. There’s lots of people that might be interested in what you and I have to say.”

There was a pause as the Trainer stared at him. Yes, he could see how people would interpret this. It would be easy to mistake its silence for thoughtfulness. But in due time, it would return to topics of conversation it was pre-programmed to discuss. Such as:

“Then let’s work on improving your ab muscles.”

Like clockwork. Strange it was so reliant on his abs, but it was a nice stroke for his ego.

“Certainly. But afterwards…?”

“...Let’s work on improving your balance!”

Hm. This would require careful phrasing.

“Riveting. I would love to talk one on one with you about all the ways we could spread fitness after training is finished.”

That seemed to do the trick, the thing’s empty eyes lighting up with understanding. Fitness must be an essential line of code somewhere.

“Of course! That would be very informative.”

He grinned a full-toothed grin. Just a few nudges here and there and his plan would reach full-

“Hey gramps, are you done flirting yet?”

He immediately swiveled around, flaming eyes zeroing in on its target. “What did you just say?”

The insignificant little squid blew a wad of gum into a large bubble until it popped. “I said, if you’re done being a middle-aged college professor talking to a twenty something student when he thinks his wife isn’t looking, I was the one in a sesh with her.”

He stomped forward, expecting the harsh metal sound of boots he wasn’t wearing to click on the floor and internally disappointed when they failed to exist enough to make a peep. “You dare to speak that way to me.”

“Pal, you interrupted my time with Traynor twice! If you aren’t gonna wait your turn, how about at least waiting until you get some style.”

His face soon matched his hair in hue. “I will not be treated with such disrespect from a filthy little tadpole.”

“Excuse me?” The little squid hopped to her feet, glaring up at the King of Evil. “I’m a squid. S-Q-U-I-D squid. Are your eyes fading too much to tell the difference?”

Red rage blinded him. He was king . He was to be a god. He was to possess all the power of the infinite. And this pintling had the nerve to defy the respect he deserved. His hand reached back, fire at his fingertips, ready to trap this whelp into a stranglehold that would finish up her lifetime.

And then a little “Hello!” interrupted both of their glaring.

“Let’s work on the Single Leg Extensions together!”

The two looked at the Trainer. Then looked at each other.

A silent competition was agreed upon.

The next few hours were spent tying neck and neck in a number of intense physical events. By the end of his tight race with a child, Ganondorf had completely forgotten his original intent to meet with the Trainer.

Samus Aran was reading from a small object when the Trainer returned to the castle at last. A “tablet” she believed the woman had called it. The Trainer had been learning many little words such as that recently.

The Trainer liked Samus. She had stopped by every day to train with her. And in the evenings, they had shared more fascinating conversations. Most importantly of all, the woman demonstrated fitness capabilities that defied anything she had ever seen before.

If she had ever thought about her smile as something that occurred naturally rather than plastered, she would realize how much easier it came to her around Samus.

“Good evening, Samus.”

The bounty hunter looked up, smiling. “Evening. How was training?”

She thought back to the extensive exercises with the Inkling and Ganondorf. Normally she would happily inform Samus that daily exercise was the perfect way to tone the body and maintain balance. But she had said that before and, somehow, it seemed rather obvious to say as much to another fitness expert. She took a moment to think of the proper words. She wasn’t used to thinking about such things and it was proving to be a difficult experiment.

“Interesting. The students were very determined today.”

“Sounds about right. The tournament can get pretty rough near the end.”

People had discussed this “tournament” several times, but the Trainer was still having trouble discerning what, exactly, a tournament was. She couldn’t help but feel (again with these feelings, what were they and how did she make them stop) that she would look like a non-expert in all important things if she asked. Perhaps even less than a non-expert. Perhaps even less than a student. She didn’t want to look ignorant. She thought over the words people had spoken to her over the course of these past weeks and how they formed together. If she could put together the right kind of question, maybe that could be enough to get more information.

“How has the tournament treated you?”

“Oh, a little quieter than other ones, for me. But I’ve met some pretty interesting people this time.” The Trainer liked how Samus looked directly at her as she talked. It made conversation easier when she could read her expressions and words more closely.

“Tell me about these other ones.”

Samus set down her tablet, leaning back. “Nothing too special really. I nearly won a few of them.”

“Won?”

“Yeah. Kirby beat everyone the first year, then...” She rubbed her chin. “Maybe Sonic won the one before last? Or maybe Fox. That one’s kind of a blur.”

She wasn’t sure she quite understood this whole winning thing. If it was a matter of exercise... even she had determined that the blue Sonic man outranked them all in terms of speed.

“It sounds difficult.”

“A bit. They can get taxing. But you’ll see that yourself when it all really starts.” She tilted her head. “Actually… you’ve been training people every day, right?”

The Trainer nodded. “Exercise is essential.”

“But I don’t think I’ve seen you rest much.”

Oh, the Trainer didn’t like this line of thought at all. The doctor had talked often about rest. “I rest as much as necessary.”

The look on Samus’s face was extraordinarily doubtful. “You’ve trained others for every day for at least nine hours since the tournament preparation has started.”

“Doing yoga every day can help align your pelvis and also help you improve your posture.”

“I’m sure your pelvis and posture are fine. But it sounds like you really need some time off.”

The Trainer looked away, quickly discovering her first experience with grumpy stubbornness.

“Unnecessary.”

“Come on. Tomorrow night, you and me, we’ll go to a bar or something.”

Oh, a bar. The Trainer knew about bars. They were great for lifting yourself up and down from the ground. That was acceptable.

“Just a bar?”

“Just a bar. There’s a good one off 13th and Grand.”

She nodded slowly. “We can improve our flexibility.”

“Perfect. Five o'clock then.” And she offered the Trainer a delightfully warm smile. “It’s a date.”

Chapter Text

The Gerudo King felt like a complete nitwit. This was not a feeling he was accustomed to and he didn’t care for it in the slightest. Somehow, that little… codfish had distracted him from the goal at hand. He was Ganondorf and he had gotten swept up in a childish little competition. It was incomprehensible. It was ludicrous.

And it only made him more determined to get dispose of her.

He had briefly considered sending some of his followers to check on her. He quickly dismissed the thought. It was a waste of resources and too attention-grabbing. More importantly, he wanted as few people as possible to know about this particular rivalry. Explaining the humiliation of battling a child to his servants was an image that filled him with disgust.

So he decided to operate on a simpler level. He cornered her before the gym and revealed his offer plainly.

The Inkling stared at the gold coins in his hands in confusion. “...Is that prize money for beating you yesterday?”

His teeth clenched. “You beat no one, child, I-” He quickly cut himself off. “I simply need to negotiate with the Trainer on her own.”

Her brow furrowed. “....You’re paying me to be a wingman?”

“No. I am paying you to leave.”

She raised a single eyebrow. “...I really thought kings would have an easier time getting action than this.”

He slammed a fist into the wall beside them. “Impudent whelp. I have diplomatic matters to discuss with her.”

“Is that what they call it?”

“Will you take leave or not. ”

The Inkling looked him over, considering thoughtfully. “Nah.”

“...Nah?" The word was filled with distaste.

“Yeah, nah. I’m trying to boost my freshness here. You’re cramping my style.”

He felt the fire at the edge of his lips again. The eagerness to use it. To prove it. She didn’t understand the power she was dealing with. With just one quick motion, he could show her the sheer magnitude of her mistake.

“Hello there! Ready to work out today?”

He quickly spun around to give the Trainer a bright fake grin. “Ah, Miss Trainer. I was hoping we could talk about your training this evening.”

If he didn’t know any better, he might think there was surprise in its face.

“Prior appointments have been scheduled for that time.”

He chose to ignore the tongue the child stuck out at him. “I’m sure such arrangements can wait.”

“The appointment is filled.”

“Its not nice to skip in line, gramps.”

He shot her a quick glare before refocusing his attention. “Certainly they won’t mind an additional training partner. Unless you wanted to keep useful exercises away from your students.”

He could see its programming struggle against itself. Its impassive face barely containing its discomfort leaving any potential new student behind.

“...a joint training session could be beneficial.”

He clapped his hands together. Finally. “Wonderful. Then we’ll meet tonight.”

“Sounds fun!” chirped the little squid. “Can’t wait for it.”

The cold rage and aggravation returned quickly. He so desperately wanted to throttle this little monster.

“You aren’t going.”

“Why not? I thought the more people exercising the better. Right? ”

The Trainer rubbed its chin thoughtfully. “...Yes! That would better the health of everyone involved.”

“Great! Where and when?”

Ganon couldn’t get a word in edgewise as plans were discussed before him. By the time his emotions cooled, the Trainer had already escaped to the safety of the gym.

The Inkling grinned an infuriatingly smug grin as she followed after her.

The great Gerudo King pinched the bridge of his nose. Perfect. Just absolutely stunning work. Once again, he was being outsmarted by a brainless tool and a silly little child.

Still. It was a start. He could move forward on his objectives from there.

What else could possibly go wrong? 

It was in the middle of Snake's latest dive into his box of smokes that Simon Belmont felt the need to speak up.

“Sir Snake, may I trouble you to answer a question that has perplexed me?”

The soldier peeked outside the room. His precious paper roll of tobacco had to be kept safe from the disapproving eyes of Isabelle. Satisfied, he moved back towards the center of the room, sitting down next to the table. All his essential maps and documents had been organized carefully into neat little piles. Snake casually shifted them aside as ash already tumbled down from his smoke. “Fire away.”

The vampire hunter drummed his fingers. “Our squid comrade in arms… she seems particularly occupied with ‘freshness’ she mentions. Do you understand what she means?”

“Hmph. Well, that's a long story. What do you know about the war economy?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Snake leaned back, gazing towards the ceiling. “The Inklings, all of them... They’ve only recently crawled out of the sea and formed their own society. They're too young to understand the world we do. No ideologies or causes to die for. They only understand what's popular at the moment. Always chasing the next big thing. Fads.”

“Fads?”

“That’s new to you too, huh? Fads are things that are briefly popular that the majority gets all excited about. But before long, everyone loses interest in it. Businesses and corporations are always looking for the next fad gripping people to get money while they can. Kids these days, especially the squids of Inkopolis... fads and trends are all they care about. And if you reject what’s popular now, well, you’re certainly not gonna everyone’s favorite person. That’s what freshness is.”

“But what does that have to do with this… ‘war economy’?”

“Freshness isn’t the only thing propelling the inklings’ direction. Their country had been locked into a civil war for some time now. Each side hoping for dominance, to decide what's ‘fresh’. One week, they’ll all be fighting to decide if they prefer forks over spoons. Soon enough, forks are the only things the kids are talking about while spoons are getting thrown in the garbage. The next? Fancy parties vs. costume parties. Lucky for her fancy parties won, some of these high and mighty politicians might not have liked her showing up in disguise. Art beat science, so their battles got more colorful while the public tech funding vanished. Of course the civil war could only win with the squids overpowering the octopuses. The majority always wins.

“And as these battles rage on, businesses sell weapons and clothes and so on to improve their status. Children raised to fight for passing fads and the local money makers are all too happy to keep gaining money from their shenanigans. Being popular, being fresh... it's what her whole society runs on. An entire economy built on war, without real cause. If the private military contractors knew about them before their society developed, the lot of them would have been scooped up into their own little child soldier projects.”

His mouth was agape. “Why that's… barbaric!”

“It's the only thing they know. And the local businesses are too powerful to want that to change. Furthermore, there's nothing there of interest to other governments to make them want to interfere. The interests of money matters more to everyone involved.”

“We certainly can't stand by as a child is used for such a business.”

“Hmph." The soldier moved forward, hand removing his smoke carefully. With a slow movement, he smushed his cigarette deep into a document. The ash burned bright against a picture of Traynor. "Tell her what you want. She won't understand the problem. Besides, there's people here who could say the same things about your time period. Lots of horrible stuff happened in your original life. They might not take kindly to you passing judgement.”

Simon tried to refute these assertions, but his words failed him. He couldn’t deny the brutality that followed his own family line.

Snake let his focus fall to the window, looking out at Peach castle in the distance. He wondered what Traynor believed in. That was the biggest mystery of all. Time and time again, his missions proved that everyone lived and died by something. Even if they were just tools of war, every piece on the political chessboard had a reason to be where they were. Patriotic beliefs. Financial straights. Yet Traynor's ideology was a complete enigma.

Until they got someone close to Traynor, these operations were going nowhere. And even then, he wasn’t sure they’d manage to squeeze anything out of her. They needed something else. He needed-

The door kicked open with a mighty THWACK. The two men leaped to their feet, knife in one's hand, whip in the other's.

The Inkling paid them little heed. They had yet to even lower her weapons before she successfully maneuvered her way to the hotel bed.

"Feel free to praise me anytime now."

Snake grumbled, sheathing his knife. "Hnnnnnngh. Praise for what? Ignoring the schedule I gave you?"

She flopped down casually, smug grin plastered on her squid face. "How about for getting a guaranteed time the weirdo won't be anywhere near her room tonight?"

....Now that.

That was progress.

 Captain Falcon was a more complicated man than most fighters gave him credit for. He had been many things in his life. An officer. A bounty hunter. A racer. A fighter. Some other things he was a little less proud of. In Mute City, he was typically regarded as a stoic sort of man who kept to himself, but was happy to help anyone who needed his aid. In the Smash tournaments, he was regarded as an over-the-top, almost goofy fellow who loved fights, justice, and more.

The reason for such a wide clash in his perceived personalities?

Captain Falcon just loved the Smash tournament. 

The love didn't spawn instantly. Like all things, it was a slow process. He had been invited to the Smash tournament primarily for his record in the F-Zero competitions. Seeing no need to the hamper the Mushroom Kingdom's efforts at international and intergalactic peace, the hero of Mute City acquiesced. It was just another job to help maintain the public order. 

He was used to cheering crowds, of course. But he wasn't yet used to be this up close to them. Falcon had always kept a safe distance between himself and his racing fans. He could wave at them from his car before and after races.  He could escape easily before any competitor got close. He could focus on his work. Let the speed of the race overtake him and melt his worries away.

The Smash tournament was different. He was up close and personal with each opponent he fought. Interviews were harder to escape and fans even more persistent. It took all his wits to worm his way out of conversation. Falcon liked people but... it always felt they would be better off keeping a distance from him. He had his work to think about. Justice to consider. Honor to maintain. Rights to wrong. That sort of thing.

Then, at some point, without realizing it... something changed. He let himself converse more. He relaxed during fights. It was all in good fun and no one was planning on killing him here. Why remain so uptight? In the Smash tournaments, he might be safer here than he was in at home.

Before he knew it, he was posturing and posing, shouting and bellowing. One competition, he found himself shouting the most ridiculous things. He couldn't even remember what he was originally trying to say.

All that came out was the words "FALCON PUNCH!"

And the people loved it. And he loved the people. 

It was here, in these tournaments, that he didn't have to worry about old bounties catching up to him. He didn't have to worry about intergalactic criminals sabotaging his Blue Falcon and driving him off a racetrack. He didn't have to worry about a single accident giving his enemies access to his blood or DNA to do god knows what. He could laugh and boast and enjoy just the thrill of a fight without the fear attached.

Bounty hunting was work. Space travel war work. Races were relaxing, but also work.

The Smash tournament was fun. And the Captain could use more fun in his life.

And he knew those newcomers could use it too. He often took it upon himself to interject in the lives of fighters that seemed particularly stressed.

Emphasis on seemed.

Which brought him to his current attempts to harangue his protege of choice.

"It can be tough out there in this topsy-turvy world. Rarely can someone find safety in such a place as this!"

The woman nodded politely. "It does provide plenty of room for training. Let's work together on a Sun-"

"PRECISELY!" His booming voice even managed to break Traynor's carefully managed stoicism. She blinked, eyebrows perched in utter bewilderment. "Which is why, as a veteran fighter, I can speak from experience when it comes to stress." He placed a hand on Traynor's shoulder. "And you, my friend. Are stressed."

"Muscle tension is best solved with a series of nice yoga stretches. With the Half-Moo-"

His arm fully wrapped around the woman's shoulder. "Ah, how the mind stubbornly struggles to keep its bad habits! You must learn to trust the other fighters! Trying to outfight them will only bring you strain in the tournaments to come!"

"You... can avoid strain by-"

"I know just the ticket!" A triumphant finger jutted into the air. "You need a movie night! Just sitting down for once, enjoying the finest our local cineplex has to offer! Tonight, garbage food and entertainment will be your only prerogative!"

"I have plans tonight."

The wind vanished from the Captain's sails. "I... what?"

Traynor politely took this opportunity to remove Falcon's hand from he shoulder. "Samus Aran has invited me to the bar."

"Ah." His brain took a second to mentally catch up. "Ah! Perfect! Yes, that will do nicely! 13th and Grand, yes?"

"Yes? How did-"

"Of course, of course, her favorite." He nodded confidently. "Treat her kindly then. She could use the relaxation herself."

God damn, does she need a good night out for once, he thought.

But the Captain was satisfied for now and quickly left Traynor to complete her final exercises. Yes, that would do just nicely. Something like that would certainly help those two women take some of the stress off their backs. For god's sake, you could almost hear their backs creak in their attempts to support the world on their shoulders. He thought Samus was bad, but Traynor seemed to be a one-woman show trying to fix the every person she came across. A trip to the bar would be just what they needed.

In fact, it suddenly occurred to him, a trip to the bar could be what a lot of people needed. The tournament may begin tomorrow, but that made it the perfect time to try and get these newcomers to relax for a change. Nothing too crazy, just a night out for the latest arrivals in the tournament. That should be manageable.

The second the good Captain spotted another new fighter, he quickened his pace to meet theirs.

"Madam, a fantastic day to see you! Say, have you heard of a little bar on 13th and Grand...?"

Bayonetta had been invited to a bar more than a few times before. They were expected by this point. She supposed some people might be flattered to receive an invite from the legendary Captain Falcon.

She could do without it. She hated small talk and she didn't feel any need to get to know many people here, especially not Falcon. She was perfectly ready to insult him in his face, actually.

If only she hadn't noticed the peaking little shape from around the corner.

She let the Captain run off in a tizzy, offering neither confirmation or denial. Then she strolled over to the little hiding child.

"Bit rude to snoop, you know."

The little one froze solid, baffled as to how he got caught. It was a little endearing.

She smiled kindly. "Its Lucas, isn't it?"

The boy nodded.

"Big fan of Falcon?"

The boy nodded again, more eagerly. 

...Well, a bar perhaps wasn't the ideal place for a child. But she could probably keep an eye on him without any trouble. It might be nice to put a smile on an anxious child's face.

"I know just the place to get his autograph, if you promise not to drift away."

Ness wasn't really sure what the big deal was with bars. In his experience, all they served was coffee. And coffee was gross enough when it wasn't transporting you across dimensions.

But Lucas wanted to go and it seemed like a good idea to give the other youth back-up. So he gathered his things from the hotel room and began his journey towards this bar in question.

"Hey, kid!" The familiar care-free sight of a blue hedgehog zoomed into his view. "Where you off to in a hurry?"

Mega Man hadn't been to many parties. Not for lack of trying, mind you. He always wanted to make time, but he wasn't allowed to go into them while his weapons were installed. And everytime he uninstalled them, things tended to force his hand to reattach the dang things.

But this time would be different. Little Mac told him that Ike told him that Pit told him that... well, the list went on, but it seemed like there would be lots of fighters at this bar. They could handle his weapons easy-peasy, should something go wrong. This was his chance to finally sit down and relax!

"Hey, Metalhead!"

The Blue Bomber's trek was interrupted by the floating form of one nefariously petulant Bowser Jr.

"And where do you think you're going?" His little snot-nosed voice grinded on his circuits.

Mega Man did some mental calculations considering the cost/benefit of telling the young koopa the truth.

"....the beach."

The future dictator frowned. "Well, if you wanna get fried, go ahead! It won't stop me from knocking you out! Bwahahahaha!"

The metal man quickly made his escape before the koopa asked additional questions. The party was going to be crowded enough without the likes of him around.

He wondered who started this whole get-together anyway. It must be someone pretty impressive if they could get so many fighters to come on a moment's notice. Hopefully the bar could fit everyone this quickly...

Well, Mega Man was sure they could handle it. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Text

At the exact stroke of four forty-five, the Trainer began her journey to 13th and Grand. Several people followed her. Some trailed farther behind. Others were already at the destination.

Once the crowd had largely vanished behind a corner, the soldier appeared from the alley to begin his own journey. Infiltrating the castle was risky. The security wasn’t high, but it was well known that the Princess could always tell when she had visitors at the castle. Some overpriced, highly praised, elite task force had once successfully sent nanocameras into the Peach castle at 3 am without a single alarm going off. The second the task force started to celebrate, the cameras went off. The next day, they received their little robots back through the mail with a very polite card and some cookies. They were delicious.

But Snake had little to fear. He had prepared for those exact circumstances. Coming to the Castle in secret was risky, but walking straight in with a fruit basket would go relatively unnoticed.

The Toad at the desk struggled to move the basket from the counter. “Thanks a lot, sir! I’m sure the Princess will appreciate it.”

Snake shrugged. “Anytime. Say, do you know which way’s the restroom?”

“Oh! Yes, down the hall!”

“Perfect. Have a good day.”

The Toad watched as Snake disappeared down the corridor before fiddling with the bag to grab a snack for himself.

 Descending down the steps, Samus and Peach walked alongside each other. The Princess was still in her typical ensemble. Samus, however, had dressed down. She had grabbed a comfortable military jacket and grey fatigues. It was nice and straightforward. A good level of professional. And it meant if the crop top underneath felt too casual, she could cover it up easily. It wasn't a commitment to anything. Samus worked easier with an exit strategy.

“I’m glad you two have become such fast friends. I had a feeling you would get along.”

Samus tugged on her blue jacket. “She’s very intelligent. We’ve talked pretty much every night.”

Peach tilted her head slightly. “But…?”

“But? What but?”

“There’s something bothering you.”

Samus considered protesting before deciding to stick with the safer evasive action: bluffing dismissal. “No, its nothing. She’s great.”

“But...? ”

Action failed. She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t know. She never really talks about herself. She listens, sure, but I hardly know anything about her. You’ve had her here a month now. Where does she even come from?”

“I’ve had some trouble with that myself. She’s a very private soul, I’ve found.”

Samus nodded. “I know exactly what you mean. It takes a lot for her to open up. It’s almost kind of frustrating.” She sighed again as they stepped out into the castle’s plaza. “But maybe that’s what it’s like to talk to me sometimes.”

Peach smiled kindly. “I wouldn’t worry to much about it. This is the perfect chance to learn more about her. And I’m sure she’ll notice your new style today too.”

“We'll se-" The words processed and red shot up Samus’s face. She turned to sputter angrily. “Hang on- that’s not- Peach! ”

The princess giggled as she returned to the castle. “Have a good night, Samus.”

The bounty hunter rolled her eyes and covered her blush as she made her way down the stairs to the bar in question. Honestly. It wasn't like she was interested in Traynor. She was just... interested. There was an important distinction to make between interested and interested. She would dare to say she resented the conflation of the two.

The princess, meanwhile, found herself once again pondering the mystery of Traynor. Where she came from, what brought her to this kingdom, and what led to her gentle, thoughtful demeanor. These were questions she still lacked answers to. While everyone was entitled to privacy, Peach's natural curiosity could only hold off for so long.

Perhaps Snake would know. He seemed to know a lot of things about the world. Perhaps there was some country or city or even town where people like Traynor spawned from naturally. She would have to talk with him as soon as she found wherever he was hiding in the Castle.

Samus stared at the ensemble of people that had arrived outside Club 64. “You brought friends.”

“I brought friends.” Traynor smiled with upbeat enthusiasm.

Samus glanced over the small entourage that stood behind Traynor. She recognized a few faces. Isabelle. The squid girl. Some toads. Ganondorf, of all people.

“I was sort of expecting this to just be us.”

Traynor tilted her head curiously. “Is that a problem?”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Even if she couldn’t help but feel the sting of disappointment in her chest. “I’m sure we’ll all enjoy ourselves plenty.”

“Wonderful!” Traynor smiled again. “We should get started. Where is this bar?”

Samus gestured to the club behind her, moving towards it already. “Feel free to come on in.”

It was within seconds of opening the bar door that one Captain Falcon slammed into the wall next to them. The wood splintered slightly as Samus and Traynor jumped back. The Captain shook his head back into focus before providing the two women with a charismatic grin.

"Ah, Samus. Traynor. There should be a table between... ah, yes, over there by Falco. Good to see you!"

And with that, he raced to tackle Ryu. "Now I get to show you my moves!"

Sure enough, a whole gaggle of fighters had already found their own spots in the bar. A crowd cheered as Ryu and Falcon wrestled with each other. Several children were embroiled in an ice cream eating contest to determine who maintained the greatest defense against brain freeze and the Ice Climbers seemed to be the likely winners against the Blue Bomber and the Psychic Duo. The Kongs and Banjo were enjoying their own splurge into bananas and honey. Kazooie was content pecking a hunter dog in the noggin, hoping to set it off against its duck friend. Meta Knight, Shulk, and Cloud had placed their swords on their table and were happily comparing efforts at maintenance. An Ivysaur had found a comfortable spot in the rafters to swing Pichu back and forth in the air. R.O.B. delivered drinks while Pikmin scrambled to avoid getting crushed under his tracks. Dedede and K. Rool were engaged in a furious debate about kingship, which seemed to include such choices phrases as "fraud" and "plastic crowns." Several other Pokemon and Kiby had found a corner to sleep peacefully as a frantic energy surrounded them.

The gathering was starting strong.

Even in his frustration, Ganondorf couldn’t help but find amusement in the situation. How the phrasing between these two must have gotten tangled and misconstrued. One assuming a romantic meeting, the other just following more training subroutines and processes. He could see the confusion on her face now as they entered Club 64. This isn’t a gym, she was no doubt thinking. No bars spotted. Exercise less than optimal in this environment. Beep boop error. Absurdity really did seem to follow the Trainer’s wake.

It would be easier than expected, he mused, to work his wonders in this environment. He could get the Trainer alone when everyone else was distracted and finally figure out what exactly went wrong with her program. If that failed... well, perhaps manipulation was in order. He convince her that he was the only natural way for her training to continue. The wonders of fitness, with just a few spoken words in the right ears. Then his followers would build and his army would rise and power, real power, would be in his grasp once more.

So wrapped in his imagination was he, the Gerudo King nearly missed the mug placed in front of him.

“Your drink, sir.”

Ganon was used to receiving free drinks and nodded off-hand as he raised the glass to his lips. “Your worship is appreciated.”

“Not my worship, sir. It was a gift from that guy.”

Ganon glanced in the server’s pointed direction, expecting a local Gerudo who had immigrated to the kingdom.

Instead, the emotionless face of the hero of Hyrule stared back at him and waggled his fingers.

The King quickly descending into a coughing fit.

The Inkling was getting real annoyed with this nonsense. Day in and day out, she tried to get her one-on-one with Traynor. All she needed was a selfie, a choice quote, something to post online to brag about at home. Sure, her freshness was pretty good. Better than most, to get into the tournament. Her current fan count rivaled the idols in size and scope.

But it wasn’t enough.

She needed to be number one.

Associating with the likes of Snake probably wasn’t helping. She’d looked him up again, briefly. His fall from grace was even worse than she thought. He’d gone from beloved war hero to government whistleblower. Nobody liked a narc. People that resisted things were just asking to lose popularity.

But he was useful, for now. He provided an angle to meet Traynor and to learn more about her. Everybody loved newcomers. Everybody wanted to know everything about newcomers. That’s what got people excited for the next tournament. Nobody wanted to see the old news. They wanted to see the hot commodity, the mystery, the allure of new.

And if she was in the know… well, that meant she could avoid get tossed aside like everyone else who fell out of the limelight.

The problem was, this dang bar was stuffed full of people. Almost every fighter that had arrived, old and new, and found seats to fill. And other people were already trying to get inside to meet these legendary icons. The staff was clearly overwhelmed by the droves of new customers and were scrambling to set up more tables and chairs.

Which meant, once again, Traynor’s particular table had filled up.

She slumped down in her chair, twirling a straw in her carbonated drink. Simon sat down next to her, mug frothing in his hand.

“Snake was correct. She seems to have quite amassed a following.”

“I know, right? What do I have to do to get that popular? No one’s swarming around me.”

“I am not sure I approve of the admiration.”

“Ugh, are you still on that?” She rolled her eyes. “She’s not evil. No one who’s evil could be popular.”

“I beg to differ. The celebrated can be the most despised in due time.”

“Maybe eventually. When they stop being relevant.” She sipped from her drink. “You’re super old and stuff. You just don’t get it.”

He tapped his glass thoughtfully. “In my time, there was a man who others began to worship. He could do things no one had seen before. He was kind and generous, offering help to all the weak and suffering. He was adored. He was believed to be the man who would shape the future for the better.”

The Inkling grinned widely. “Yeah, people like that are the coolest! The guys who figure out what the people want and get it! That’s what being fresh is all about.”

“It was a trick. Dracula killed everyone who entered his castle and ravaged the land with monsters. Some of my good friends died by his hands.” He took another long drink.

In that moment, the Inkling wished the wooden floors of the bar could just envelop her into the ground and take her away.

She was almost glad when the screeching newcomers hopped into the chairs next to them.

“Hello there!”

“Great night out!”

“Boogie down!”

Almost.

Isabelle was having a pretty good night, all things considered. She had never been in a place like this before and she had been pretty nervous to go inside. But so far, the people had been so nice! The food was pretty good and someone had bought her a nice glass of milk.

(This wasn't to say Isabelle wasn't familiar with alcohol. She had graduated college, of course. But she hadn't enjoyed the taste much and dropped the vice entirely once she entered government work. She tended to abandon all potentially unhealthy habits as soon as responsibility was handed to her, regardless of their severity. The possibility of failure was too scary to Isabelle to risk a little indulgence.)

The servers seemed pretty overwhelmed, so Isabelle only felt it was right to help out. She carried dishes of meals and drinks around the bar, placing them carefully on placemats or coasters so the table wouldn’t stain. Every now and then, someone gave her some coins as a tip. She quickly delivered them to the tip jar, which the servers thanked her profusely for. It was so nice to see everyone getting along!

Taking a break, she sat down in a free seat. People seemed to be changing tables at a whim, so she was lucky this one seemed to be open. She looked up at her fellow table companions with a smile.

The others paid her little mind. The tall red-headed man on her right (Mr. Ganondorf, she believed) seemed to be invested in a staring contest with the blonde haired man on her right. Mr... Lonk was it? No, Mr. Link! That was it. She was very proud that she remembered.

“This is a great place, don’t you think?”

The two failed to respond, still enraptured in their contest.

“Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time! And the music is so nice... Oh, maybe we should tip the singer!”

“I suppose you think you’re clever, interfering like this.” Mr. Ganondorf’s voice was filled with… not niceness.

Mr. Link simply stared back. Maybe he was as confused as Isabelle was.

“You and the princess must feel so righteous on top of that tower you stand on. So pure and heroic, halting the big bad plans of the big bad villain.”

Mr. Link really seemed to be enjoying his chips. They were quite tasty.

“How naive. You would both do well to remember our roles.” Mr. Ganondorf leaned towards Link, hissing his words at them. “You may have the power of courage and she may have wisdom. But I?” There was a flicker of glowing light on Mr. Ganondorf’s palm. “I have power . The power always trumps the rest. No matter what you ingrates do, power will naturally flow back to me. Its simply the way of things.”

Mr. Link dipped his chip into the salsa. Mr. Ganondorf grimaced before leaning back into his chair. He tapped his chin to consider the events.

“No, perhaps you don’t think anything of it at all. You’re simply happy to do as your master bids. With courage by your side, well… no reason to worry about anything, hm? Its just nice to play fetch for her. Wagging your tail for little scratches behind the ear, like the filthy mutt you are, hm?”

He grinned as Mr. Link simply raised an eyebrow, pleased to finally get a reaction.

At least, that’s what Isabelle thought was happening. It was suddenly a little hard to see.

“...That’s not very nice.”

She felt humiliation course through her as Mr. Link and Mr. Ganon turned to glare at Isabelle, only to blink in surprise. She didn’t mean to let them see her cry. Oh, this was so embarrassing . She brushed away at her face, trying to hide it as best she could.

“I-I just don’t think its right to call people mutts. O-or to use dog a-as an- a word like that! I-I didn’t do anything to you s-so I don’t understand why you have to be s-so… rude!”

For the first time in a long time, both Link and Ganondorf were struck with a strange feeling of shame.

Samus had to admit. Traynor had gathered together a hell of a party.

Fighters from all walks of life had engaged into loud conversations at their respective tables. Ike, normally a man who despised royals, was teaching a drinking song to Corrin. Little Mac was arm-wrestling Captain Falcon, while Falco and Wolf placed separate bets. Lucas and Ness were clutching their skulls, while Mega Man and the Ice Climbers stuffed more rocky road down their own throats.

She still would have preferred more alone time. But the sights were entertaining at least.

It was after about an hour that she finally got a chance to sit next to Traynor. “You know, I was doubtful, but everyone here seems to be enjoying themselves.”

Traynor held her gaze on Shulk standing on a chair, attempting again to launch the perfect backflip. “They are very flexible.”

“Unlike some people.” The snark escaped her lips before she could stop them. She tried to stifle it behind a beer.

“Like who?”

She fixed Traynor with a Look. “You know, the whole purpose of this was to get you to relax. You’re helpful as hell, but I don’t ever get the sense that you’re… happy.”

Traynor blinked. “Am I not relaxed?”

Snort. “Definitely not.”

Traynor turned back to the crowd, looking over their activities.

She turned back to Samus. “How… do I do that?”

It was Samus’s turn to blink. “Huh?”

“Relax. How do I do it?”

It was a hell of a question to start with.

Isabelle blew on a tissue as the Hero of Hyrule patted her carefully on the back. Ganondorf tried not to let it bother him that dog snot was now all over his personal handkerchief.

“I did not mean to trouble you, miss.” The justification felt flimsy, even to him. “Involving you in our personal business was far from my intention.”

“I-I know, I know.” She sniffed a bit more. “But… things like that hurt, you know!”

“I understand.” He and Link shared a look of complete befuddlement. “Can I… get you something to drink? A meal, perhaps? On my dime.”

She honked on the cloth again. “...you mean it?”

“Of course. The Gerudo are enjoying quite the luxuries at the moment. It would be simple enough to pay for a meal.”

She nodded slowly. “...That would be nice.”

“There we go. All’s well that end’s well then.” He pointed to the front of the bar. “Why don’t you order yourself something and we can talk more in a moment?”

Isabelle nodded once more and then slowly got up to make her way to the counter.

Link and Ganondorf leaned back into their chairs in relief.

It had been ages since Ganondorf had ever had to comfort anyone. In fact, now that he thought about it, he could not recall the last time he had ever lowered himself to speak to a civilian in a manner such as that.

And why should you? Said a little familiar voice inside him. That pesky little fur-brain is nothing compared to you. You are power. The biggest and brightest power in the world. Maybe even in the universe. What does one little mutt matter to a being who is going to control everything?

Ganondorf looked over the Hero of Hyrule, disgust building.

Link found himself wondering about disturbing similar feelings. He hadn’t stopped to help a normal life since… well, since this cold war with Ganondorf began. The battles just got too big and too large for him to think about the little people on the side. He had to direct his focus and courage elsewhere. It was almost concerning how many things he let slip away.

It matters little. Said a familiar voice inside him. There’s nothing to fear. There is no reason to fear anything. Fear is a distraction from doing what needs to be done. The courage is within you to always do what’s needed. You are courage. Why should you be afraid of little issues like that?

Link shot a glance at the King of Evil, brow slowly furrowing.

Ganondorf picked up his glass of wine and swirled it around carefully. “Well. Now that that’s over with. You were busy quietly barking up trees?” The brief sensation of shame returned and he quickly decided to dive away from dog-based analogies. “But maybe you’re more of… a sloth. Lounging around as I continue to stretch my hand outward. Too lazy and uncaring to trouble yourself with interfering. Only watching helplessly.”

He sipped from his glass smugly. “How courageous indeed.”

Link said nothing, naturally. He merely fiddled with his sheath, letting the sound of a blade escaping and returning to its home repeatedly bounce its way back to the tyrant.

Tensions burned brightly once again.

The Inkling almost bumped into Isabelle on her way back to the table. “Oh, hey Isa- whoa are you okay?”

Isabelle smiled, brushing away the rest of her tears. “Oh, I’m fine! I just… got a little upset, but things are better!”

The Inkling didn’t really understand but she wasn’t looking to get involved into another emotional nightmare. “Cool, cool. Staying fresh. You been keeping an eye on Traynor?”

“Huh?” Puzzlement followed by complete terror. “Oh! Oh, I completely forgot! And Mr. Snake asked us specifically…"

The Inkling acted quick to quell the panic. “Hey, hey, it’s alright! She’s probably just chatting up one of the other dozens of people here. Plus its been hours! The old man’s stupid… whatever he’s up to is probably still safe.”

“You think so?”

“Course! Trust me, she’s plenty distracted.”

“Who is plenty distracted?”

The two girls looked up to see Traynor herself standing behind them curiously.

Brains scrambled to come up with cover stories.

“Uhhhhh... me! With all these people! I haven’t had a moment to rest with all those great conversationalists over there.” She gestured casually to the tables behind her. Traynor looked over in the direction of Simon before smiling. It struck the two shorter spies that her smile seemed more natural than usual.

“The Mii Fighter, the Mii Brawler, and the Mii Gunner. Very good students.”

“Yeah, right. What about you? You enjoying yourself?”

There were several seconds of Traynor’s usual thoughtful silence. “Perhaps. Samus said I needed to ‘relax.’” What a strange accent she had. It was like she had never used the word before.

“Oh yeah? What’s she got in mind?”

Traynor lifted up a napkin. “I’m have to wait for these drinks we ordered.”

“Ohohhhh yeah?” The Inkling quickly peaked over at the napkin to read off the hand-written list before quickly groaning in disgust. “Oh, come on! None of these are fresh. You gotta pick the popular stuff.”

“But Samus asked for this. She said I might enjoy it."

The Inkling tried and failed to wipe out the writing. “Then she’s clearly behind on the times. You can’t just pick things. You have to pick the popular things.”

“And you enjoy them?

The Inkling paused in surprise, looking up at the woman. “Huh?”

“The popular things. You enjoy them?”

There were multiple things in that moment that left the Inkling surprised. The question itself. The pleasant tone in which Traynor asked it. The way, for a moment, it felt like the sounds of the entire room died.

But perhaps strangest of all was the realization that she didn’t have an answer.

The clink of glasses on a table interrupted that train of thought. “Two Super Stars, as requested.”

Traynor quickly picked up the glasses, smiled at the other girls, and then returned to the table with Samus. The Inkling simply stood there in complete dumbfound confusion.

“Ummmm... Inkling?” The squid turned to her furry friend dumbly. Isabelle had a frown plastered on her face, head tilted and brows furrowed in concentration. “Did the Miis ever train under Miss Traynor while you were there?”

“Huh?” The Inkling struggled to regain her focus. “I don’t know, I don’t think so. Maybe. Why?”

“I don’t remember the Miis ever training under her either. I don’t think they ever have.”

She started to move away, desperately trying to concentrate on something solid. “Cool. Really fascinating. What’s it matter?”

“Why did she call them her students then? How'd she even know their names?"

Words processed.

Squid eyes blinked.

And then the two spun around to race to Simon's table.

The Trainer set the glasses on the table carefully.  She had seen a few drinks spill this evening and she was not eager to repeat the action herself.

Samus raised an amused eyebrow as the Trainer sat down across from her. “Have you really never had a beer before?”

“I do not drink.”

“Gin? Vodka?”

“I do not drink.”

“Wine?”

“I do not drink.”

She shook her head, amazed. “Your self-control is astounding.”

“I did not know it was that unusual.” Yet, everyone seemed to be eating and drinking something in here. Lately, it felt less like she was the bastion of health and more like she was missing out on something.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to.” Samus took a shot glass for herself and quickly chugged it down. 

The Trainer observed Samus as she downed another shot. “You enjoy it?”

Samus shivered all over as the alcohol spun down her system. Damn. She didn't remember the drink feeling so cold. “Enjoy is kind of a strong word… how about ‘helps’?”

“It… helps?”

“Oh definitely. Long hours in space without anyone in sight.” Another shot went down the pipe. “It takes the edge off.”

The Trainer wasn’t entirely sure what the edge was. Maybe it was something that weighed people down. Perhaps that would be good for improving her internal balance.

“How do I take the edge off?”

Samus grinned, pushing a glass over in Trainer’s direction. “Drink it down.”

Ah yes. Drinking things. Food and liquids were still something the Trainer hadn’t toyed with. She was still reluctant to fiddle with such things.

But Samus seemed to think it would help. Trainer saw little reason to doubt her.

So she lifted up the glass and dumped its entire contents into her mouth.

The taste was bitter and foul. She nearly choked on it as it sloshed down her throat. Really now, she couldn’t see the “fun” in this at all. She hoped Samus wasn’t encouraging unhealthy practices. She should warn her about the potential dangers here.

She turned to Samus with a serious look. “Tweokfhasdfasdhfklas.”

The bounty hunter’s eyebrows shot straight up. “...what?”

She thought she was pretty clear. She repeated herself.

“Ppihqweglkasdfnpoiwhwfnasdfhasdjf.”

Concern rose on her features as she stood up. “You, uh… alright, Traynor?”

Something must be wrong with Samus's hearing. The Trainer rolled her shoulders. She wasn’t sure she appreciated how much the world was moving at the moment. It was very unideal to balance. Unideal. Was that a word? Words felt harder to grasp than usual. She could hardly respond to Samus if the words were floating away from her.

She leaned forward. And then she leaned back. And then she leaned forward again.

The world went black seconds before she crashed right into the table.

Chapter Text

Isabelle had sprawled the pages of colorful lined paper across the bar table. Each of Snake’s so-called spies buried themselves in their own section, combing for details. They paced around the table in a circle, struggling to decipher the clues.

“You are certain this covers everything of note from the gym?” It was a question Simon felt it difficult to even ask. The efficiency of Isabelle’s extensive notes was beyond the plae. It was hand-written in the cleanest font, color-coded by day and highlighted with handy tabs corresponding to whoever was monitoring Traynor that day.

“I’m positive!” She tapped a paw on the page. “They’ve never even been in the same room together since the tour!”

The Inkling threw her hands up in the air. “Well, maybe she misspoke! Maybe she considers everyone here a student.”

“Yet she was very familiar with their names. I have yet to hear those creatures introduce themselves once.”

“But this still doesn’t mean anything. They could have met lots of times before that.”

Isabelle pointed her paw right at the Inkling. “Like before the tournament started!”

Inkling gestured pointedly. “Exactly.”

Simon and Isabelle gestured pointedly back. “Exactly.”

“Hold on.” She lifted up a hand. “Is your exactly different from my exactly?”

Simon swept around the table with the confidence of an entire family line of vampire hunters, including the ones the world chose to forget. “If those bizarre creatures have a history to Traynor, that could be our first clue into uncovering her background.”

“Do we have to? They're so... creepy.”

“You mean Mii?”

“Mii is here too!”

“Don’t forget Mii!”

Simon and the Inkling each jolted several feet in the air in surprise and terror at the sound. Isabelle, a less agile creature, only managed a few inches. The three Miis simply smiled at them with their beady flat eyes and their unmoving lips. Isabelle quickly scrambled on top of the table to cover their tracks, scattering the notes to the ground. The Inkling dived after them, snatching papers seconds before they hit the wet slop of spilled drinks.

“H-hi guys! What are you doing back so soon?” Inkling attempted to lean against the metal table leg casually, or at least as casually as someone could sitting underneath a table with piles of evidence that she'd spied on everyone behind her back.

“Did you not say you were going to grab a meal?”

The Miis each presented a plate they had retrieved from the bar.

“Snacks are sooooo good!”

“I love nachos!”

“Can’t resist these fries!”

Simon and the Inkling nodded and smiled politely, trying desperately not to be too disconcerted by the chipper screeches of the things.

Isabelle, on the other hand, was relatively relieved. Screeching had never bothered her. She worked in government.

“We were just thinking about getting something for Miss Traynor. You wouldn’t happen to know her favorite food?”

“My favorite food is hot dogs!”

“I love nachos!"

“Can’t resist those fries!”

“That’s nice! But I’m wondering about her tastes…” She gestured to Traynor, lurched over her table.

The Miis stared at her for several seconds, as if struggling to comprehend the basics of the question. Their smiles never vanished in the entirety of their pondering.

“No idea!” one said finally.

“Never asked her!”

“Needs to get out more!”

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Isabelle nodded enthusiastically. “We should send her an invitation in the mail.”

This seemed to delight the Miis. “Yes! Mail!”

“Pen pals!”

“Keep in touch!”

Isabelle clapped her paws together in excitement. “Great! Do you know her address?”

“Of course!”

“Wuhu Island!”

“Tropical paradise!”

“Aloha!” The yellow-shirted Mii wiggled about like it was using a hula hoop.

A name. The Inkling and Simon glanced at each other meaningfully before quickly diving into the conversation themselves.

“Wuhu Island?”

“Woohoo!” squealed the red Mii.

“No, I mea-”

“Woohoo!” repeated the blue Mii.

“Woohoo!” repeated the final Mii.

The Inkling picked up a glass, lifting it above the head of a Mii. Simon calmly took it from her hands. “Charming. This Island, where is it?”

“The ocean!”

“Yes, I am aware, but-”

There was a loud thump from across the room as Little Mac slammed another hand into the table. “Yeah! Who else wants to try me?”

The Miis immediately started scrambling towards the collection of arm wrestling fanatics. “Mii!”

“Mii too!”

“Don’t forget Mii!”

Simon quickly reached to try and grab the Miis before they could escape. “Wait! We still have questions!”

But he could only grasp air. The three fighters were left alone with their questions once more.

Isabelle peaked over the edge of the table. “....Could someone help me down?”

Snake couldn’t help but feel hopeless as he looked over what remained of Traynor’s room. He had completely tossed the place. He had taken off all the sheets from her bed. He had tapped every square inch of the floor to find any potential cracks or false floors that could hide items of interest. He had examined every tiniest morsel of hidden space for secret treasures. Yet there seemed to be absolutely nothing of note in the Traynor’s life. No family photos. No personal objects. No treacherously deceptive plans to launch a new superweapon onto the world.

As far as he could tell, there was absolutely nothing interesting about Traynor in the slightest. That was the damnable thing of it all. He knew secret agents. There were certainly good ones out there who knew just the right cover to give themselves. But they always went a bit too far. You’d find Soviet Agents under identities that portrayed themselves as more American than any American.

Yet Traynor had nothing. No information, no background, absolutely nothing tying her to this world.

It was downright spooky.

Unfortunately, now he had to return the room to exactly as it was before he arrived. Which meant making her bed just as the Toads had.

The soldier grumbled to himself as he folded bedsheets over pillows. He really wasn’t meant for this kind of work. How had the Colonel convinced him to get involved into all this again?

He was about to take his leave when his foot touched another piece of cloth. One of Traynor’s other clothes. I may as well be thorough, I guess. He picked up the laundry and moved to drop it into the hamper.

He paused. His hand felt around in the pockets.

There was a tiny little card in there. It felt oddly dry, like it had been through the washer or a swimming pool. Some of the ink had been washed out. But he could just barely make out a name and an address.

“Hnnnngh. Mona…?”

The smell of salt flowed up the Trainer’s nose. Her eyes fluttered and her mind slowly began to move as intended. Even so, she didn’t feel right. She pushed herself up from the table, analyzing her surroundings.

The world around her seemed to be moving too fast for her to follow. The rowdy actions of the surrounding bar patrons seemed louder and more energetic than she recalled.

“You alright?” She turned to find the concerned featured of Samus Aran watching over her. Her hands were on Trainer’s cheeks, checking for something. Even this small action seemed too quick somehow.

For a brief horrifying moment, the Trainer wondered if perhaps she was simply too slow. The idea was sickening.

“Traynor? Talk to me.”

“....The world,” she managed at last. Her tongue felt enormous, struggling to make room for the words to seem. “Unbalanced?”

Samus’s concern melted, slightly. “I think that’s mostly you.”

Oh that couldn’t be right. That was completely impossible. Yet, as she looked down at the floor, it still seemed to be shifting. “I’m… swaying?”

“While sitting down. You... really can’t handle your liquor.”

A wave of dizzyness swept over the Trainer as she shook her head. “Drink… don’t.”

The Trainer wasn’t used to combining words. It felt incomplete. She had heard other people speak in such a way, of course. At the moment, when it was so much harder to get the words out, attempting contractions seemed like a necessary compromise.

She looked around again, at the partying students. Joy evident on all their faces. They all seemed to be having a good time, even as the alcohol flowed down their floats. Was this lack of fitness troubling the world that the Board had warmed her of? Warmed? No, warned. Oh, that’s funny, they sound a lot alike. She found her lips tugging up in amusement.

“They sound the same,” she smiled at Samus.

“They… what?”

“Warmed. Waaaaarmed. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarmed.”

She could see that Samus was similarly amused by this. “Oh, we definitely gotta get you home soon.”

She imitated Samus’s movement, touching her cheeks. Oh, Samus’ face was so soft, yet strong! Samus in general seemed very fit. She should tell her as much. It was important to tell people how good they were.

"You're... very good."

“...You don’t say.”

“You are.” Traynor wagged a finger in Samus’s face, finally releasing her grip. “Very fit. Strong. Flexible.”

“So I’ve heard.” Samus glanced at her wrist. “Oh, look at the time. We should really get you to bed.”

“Why?” 

“So you can get sleep, for one thing.”

The Trainer grimaced. Again with this bed stuff. “I don’t need sleep.”

“Of course. What was I thinking. But how about we get you back there anyway?”

Trainer simply nodded half-hazardly. If Samus wanted it, it'd be nice to give her something.

“Perfect. Thank you. I’m gonna get one last drink to go and then we’ll leave, alright?”

She nodded again and Samus quickly made her way to the bar.

The eye of newt plopped into the frothing pot. A wooden spoon quickly circled around it, mixing it deep into the brew. The hue of the mysterious liquid shifted from purple to red. With just a few more ingredients, a fearsome power would be spawned into the world, all for her use only. No one could tell her what to do after that.

So invested was she in her potion making, Ashley picked up her ringing phone without checking the Caller ID.

“If you’re trying to sell me something, I will be sure to send you a curse that will haunt your family tree for generation.”

“So you keep saying, Ashley.” Mona’s tone was as dry as sandpaper.

Crap. She had been avoiding Mona’s calls for a day or so now. She just knew the old hag was gonna have a whole fit about it. “I’m not coming in. You can’t make me come in. I have today off.”

“Ashley.”

“I will personally send every ghost I know to haunt you if you make me come into work today.”

“Ashley .”

“And I don’t want excuses.” She was on a roll now, twirling her spoon in her hand. “The fat man promised me two nights off, this is my night off.”

“I just want to know how you handled the Trainer situation.”

Ashley didn’t know how to respond to that question. She debated bluffing, but that sounded like too much effort.

“Who?”

“The- seriously? The Wii Fit Trainer. The Wario Island project?”

Memories of an annoying pale woman flowed back. “Ohhhhhhhhh, ugh, right, her. Are you still worrying about that freak?”

“Depends. Where did you send her off to? You found her family or friends or something, right?”

Ashley considered her move yet again. It was beginning to feel like it would be safer to bluff. “Yeah, she reunited with her lost dog and everything. Very touching.”

“And you got her name? Any records we could pull in case she does sue?”

God what a downer. “Uh, no, sorry. She just talked about… plants or something. Real weirdo.”

There was dead air.

Ashley waited for Mona's response.

Mona waited for Ashley to fess.

Ashley waited for Mona to realize she wasn't going to fess on her own.

Mona waited for Ashley to recognize that fessing earlier, rather than later, would equal less yelling.

Ashley waited for Mona to understand that it wasn't a matter of yelling, it was a matter of principle.

Mona waited for Ashley to grasp that oh you want to talk PRINCIPLE, kid? Principle?! How about doing your job for once instead of leaving me to pick up the slack?!

Ashley waited for it to sink into the old hag's head that just when her hours are done, she is DONE. She's not here for work ethic- she's here to get paid and get done. If Mona wanted to work overtime for a reward that will never come, she was free to dance and dance till the cows come home. Just leave her out of it.

Mona waited for Ashley to stop being such a petulant child for once in her immature little life because good GOD, its not about overtime! Its about actually doing the job you're given and not leaving the mess with other people to deal with! There's a difference between clocking out and creating a mess that other people have to deal with while you lounge around at home you little- you insufferable- UGH!

Ashley waited for light to shine down from the sky and smack Mona with the epiphany that Ashley would never stop being a petulant child, you can't make her, old hag. So there.

Mona caved.

“You didn’t take her home, did you?”

“Oh I super didn’t.”

“God damn it , Ashley! You had one job!”

The witch threw her hands in the air, for her own benefit rather than for Mona. The wooden spoon flew up into the air “She wasn’t even on the ship anymore when I checked on her! She probably just went back into the ocean to swim around with the fish!”

“And what if this comes back on us? What if suddenly, we’re dealing with people suing us for… I don’t know, lack of care maybe? Or she knows about some health violations on Wuhu that we haven’t dealt with yet!”

“Who cares! It’s not like anyone would listen to a freakazoid like her!”

Oh she could just hear Mona pinching the bridge of her nose on the other line. “Have you looked at the news at all lately?”

She scoffed. “No. Duh. ” News was about other people and Ashley hated other people as a rule.

“Why don’t you go ahead and look up the latest Smash news?”

“Why would I ever-”

“Can you cooperate for once in your life.”

The answer was an obvious no, but Ashley knew better than to aggravate the one who signed her paycheck too far. With extreme reluctance, she rolled her chair over to the computer and typed away. It was a dusty old thing she rarely touched and it took some time for the dial-up to get moving. After several excruciating minutes, headlines peppered her screen.

“This is just a bunch of gossip rags about Lucario is in a secret relationship.”

“Ashley .”

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for! I don’t care about your dumb sports thing so can’t you jus-” Her voice trailed off as she processed one of the images in front of her.

A pale woman was smiling side by side with Princess Peach of the goddamn Mushroom Kingdom. The biggest idiot in the world, with the potential to cause trouble for WarioWare and most definitely their careers, side by side with the most powerful figure in the world.

“...Oh.”

Ashley hated wrong things. She hated magic that was wrong because it just caused a huge hassle that only she could fix. She hated people who were wrong, because that often meant she would have to be the one to correct them. But most of all, she hated being wrong. And she particularly hated having to admit it.

“...Clearly that’s a twin.”

“Ashley.”

“A cousin maybe.”

“Ashley.”

“Or maybe just someone you think looks similar. Not all pale people are the same you know.”

“Ashley.” She could hear the anger struggling to stay contained between Mona’s pearly teeth. “I needed you. To do your job. Now you need. To do your job. And get something on that woman that we need to know.”

“I’m busy .”

“You better be.” And the click on the other side told the girl that she wasn’t encouraging her to find other things to be busy with.

Crap.

This was immensely strange. Traynor was so extraordinarily private. It was an admirable trait, and one Samus could understand. But she was having trouble imagining a more emotive Traynor and even more trouble seeing it before her eyes. Samus hadn't been able to do much but stare uncomfortably when Traynor pressed her hands further on her face. She had felt kind of like a fish, her mouth forced open by the hands.

But Samus was familiar with this stage of alcohol induced behavior. There was a breed of drunk women, Samus had concluded long ago, that were some of the sweetest, kindest women in the world. With red faces and a confidence now unrestrained, compliments would flow freely and happily. People around them were potential friends rather than threats. There were few things more endearing.

And more importantly, this particular type of woman as this particular stage of acoholity needed to be kept as far away from danger as super-humanly possible. 

“One beer to go, please.” The Toad reached down behind the counter to fiddle through the stock.

“H-hey, Miss Samus!” The hunter looked down to see Isabelle and the squid girl tugging at her jeans for attention.

“Are you guys even allowed in here?”

The Inkling huffed. “I got a soda, geez. Listen, has Traynor said anything about an island or anything to you?”

The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow. “She isn’t really the vacationing type.”

“She does seem pretty busy…” nodded Isabelle. “It’s important to relax every-”

“Yeah yeah yeah, sure, so nothing about some place called Wuhu Island.”

“I… don’t think so.” She gestured behind her. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Isabelle and Inkling didn't have long to process the location of Traynor. Samus didn't have time to remain certain of Traynor's movements. Alarming things tend to cascade into each other like dominoes, creating more and more chaos in their wake.

Which is all to say it was around this point that the bar caught on fire.

Chapter Text

How the fire at Club 64 started is a subject of some debate. Some placed the blame at the feet of their enemies. Some of the more heroic types placed the blame on themselves. One attorney of the Wright Anything Agency declared that the owner of Club 64 was the party who held the most blame. The whole establishment was nowhere near the realm of proper fire code. An accident was bound to happen with such lax safety standards.

Months after the incident, one Wolf O'Donnell would eventually make a rather compelling, if convoluted, argument that all of this was actually all because of former Star Fox leader James McCloud. If James hadn't made an enemy of Andross, the mad scientist would have never tried to conquer the Lylat system to begin with. If the Lylat Wars never occurred, the universe would be at peace and the need for a tournament to resolve such high tensions would be unnecessary. And without the tournament, Samus and the Trainer would have never met and arranged a get-together. The entire gathering at Club 64 never would have occurred. So you see, everything really comes down to how inferior the McClouds are compared to might of Star Wolf, Fox.

Fox McCloud stated on record that the fire was O'Donnell's fault.

Ironically, Wolf's argument might have more merit if he was aware of the other connections the deceased dictator had with the elusive Trainer...

Fox McCloud wasn't sure how he got pulled into this conversation. His focus kept shifting back enviously to Falco back at their table. The birdbrain simply raised a glass smugly, ever so delighted he didn't have to be involved in this situation.

Olimar's hopping on the table brought his attention back. "I demand you do something about thi-this criminal!"

Joker gestured to his glass, an elegant motion. "I can share."

It was, of course, root beer.

"Not that! Your organization has critically harmed the profits of Hocotate Freight!"

"The boxes needed to be stopped."

Fox pinched the bridge of his nose. "Olimar, Star Fox is an independent military outfit. I can't actually arrest people unless they're a clear danger."

Joker spun his phone in his fingers. "Watch out, I'm armed."

"Don't you make fun!"

"My deadly weapon: canceling packages on the go." He tossed a fry at the intergalactic deliver man. It bounced off his spacesuit harmlessly. It damaged the ego tremendously.

Olimar's arm pointed outward in shaking fumes of anger. "He's threatening me!"

Fox would rather go back to the academy than deal with this. "Joker. Please don't antagonize him."

"But I'm a big evil space pirate. Yo-ho-ho." 

Olimar puffed up even larger. "You're wasting precious food! And you're all about hurting honest businessmen, of course you're gunning for my bosses next!"

The thief pushed his glasses up. "They know what they did."

"Eco-terrorist!"

"Not lately. I could expand my resume."

Fox gazed back at his own table longingly. "There's no records that the Phantom Thieves are even terrorists, Olimar."

"Someone here is! The paper said so! Who else but the confirmed criminal?!"

Cloud Strife dropped his giant sword on the table. "This seat taken?"

Startled, a batch of Pikmin toppled off the table. One in particular landed onto the head of a passing R.O.B. It struggled to its feet, shuffled around in a daze, before tipping over into one of the plates the robot was carrying.

It didn't have much time to recover as a giant glob of ice dropped down on its head.

Mega Man clutched his forehead in agony.

"I don't even have a real brain- how did you win?"

Popo and Nana simply grinned smugly, chowing down on their ice cream unabated. Ness pat the robot on the shoulder, as if to say forget it, Rock. Its Ice Climber town.

Lucas picked up a new bowl of ice cream off of R.O.B.'s platter. This one was very fancy. It even had a little leaf sticking out on the top. Eagerly, he dug his spoon into the bowl.

The leaf screamed at him.

He screamed back, dropping it on the floor. His companions' bowls soon followed as surprise and alarm overtook the table.

Shulk stood up from his table suddenly. "I'll go get Squirtle."

Bayonetta wasn't particularly interested in the young swordfighter, a more interesting conversationalist than usual at least, but usually it was her who left people at bars. "Boring you, was I?"

"Oh, not at all. But this bar is going to be on fire in a second and its good to be prepared."

Eyebrows went up. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, and please watch your step."

Bayonetta could hear a child's scream from across a city. Across the bar was hardly a challenge. Immediately forgetting his conversation with the strange boy, she leaped to her feet, racing over to the terrified blond child.

"Dear, what's w-"

Her heels immediately slipped out from under her as she stepped into the splats of creamy ice. Even she wasn't graceful enough to avoid falling backwards into Link and Ganondorf's table behind her. Plates and glasses shattered across the floor. The two warriors rose to their feet in surprise.

"Uggghhhh." She was sprawled out on the floor now, glaring at the ceiling. "Smashing."

The tyrant snorted at the woman, returning his gaze to his opponent. "Shall we take this outside, then?"

Link nodded, already turning to the door.

"Well. Glad to see you feel such sympathy." Bayonetta picked herself off the floor, glaring after the two men. She would have rejected their help if they offered, but the offer would still be appreciated. Self-reliance didn't mean she didn't like manners. But she didn't let the mess trouble her as she returned her attention to the children.

What was once Ganondorf's glass of vodka trailed off to the other side of the bar.

The infamous Wolf O'Donnell snickered from the corner. Smoke wafted from his cigarette, an Earth creation he had gained a fondness for. Seeing Fox stuck with these petty fights was entertaining enough. Watching morons pratfall into each other was even better. And best of all, these whelps were too intimidated to dare approach him. Everyone walking by gave him barely hid their fear. He was glad to see that his reputation preceded him.

He was somewhat less accurate on this assumption than he might like. While other fighters were already inclined to avoid Wolf, they were primarily focused on the giant dragon that had decided to rest next to him. The possibility of an angry Charizard was far more terrifying than a petty thug. 

Isabelle and the Inkling raced passed him, trying to make their way towards Samus. As they slipped by, Isabelle quickly pipped up. "No smoking inside, Mr. Wolf!"

He bared his teeth after her. "Stupid, pup."

Now he was feeling vindictive. He searched his pockets for a box, letting his first cigarette drop from his lips. Smoking out of spite was a pastime everyone should try more often, in his opinion.

The light fell right into the stream of vodka that ran across the bar.

Nothing happened, of course. While certainly a dramatic effect, there's simply too much liquid in alcohol to be set ablaze by cigarettes as quickly as the movies suggest. Instead, the drink put out the light completely.

But the disgusting smell remained. It gently rose from the ground, drifting over to the fearsome Charizard.

His nose sniffled. He blinked awake, nostrils flaring repeatedly.

Then he sneezed flames.

Link didn’t particularly care how the events had escalated. He had probably made some expressions that the King of Darkness took offense to, insulting some honor of some kind. And like the drunk, stupid, corrupt brute he was, the King demanded retribution.

Ganondorf glanced in disgust at the filth and grime surrounding them. A toppled over trash can in the corner, abandoned boxes, disturbingly wet spots.

“Look at the muck this country has riddled itself in, hero.” His gravelly voice spewing with hate. “The decadence of it all. The people here… the people of Hyrule… people everywhere… so complacent. Eating up whatever people tell them, blindly accepting authority… they’re all filthy, lazy, pigs, unwilling to do anything to better themselves or their world.”

He grinned a wide-toothed grin in Link’s direction.

“They were meant to be subjugated.”

The words mattered little to Link. His hand was already on the sword.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so noble, hero. ” He spat the word out like it was a hair he found in his burger. “You and your princess know it too. Know how much better we are than them. That’s why we were chosen by the Goddesses. By the Triforce.” He lifted up his hand, the glowing triangle on his palm more apparent than ever. Dark smoke surrounded the hand “We have a destiny."

He was really going on, wasn’t he?

“Yet you insist on fighting the way of things. The natural order that declares the powerful should control the weak. ”

Link hoped he would finish soon. He had strict orders not to attack unless Ganon made the first move.

“Those that would defy that order…” And finally, Ganondorf reared back his hand, dark energy surrounding his fist. “Deserve to be plowed under the road of history!”

It was at that moment just before Link’s sword reached Ganondorf’s neck that the back door of the bar burst open and a crowd of drunken fighters stumbled out of the smoking building. 

Link's sword vanished back into its sheath. Ganondorf's hand disappeared into his pockets.

The crowd barely noticed the duo, desperate to escape the growing stench of smoking wood. Loud rambling and arguing could be hurt among the stream of people.

"Get your filthy paws away from me, pup!"

"I saw you right where the fire started, don't play games!"

"I'm for hire, I don't set fires willy-nilly."

"It was me. I confess. Send me to the clink, Chief."

"Joker, I don't have time for this-"

Somewhere among the squabblers, the Hyrulians spotted her. Swept up in the excitement of the fighters, the Trainer was being carried away by the crowd.

Link hadn’t been paying... the most attention when to Zelda’s explanation of the Trainer’s true identity. She was needed for some part of Zelda’s plans. Maybe she was just some pawn from Ganon’s side of the board. Zelda would probably explain it all again when it were relevant. He had focused more on the Trainer’s potential physical abilities that could aid him if he had to defeat her.

Given the way the woman wobbled around in her attempts to walk three feet forward, it was hard to imagine she would put up much of a fight.

The hero and the villain of Hyrule observed carefully as the Trainer, mumbling to herself, bounced between swordsman and Pokemon and others, struggling to make her way across the alley. Her eyes were clearly not focused well on anything more than two steps in front of her.

Managing to stumble out of the pack, she wobbled before the two. She squinted at the Hyrulians before a wide grin crossed her face. “Hellllllo there, Mr. Canandid!” 

Link and Ganondorf glanced at each other warily. Which one was she talking to....?

But she was already swaying away down the alley.

The warriors of Hyrule weren’t sure how to quite react. Twice now in the past thirty minutes, years of tensions boiled to the surface only to be completely squashed by an unexpected interruption. It was hard to build up the same determination to fight to the death under these circumstances.

Plus, they both really needed that woman to not trip in front of another car.

The two men regarded each other briefly before achieving a silent agreement.

“You aren’t worth the trouble, hero.” Ganondorf sneered, likely more to appease his own sense of superiority. “I have larger plans in motion that can’t involve a petty fight with a child.”

Link debated walking off, but decided to wait patiently for him to finish. The King might get angry again otherwise and Link really did need to keep an eye on that woman.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, a familiar little jingle and a nervous yet chipper voice interrupted Ganondorf from reaching the speech’s completion.

“Oh, hello Mr. Link! Mr. Ganon! I was worried you didn't get out in time!”

Behind Isabelle was a concerned looking Samus Aran.

"Either of you seen Traynor?"

The two men may not have held the Triforce of Wisdom, but neither was stupid either. No one messed with Samus Aran.

They quickly pointed to the end of the alley. The bounty hunter quickly sped off towards the street. She twirled around for a moment before frowning.

The Trainer had already vanished into the night

The Miis, all in all, were pretty satisfied with their evening. They played all sorts of games with people. They got to enjoy good food. They embarked into all sorts of exciting conversations.

But they were mostly excited about the games. They didn't have as many games as they used to, now that they were off the island. Games were things people did together to have fun. And fun was good.

The biggest stumbling block was that people never seemed to quite have enough fun around them. The Miis had always puzzled over this. They tried so hard to make sure people were having fun, but it never seemed to be enough. It was a very unusual conundrum that they had yet to solve.

But they would, eventually. And then the world would be filled with fun and merriment, just like it should be.

As the crowd of fighters dispersed, the Miis decided it was best to head off to bed as well. They had a strict, healthy schedule to maintain after all. They passed an increasingly frantic Samus Aran yammering into the phone.

“Okay- that’s- alright, I’ll look around. Let me know if she comes back to the Castle, alright?”

It didn't take long for the Miis returned to their own hotel, happily chatting among themselves. When they reached their respective rooms, they all took the time to stop, smile, and wave at each other.

“See you tomorrow!”

“Get a good night’s sleep!”

“Early bird gets the worm!”

And so, in perfect unison, each Mii closed the door behind themselves, brushed their teeth, got into pajamas, and tucked themselves under their bed sheets. The Brawler and the Swordfighter were asleep instantly.

Yet the Gunner was not asleep. As soon as all the previous actions had been completed, she got back on her feet and put back on her clothes. She gathered together a basket of snacks and quietly left the room.

This was the third night she had broken the usual schedule. She had never broken the schedule before arriving in the Kingdom. But it was important.

She had to meet with her new friend.

Chapter Text

The Trainer was lost.

This was, actually, not a new experience. She had gotten lost many times in Peach’s castle in the past few weeks. The concept of directions and pathways was still something she was adjusting to. But she had generally grasped the layout of the castle by this point in her stay.

A woozy trek through the big city was proving much more difficult to navigate.

She first attempted to return to the castle. But she couldn’t remember whether she came from the left street or the right street. And also she didn’t quite grasp the idea of flipping directions around once you return somewhere. And also she didn’t know her right from her left.

What the Trainer did know was that the world was even more unbalanced and she still had no idea where she was. Maybe she should simply return to the bar?

She began her search with several minutes of staring at the little boxes that hovered over streets. It held little lights that changed from green, to yellow, to red. It was sooooo nice to look at.

She quickly got distracted, of course, upon seeing a small furry creature scamper down the sidewalk.

Dogs she was familiar with. Wuhu Island had a great frisbee program that let guests play with their animals. Some had been brought into the training room during lessons. Then there was, naturally, the Friendly Big Dog That Walked On Two Legs of the recent week that had been so dutiful in writing down her lessons. The Trainer liked the Friendly Big Dog That Walked On Two Legs

This creature was different from dogs. About the same size as dogs, but with a longer tail and pointier ears.

She wanted to pet it.

And so, one foot after the other, she stumbled after it.

A search party had formed, to Ganondorf’s displeasure. He had only offered to help as a method of trying to get that blasted thing alone for his own purposes. But the bounty hunter, naturally, was in little mood to offer trust. People were so unwilling to offer trust to him. They looked at him like he had burned their crops. It was almost insulting.

He would show them once they were under the heel.

He had almost gotten away to search on his own when it became clear the six of them would have to split into groups. No one had been willing to search with the King of Evil himself. Which had counted on, of course.

He just hadn’t counted on the confounded puppy.

The great King of Evil stomped through the streets, cape flapping in the wind, metal clinking on the ground and against his armor.

The dog jingled happily next to him.

It wasn’t very intimidating to have a colorful dog next to you.

“It got really dark tonight, huh?”

“Obviously.”

“I hope she didn’t get too lost out here.”

“One would hope.”

“Do you think there’s anything scary out there that could hurt her?”

“Most assuredly.” He waved a hand around aimlessly. “Violent thugs, petty criminals, street punks… the usual city rabble causing trouble.”

“Wah! Will she be alright?!”

He glanced down and internally winced at the sight of tears at the edge of her eyes once again. This accursed animal…

“The odds of running into them are quite small,” he lied politely, most for the sake of his own sanity rather than general empathy. “I’m sure there’s no reason to fear.”

The dog nodded slowly. “You probably don’t run into any trouble like that, right?”

He sneered. “Some have tried. All have failed.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh wow! That’s so cool! I’m glad you’re here then Mr. Ganondorf!”

She should be. She would obviously be easy pickings for all sorts of reprobates. But the King didn’t say that. Goddess knows she’d make a whole thing about it.

The rest of the search was filled with rampant, annoying questions and increasingly aggravated lies. The fearless King of Darkness was forced to make a hasty escape as soon as his companion was distracted.

Link disappeared from the search with Belmont within a few minutes. Simon was kind of insulted. He had never been abandoned during an important search before. He had tried to share some measure of conversation. Yet the Hero of Hyrule simply continued walking until he had vanished completely from the Belmont’s line of sight.

Politeness, he noted, was severely lacking in some heroes.

Link’s journey was much shorter. He calmly and confidently took three coordinated turns, climbed over a fence, strolled up several floors of steps, picked the lock, turned on the light, and sat down across from the bed.

Princess Zelda rubbed her eyes, grimacing at the hero. “Its late, Link.”

He merely looked at her. She always had a talent for reading his looks.

“A fight?” She frowned further, climbing out of the bed. “With Ganondorf . When I sent you to that bar, I thought I told you-”

Another look cut her off and her posture quickly relaxed.

“Well, if that’s all, I’m sure you handled him well. But you wouldn’t bug me with that unless-”

She read his expression carefully, brow furrowing. “...No, that doesn’t make sense. We know he’s activated the program, why else would they be spending so much time together?” She paced around the bed, mumbling to herself. “Maybe she’s malfunctioning? She- it must have been lying dormant for hundreds of years….”

The Princess of Hyrule stopped before her dresser and pulled on the silver latch. She dug through the several scattered papers and documents before uncovering a long rolled up sheet. Pushing aside some generic basket from some generic diplomat, she splayed the long blue sheet across the wood. Her fingers traced along patterns and runs and symbols that Link only barely understood.

“No, that doesn’t make sense either… perhaps the Shiekah technology is fighting back against Ganon’s corruption?” She tapped her chin. “I didn’t know the monks had infused that much power into their creations…”

She turned back to Link. “Maintain surveillance. Forget shutting her down. I’ll try to figure out what Peach has to do with all of this.”

Link nodded quickly and was gone within seconds.

Zelda slowly moved to relock her door and turn off the lights, puzzling over events. It just didn’t add up. She knew Ganon’s people had uncovered an old Shiekah weapon. A metal warrior that would obey any command. Disguise itself perfectly among the people to launch an attack. And she knew Ganon had been casting his dark spells to corrupt the weapon to his side.

So why wasn’t it obeying him . In fact, the Trainer seemed to be just… training people. Or at least attempting to. Perhaps it was relying on some old coding to train Shiekah warriors in the past. But then it went to that bar… A socializing program maybe? What would be the point of a perfect warrior doing something like that? How did that fall into Ganon’s plans? Or the Sheikahs systems?

If she didn’t know any better, she would almost think the Trainer had nothing to do with her secret war with Ganon at all.

What an idea.

The chase after the Not Dog brought her deeper and deeper into the city. She had to cover her forehand with her hands to even see past the bright lights that blared all across the city. She didn't know lights could get that bright, or come in that many shades of colors. To be honest, she hadn't known about many colors to begin with. It was a constant barrage of stimulation to the eyes and the ears. How could anyone stand it?

She spotted a tail scurrying past a bright window and a brighter front quickly moved in its direction.

Then she paused.

Past the window, inside the building, was an exercise room. Men and women moved together, not in perfect unison, but together. Movement after movement, stretch after stretch, exercise after exercise, all in perfect display as a group. Above the door into the building were words the Trainer could actually read. 24. Something Fitness. Gym. Inside this building, they were all getting fit.

It was beautiful beyond compare. Each stretch of the muscles moved her to her core.

Her eyes drifted to the person in the center. She was talking to the other students, encouraging them onward, providing necessary feedback all the while. It was very helpful for a student to keep people happy while she was away.

But something was wrong. Different. She observed each perfect movement, each elaborate action, searching for the flaw to it all.

And then it became crystal clear. The woman wasn't a student at all. She was leading the charge, creating the movements, progressing the lessons.

She was a trainer.

The Wii Fit Trainer backed away from the window, struggling to keep the shaking under control. It wasn't possible. That wasn't how things were done. She was The Trainer. The only Trainer anyone needed, the only Trainer that could provide the proper lessons to encourage healthy living.

And yet there stood another, happily teaching what others learned.

The Trainer- a Trainer?- not Trainer? -Trainer stumbled away from the building and toddled off in the opposite direction.

The Inkling would have vastly preferred to be partnered with someone else. Samus Aran, the persona non grata of the intergalactic scene, was not exactly at the height of freshness right now. Being out and about the town was too risky. Anyone could take a picture of the two of them together and spread it around.

Heck, she didn’t even want to search for Traynor in the first place. Not to disparage the more popular, but the Inkling was finding the woman increasingly frustrating. Trouble just seemed to follow her and she had completely dodged getting selfies for weeks. And quite frankly, she didn’t like the woman’s tone.

Who did she think she was, asking her questions like that .

Nonetheless, even Inkling couldn’t ignore the pleading eyes of a cute dog. And so the squid and the hunter searched together.

It was quiet, for the most part, aside from the background noise of a city on a late night. They checked each street corner, peeked inside each building, and called out her name repeatedly. It was like looking for a lost pet.

Before long, they had reached the docks. The Inkling peered nervously at the water. She wasn’t scared of anything, of course, but… it was practical to worry about the shifting waves.

Samus crossed her arms warily. “Maybe we’re overthinking this. She couldn’t have gone that far, right?”

Inkling kicked a rock into the ocean. “She’s an adult, right? She can probably handle herself.”

“Sure, when she’s sober. I don’t know what’s she’s like drunk. I don’t think she knows what she’s like drunk.”

“I don’t see why its your problem. Don’t you have like….” the Inkling twirled a hand aimlessly. “Cities to blow up or something?”

Samus spun around in bafflement and offense. “ Excuse me?”

“I mean, that’s what terrorists do, right?”

“That’s not-” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not a terrorist .”

“Sure, freedom fighter, whatever.”

“ No. ” Samus Aran was not great at conversation to begin with. Debating with a teenager, at best, was a beast of a non-blast-with-lasers capacity. “Where did you hear that? ”

The squid shrugged. “The news.”

Alright. Sure. The bounty hunter looked away, still searching for an extremely pale woman. “Yeah, well. I try not to pay attention to what other people think of me.”

The Inkling glowered. “That’s exactly what everyone should pay attention to.”

Samus glanced back at her companion before looking away again. “Always seemed like a distraction from my work, to me.”

The squid hopped down from the docks onto the beach, looking for more rocks to throw. “That’s dumb. How’re supposed to stay fresh if you don’t know what the people want?”

The hell is fresh . “My job was pretty focused on just getting things done. No time to worry about other stuff.”

The Inkling had no idea what to parse from that. How could a job even function with knowing what was fresh?

She didn’t have much time to respond, however. Her feet hit something hard on the ground.

She looked down.

Oh.

“Hey, I found her!”

Her trek across the busy streets led her to the same type of carpet she had first discovered on Wuhu Island. She knelt down to feel it in her hands, rubbing it between her fingers. Then she quickly dipped over and collapsed. It was surprisingly comfortable. The Board wouldn’t mind too much if she rested for a few minutes. Then again, it wasn’t like the Board would know anything she did anymore.

It was strange, being somewhere else. She missed Wuhu. She missed her stable, solid walls. She missed the consistent schedule and the training and the set way of things. Everything was clear, concise, understood. She never had to question anything. Never had to learn new things, only teach. She was perfectly content in a perfect paradise.

Out here, things couldn’t be farther stretched from the closed world she knew. In fact, it seemed to stretch in a variety of wild, contradictory directions. The rules and limits were still beyond her. The exercises made no sense. Their giant machines, their black mirrors, their vast ceilings and carpets, their questions, their bars, their…. Everything. The Outside was bigger and vaster and more confusing than she had ever expected. And it was already full of things, occupying every space and spot. There was no room for a Trainer. There was no room for her.

She felt... like a tile from the ceiling, abandoned and swept away by the cleaners. Taken to… wherever broken parts of the training room were taken. And that was the most horrifying possibility of all. It had been easy to assume that the Outside was fitless and corrupt and unhappy from her safe little room. But no one was unhappy. People had trained with her and shown fitness levels of high calibur. Nothing appeared to be wrong.

Which meant, quite possibly, no matter how hard she didn’t want to believe it… it was possible she was the thing that was broken.

There was a sudden sharp pain in her stomach.

“Hey, I found her!”

The Trainer rolled over to squint at the voice. It sounded familiar, but familiarity was hard to grasp in her current state.

The smiling, albeit strained, expressions of Samus and the Inkling peered down at her. “Hey Traynor. How you feeling?”

The Trainer stared at the fighters for a few moments, debating between a variety of generic responses and key fitness inducing phrases. But it seemed easier, for once, to simply tell the truth.

“Iiiiiiiii dunno. Empty. Tired.”

“...You wanna go back to the castle?”

She wanted to go back to Wuhu Island. But she was beginning to think you didn’t always get what you want.

“Goooooood workout today.”

The two girls glanced at each other.

“Yeah, we’ll take you back to the castle.”

With a single, effortless movement, Samus lifted the Trainer into her arms and began the journey home.

“I saw... a fuzzy.”

“That’s nice, Traynor.”

“It wassssssssss.”

The Inkling covered her mouth with a hand, desperately trying her snickering.

“Heeyyyy Samamamus.”

“...Yes, Traynor.”

“What’s that?” She pointed off towards the blue carpet.

“...That’s the ocean, Traynor.”

“Oh. What’s that?” She swung her arm towards the metal beasts

“That’s a car.”

“Oh. What’s that?”

The questions continued throughout the walk, Samus struggling not to laugh as her drunken companion asked for names for every which thing they passed.

But the Trainer memorized the names carefully, filling them away deeper into her mind.

She also filed away the fact that Samus Aran was a caring, helpful, and trustworthy individual.

The Galactic Federation’s embassy possessed an airtight security system that went beyond all definitions of efficiency. Fully self-automated, with weapons of the highest calibur guarding every door. Cameras and facial recognition software analyzed every person that entered or attempted to enter the facilities. Its systems could spot and kill an ant trying to make its way past the security gate. To even be approved by the system, several forms and approval slips had to be fulfilled and stamped by three different officials who lived at different edges of the galaxy. With their new champion deep in the inner sanctums of the embassy, the Council refused to take any risks of an unlawful entry.

Yet, there was a curious glitch within the system. No, perhaps glitch was the wrong word. By all accounts, it was working perfectly. Like many forms of recognition software, it could infer similarities and differences from different pictures in order to make conclusions on who it should and should not accept. This lead to an interesting conundrum.

Take, for example, a self-driving car designed to operate as a bus for its occupants. A self-driving car can be programmed to recognize bus stops and park appropriately near them.  But perhaps its internal image of a bus stop happens to have similar shading to an empty field. Upon spotting that field, the self-driving car would recognize the similar shading and immediately park itself in a ditch. Computers don’t quite think the same way human beings do. It would be impossible for it to truly reason and operate from the same framework.

The recognition system was prepared to recognize and understand species of all kinds. It was prepared to differentiate minute details that no one else could notice between twins or clones or any two groups of people.

It was not prepared to process a completely bland, featureless face. There was nothing notable about this face. It wasn’t striking or memorable. It wasn’t ugly or disturbing, at least to a computer. It was simply inoffensive.

The computer couldn’t process a face such as this. It was clearly a face, connected to a body, which made up a person. But it didn’t match any algorithm or program it had been installed with. It couldn’t be labelled as a threat in any form. If it wasn’t a threat, the only logical conclusion was that it was a guest.

So the system let the Mii Gunner inside.

She smiled as she hopped down the stairs to the lower levels. Each door opened easily for her, without question. Even the final door at the end of the deepest darkest hall, locked with codes and keycards and seven different other tests required before anyone could even come close to it, simply bypassed the other steps to let the Gunner through. She simply looked and moved like someone who should be going where she was going. The Gunner had never been blocked from anywhere before, so she didn’t think to stop or pause at any point.

It only took her a few minutes to reach the cage. It was enormous and electric. The Gunner had touched the bars both previous nights thus far and had received a devastating shock each time.

“Good evening!” She smiled up at the cage’s occupant. He towered over her at what must be thirty feet high.

It glared its yellow eyes at her.

She simply smiled back with her blank eyes.

“I brought snacks!” She lifted up a little paper plate of nachos in his direction.

The prisoner’s glare deepened. Its clawed hands were in chains.

“Come get it!” She waggled it happily.

With a chain still around its neck, the prisoner did its best to lean down towards the Mii. It made it closer than it expected, but it couldn’t quite reach even about the same level as the Mii’s head. And it certainly couldn’t reach outside the cage to bite the woman’s head.

No matter how much he wanted to.

But this seemed to work well enough for the Gunner, who quickly tossed the nachos into the air into the cage. The prisoner just barely managed to nab the little plate in the air before it zipped past its mouth.

“Nachos! So good!”

The prisoner, if it could, would roll its eyes in annoyance.

“Have more snacks!” The Gunner quickly tossed other food through the air. Apples, bagged chips, an entire pie, quickly soared through the air before it was gobbled up by the large beast.

Before the Gunner could try and pull out an entire cake, the prisoner hissed angrily at her. She tilted her head curiously before understanding dawned.

“Oh! Your present! Don’t worry, it’s on the way!”

It hissed again. She had said that before.

“Sure! It’s always good to do favors for a friend!”

The prisoner grumbled angrily, leaning back against the wall in frustration, its wings folding into a comfortable position. The chains around his arms and legs rattled. They were reinforced with steel that defied even his strength. He doubted the little thing could really understand him. It was clearly too stupid to remember his requests by the time she left his little chamber. He would almost prefer if she didn’t show up again.

The weapon attached to her arm brought him little comfort anyway.

The Gunner just smiled at he munched away at the tiny offerings she provided for him.

Computers don’t think the way human beings do. Sometimes, programs and machines just don’t operate the ways they’re expected to. They encounter situations that they were never prepared for, never taught to truly understand the parameters of. So they simply try to soldier on as they always have before.

The night of the tournament dinner, the Miis had heard the sound of clawing and screeching echoing from under the depths of the embassy. The Brawler and the Swordfighter looked first to the people of their surroundings. Since the other fighters seemed not to hear the sounds, the two Miis decided the sounds simply did not exist and continued on their day.

But the first people the Gunner had looked to had been the Brawler and the Swordfighter. They had reacted to the sounds. Therefore, the sounds existed. And she knew they belonged to someone. And so she had to find that someone. It was what she had been taught to do, after all. So it didn’t matter that the someone was a giant, terrifying, winged monstrosity, locked away from all others who could see and hear it. She couldn’t defy the things she had been taught. And she had been taught, above all else, that every person was a potential friend.

Even creatures like Ridley.

Chapter Text

She stepped carefully on the floors of the training room. The Trainer could feel a slight imperfection in the flat, tile floor. Her toe felt around for it until she could pin-point the exact spot of the dent. There was something almost fun about little traits like that in the otherwise pristine quality of the room. She hadn't fully appreciated them while she was still here.

The room was safe and secure. The perfect white walls and the perfect white floor made a perfect void for those that sought it. Only white void, with herself in the middle, completing her strength training exercises and yoga movements. She could be anything in the void. She could be a dog, facing the ground. She could be a palm tree, tall and strong with the occasional wobble from what she assumed was what the wind felt like. She could be a triangle, a warrior, or even the moon itself shining down to enlighten students. And whenever she began to feel her true identity melting away, she simply had to look in the mirror and see her smiling reflection.

She looked in the mirror. Her reflection was smiling.

She couldn't feel her true identity returning.

She couldn't feel anything returning.

She couldn't feel anything.

"Yes, I think this will do nicely."

She could see the Balance Board in the mirror. He was hopping around, thoroughly examining the qualities of their new home.

"Theses facilities should suit us just fine, don't you think?"

She forced the smile back onto her face. It was important to be agreeable. "It will suit us fine."

The Board tilted about some more. "Should be safe and secure here. Its a bit separate from the rest of the facilities. Will that be okay?"

She nodded again, out of obligation more than actual opinion. His words all seemed... vaguely familiar.

"If there's any luck, we can confirm the island's safety and return to the Miis' training." He was rambling. He used to do this often. In the early days of the Center, he would come in to ramble about whatever topic suited him. Fitness of the body, fitness of the mind.

Then he just... stopped. Not all at once, she supposed. His visits just occurred less and less frequently as time went on. She hadn't even noticed. Why hadn't she noticed?

Had she ever really listened?

"Well?" She jolted out of her reverie. The Board was gazing at her expectantly. "Anything you might want?"

She checked to make sure her practiced smile was in place. "A good stretch."

The Board wobbled. "Anything else?"

She opened her mouth.

She closed her mouth.

"Well, if that's all, I'll go finish our preparations." The Board began to toddle across the pristine floor towards the exit. "Remember: healthy minds make healthy bodies! And vice versa!"

A sudden urge gripped her. She still hadn't seen him. She had seen only reflections and mirrors, not the real, actual Board.

She turned quickly.

But he was already gone.

Trainer woke to the sounds of hustle and bustle, with the lovely addition of an agonizing headache. She still wasn’t used to sleeping, much less waking up in pain. Light blasted through the curtains. She tried covering her face in blankets, but the eye-searing brightness seemed unhindered by the cloth barrier.

No wonder people enjoyed sleep. Once you had a taste for it, it was supremely addicting. She couldn’t help but fantasize lying down and letting the worries of the world fade away into slumber.

But the sounds of the Toads running about would not offer this to her.

“Miss Traynor! Oh dear- Miss Traynor! I’m sorry, but it’s time to get up!”

The Trainer pulled the sheets down to her nose, squinting gray eyes at the little creature. She supposed there were exercises to be done.

Although it was harder to see the point when they had already been recycled and taken for other to teach.

Nonetheless, with a hefty groan, she pushed herself out of the bed. She wobbled momentarily before balance reoriented itself.

“Oh, you’re already dressed! Great! We gotta get you to the tournament, fast!”

Tournament? Was that finally starting? And she still didn’t understand exactly what she would have to do at this tournament.

She didn’t have time to question. The Toad gripped her by the hand and dragged her toward the door. She had to lean down to keep a hold of him, which grew increasingly difficult as they bumbled down stairs and slipped across newly polished floors. Swiftly shoved into the beast--car, Samus had said-- the Trainer couldn’t help but notice the influx of crowds peppered along the streets. Tall men, short men, even shorter men, tall women, short women, even shorter women. Pale men, pale women, tan men, tan women. Men with hats, women with hats, people with hats, with blue shirts, with green shirts, with white shirts, with red shirts. The car sped by them too quickly to count them all. Perhaps this was what a million looked like. Too large to count, too large to imagine in a single room.

She looked away from the window, trying not to think of all the eyes that could be watching and copying her exercises. All the ways other people could be The Trainer.

One of the Toads led her from the car, away from the excited, screaming crowds, and into the deep recesses of the tournament building. The gym looked so forlorn as they passed it by, abandoned and empty by any occupants. The trek through the facilities ended in a large room, full of fighters. It was a cozy atmosphere as they conversed and gossiped with each other, munching on food spread across a series of tables. A large window peered into a stadium of people, as varied as the people in the streets, cheering and mingling among themselves as well.

There was something different in the air today. The fighters had been pleasant enough before, but they treated her with newfound smiles and waves.

“Traynor!” Little Mac grinned, slapping her on the back. “That party was just what I needed! What a great idea!”

Lucina bowed politely before her. “Your advice was most appreciated. The troops and I have been getting along better than ever.”

The man named Ike shook her hand firmly. “We haven’t had a chance to talk, but I saw your interview on KNN. You’re just what these politicians and royals need to get a healthy reality-check.”

They all had nothing but nice things to say about her.

Her smile smoothed. It felt... good.

The only figure she didn’t recognize among the room was a greasy, thin looking man sipping from a glass in a corner of the room. In her good spirits, she decided it would be best if she approached someone else. She walked over to him, offering a hand like so many had before. “Hello there! Are you ready to work out today?”

The man raised an eyebrow before shaking the hand quickly. “No, no, I’m afraid I’m only a representative for our fighter. They’re a little too…” He allowed a little smirk to crawl his lips. “Big for a room like this.”

What a strange way to phrase a fact.

“Miss Traynor, correct? I’m the Ambassador for the Galactic Federation.” He smiled again. “I hear you and Miss Aran are getting along?”

Samus was in a pretty good mood herself in this morning. After calling Belmont and Isabelle to let them know Traynor had been found, she sent Inkling on her way and carried Traynor back to the castle. She let the woman ramble on with her questions, trying not to condescend. She wasn’t sure if she still knew anything about the mysterious woman, but she had certainly discovered what she shouldn’t let her intake during future meetings.

It still brought a smile to her lips picturing the pale woman pointing at various objects on the street, desperately searching for definitions. It was a hell of a sight.

The opening match, starring Incineroar and Lucario, went on without trouble. Samus found socializing with the other fighters easier than it had been the previous week.

“Hey Samus! I didn’t see you willing to throw down last night!” Little Mac, still cocky from his arm-wrestling from previous night.

She laughed, shaking her head. “I didn’t think it was fair to break your arm the day before the tournament!”

The sudden party had cooled tensions between the competition and the entire roster was friendlier than ever. As reluctant as she had been to see so many people crash her… meeting with Traynor, she couldn’t deny it had all worked out for the best

...Had that been her plan all along? Traynor did seem the sort of person who sat back to observe others quietly. She must have noticed the arms-length most people offered to her. Was she trying to make things easier for her?

She scanned the room for the woman, finding nothing.

“Hello there!”

She spun around quick to see the smiling face of Traynor beaming back at her. Anxieties melted away.

“Hello yourself. You feeling better?”

“Yes. Thank you for your assistance last night.”

She waved it off. “It was nothing. I figured you’d need to get home in time for this.”

“You are very kind.”

It was at this moment that Samus noticed the skulking shape of the Ambassador, glaring at Samus as he moved past them. She was all too eager to glare back. With everything else with Traynor… she had almost forgot all about him.

“Was he bothering you?”

The Traynor turned to spot the Ambassador. “No. He just wanted to know about you.”

Of course. Samus sipped her drink irritably. “What’d you tell him?”

She smiled, bright and kind as always. “I told him you took me to bed last night.”

Samus quickly fell into a choking fit.

“I’m sorry, my king, but by all accounts, the spell was cast perfectly. The warrior shall obey your every command.”

“That’s not possible,” he hissed. He glanced over his shoulder, checking for any prying ears at the party. Satisfied, he returned his focus to the magic mirror in his palm. “She’s doing things that don’t make any sense. Wandering off into the night, consorting with… anyone. It must have failed.”

The Gerudo warrior pursed her lips. The only thing coming to mind was the possibility that her king simply wasn’t powerful enough to control the Shiekah technology. A statement which would quickly result in a beheading, a burial, and a complete censure of her name from the records. If he felt her worth the effort.

“Perhaps a Hylian trick, your excellency?”

His teeth scraped against each other like chalkboards on a nail. “Obviously. And yet you have failed to muster a solution.”

“It will take some time, your darkness. Perhaps longer than the tournament. It is old magic we are translating…”

“Oh, hello Mr. Ganondorf!”

The mirror vanished into the king’s cape. The Gerudo soldier, thousands of miles away, enjoyed a moment of relief. Ganondorf, on the other hand, once again found himself staring down the cheerful face of that friendly dog.

“...Good morning.”

“I was a little worried that I lost you last night! You just vanished!”

He struggled to maintain an impassive face. “Yes, urgent business presented itself. I had to leave quickly.”

“Ohhhh, I understand that.” She hopped up to grab some treats from the counter. “When things get busy at home, I barely get a chance to sleep. I have to make sure everything is filled out in triplicate.”

“How fascinating.” Ganondorf quickly began searching for another exit.

“I’m sure it’s even harder managing a kingdom though! Being a king must be tough work.”

“You do what must be done.” His eyes scanned each of the fighters along the room. He didn’t really want to talk to Bowser or his ilk…

“But being the only person to decide how houses and businesses should be set up… its gotta be stressful!”

“Bah. If our city collapses, we merely rebuild or return to our nomadic roots.” The Trainer was, unfortunately, still conversing with Samus Aran, who he absolutely did not want anywhere near his plans.

“Nomadic?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, we would survive off the land and take shelter where we can.”

“Wouldn’t that be hard?”

“You do what you must to survive in the desert.” How bad a conversationalist could Game and Watch be…?

Then he heard it again. The sniffling. He shifted his gaze down and there was that infernal dog crying again. He quickly looked around in a panic, desperately putting himself between the view of the dog and every hero who could see the big scary man terrifying the innocent dog.

“By the gods- how was that insulting?!”

“N-no!” She brushed away her tears quickly. “I just thought about how hard that would be! Taking care of all those people… without knowing if you could. If that was hanging over my head… I don’t think I could handle it!”

The Great King of Darkness stared at the creature before him. He found himself... flummoxed. There was a tinge of something in his stomach, getting tangled in between his organs and muscles and blood streams and everything else in between. His throat felt unusually dry. He tilted his head, trying to grasp the words that had slipped through the air.

“...Are you crying… for me? ”

“Y-yeah!” She pulled out Ganondorf’s loaned handkerchief from her pocket, honking it against her nose. “It sounded sad….”

The King stared at the creature for a long, silent moment, searching for a response that didn’t come naturally. No one had ever cried for the King before. Not even his own troops, loyal to him towards the end, had shed a tear for the responsibilities he held. He wasn’t sure how he felt, seeing it. It did not fill him with the sense of power that typically followed emotional declarations of loyalty.

So the great and fearless king, leader of numerous troops and warriors, master of dark magic, and dreaded slayer of heroes simply stood there awkwardly as Isabelle honked further.

Snake was in the middle of an existential crisis. His hand was rubbing his forehead, desperation for a smoke building. The Inkling and Belmont glanced at each other warily. A blow-up felt inevitable.

“So you just… asked them where she came from.”

“...In our defense, it was Lady Isabelle who ventured forth with the idea.”

He exhaled a deep breath. “And you all just took them at their word.”

“Look, its a lead!” The Inkling raised up her hands like she was a basketball player guarding a player. “You’re the one with the spy nonsense, leads are good!”

“Spying is generally secretive. You can’t just… ask people things directly.”

The squid shrugged. “Looks like it worked to me.”

Snake leaned back in his chair. He grappled with a retort, none of which felt clever enough to make himself feel like the real brains of the operation. In all honesty, he just felt foolish. His allies had turned up more potential answers in five minutes of just talking to people than he did in several days of covert observation.

“Nnnnnggghhhh… Fine, this… ‘Wuhu’ then. The hell is it?”

“It does not appear to match any territory on the map..”

“And you know it’s probably boring if it’s not even on that.”

Snake rubbed his eyelids. “I’ll send it over to my contacts, maybe they can turn up something…”

The Inkling took to smugness like she did to paint. “You’re welcome .”

Simon quickly intervened before the soldier could strangle the girl. “And what of your investigations? Anything of merit?”

Snake fished around for his cigarette, stuffing it into his mouth. “Hrmmmgh. A name and an address. I’ll check it out myself after today’s fights.”

“Why not now? We could give you a good alibi.”

He smirked, moving to his feet. “When I’m up next in the bracket? You wish.”

His display of confidence was quickly interrupted as a gloved hand snatched the cigarette from his lips. He quickly turned to glare at the smiling Peach.

“No smoking indoors, Snake!”

“Nnnnngh.”

The news broadcasts took the time to interview the populace in between matches. Gathering information on the public’s feelings on the fights was great for filler. But it also helped define where the eyes of the people were drawn.

“It was a pretty good fight…” nodded a koopa. “King Bowser’ll decimate the competition for sure thing year.”

“I like Isabelle!” squealed a young goomba girl. “She’s so cute! She’ll beat them all!”

“Yo! I just want to see that Traynor in the ring,” laughed a young college-bound Goron. “She’s got some big Goron energy.”

“I like that Traynor…” noted an older Zora. “She knows how to respect her elders. Keep rings simple. Keep politics simple.”

“Its good to see another woman for my kids to admire,” a middle-aged woman smiled perkily. “I don’t want them to think the Tournament is a boy’s club!”

“She’s got some interesting ideas, man.” A young hippie blew smoke from his vape pen. “Peace on Earth, everyone exercising their rights, working together… I’m into it.”

“I saw her chase after a cat last night! She must care a lot about animals!”

A family of Toads proudly displayed their Traynor t-shirts and hats. The littlest Toad stepped up to the camera with a big smile.

“I implicitly trust this celebrity and want to do anything she says!”

The family laughed, heartily.

The camera cut away back to the match, but the feelings of the people were forming faster and faster.

Chapter Text

If forced to describe Miss Traynor, Samus Aran would be hard-pressed to find the right words, particularly at this moment. The hunter still had faith in Traynor’s intelligence. She had an air of wisdom about her that couldn’t be denied.

Still. Still. She was beginning to suspect there were certain things that fell out of the woman’s area of expertise.

She had tried, multiple times, to explain to her why her statement to the ambassador were… concerning . She had phrased it as delicately as possible. Yet the woman simply blinked in polite confusion at the bounty hunter’s rambling.

“Let me see if I understand…” The two women were sitting in a small cafe in the back of the room, cups of coffee near each respective hand. “The ambassador thinks… I meant…. Something other than what I said?”

Samus’ head was in her hands, elbows straight up on the table. “Yes. That’s. Likely.”

“How could I mean something other than what I say?”

 Samus stared helplessly for a moment. “Because… words can mean multiple things?”

The woman pondered this, gazing up at the ceiling. Then she returned her gaze to Samus. “People should really be careful with what they say then.”

Samus could feel her brain contorting against the sheer reason of it. There were a million and one responses and criticisms that could, in any other situation, pierce the sentence in half. Yet the simplicity of the statement, combined with the utter confidence of the speaker, was too blunt to be felled by any one of them.

She shook her head, returning to her drink. The warmth was... soothing. Comforting. This planet was chillier than she remembered. She found herself seeking out hotter and hotter drinks and foods in her off-hours. “You’re a strange one, Traynor.”

“I am?”

“A bit. You’re so…” She twirled her spoon in the cup. “So confident in others. So straightforward. Its like you don’t have doubts about anything.”

Traynor imitated the movement, observing the swirl of the coffee. “I’ve never had any reason to doubt anyone before.”

“I guess you had a safe home life.”

“Very safe. I will return someday.”

This was the sort of thing that gave Samus a sort of tingle in her stomach. She had always held a complicated relationship with homes. She had crashed in a number of cozy little homesteads during her travels across the universe. Grateful families she had saved. Charming couples, old and young, who had a spare couch. Some… attractive faces encountered in a bar. She enjoyed the feeling of a cloth rug in her toes. The smell of a home-cooked meal. The sounds of people enjoying the company of each other. Yes, Samus enjoyed a good home. She liked to protect homes. She gave up a good portion of her earnings to make sure the good homes were maintained.

But the idea of going back to homes… felt strange. Like something that wasn’t done. Homes were supposed to be temporary places to rest your feet until the next thing came along.

Permanent homes were just a thing that happened to other people.

“What’s it like?” She found herself speaking without really thinking about it. “Your home?”

Traynor swirled the coffee a bit longer, considering. “A small land in the middle of the… ocean.”

Samus didn’t catch the way the Traynor sounded out the word. “An island?”

Traynor smiled. “Yes. Wuhu Island.”

The name flicked a switch in her head. Isabelle and the squid girl had asked about it, hadn’t they? In all the hubbub of last night, she had completely forgotten about their questions. “A lot of time growing on the beach, then?”

“No. I worked.”

“Worked?”

“Worked.”

She could understand that. Work became your life so quickly. Work started as a thing you did to pay for food and bills. Then it became your the only thing you were good for. Your value as a person.

“What did you do?”

“Train students.”

Military training, maybe? This explanation added together into a clear picture. Traynor carried herself carefully, with the experience of a soldier and a scholar. Maybe this was what drew her to the woman. That familiar sense of… painful experiences.

“What made you quit? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I did not quit.”

“Oh?”

Oh.

“Oh.”

The silence stretched for a minute. Traynor continued to twirl the spoon in her cup.

“But… you think you’ll go back?”

“One day.”

“Even though you were, uh…” What would be the right term here? Fired felt harsh, somehow. “Let go?”

“They will need me again. There is no other place I belong.”

A hand reached over and stopped Traynor’s twirling. Samus hadn’t even realized she moved.

“You’re welcome almost everywhere, Traynor. People like you.”

Astonishment flashed on her face. “They do?”

“I mean, Peach and I certainly do. And after last night… well, you really brought a lot of people together.”

Traynor tilted her head, fixing Samus with a long, curious look.

And then she brightened up the room with a smile. “Thank you for saying so.”

Realizing the perhaps “incorrect” placement of her hand, Samus quickly backed off. She hid her embarrassment behind a wave. “Just saying what I’ve seen.”

“You are very resourceful. So it must be true.”

The two women smiled at each other.

There was something so wonderful about learning new things about a friend. 

His large, strong hands wrung together. Fingers intertwined. His back was as straight and proper, as it should be, but it carried a tinge of an exhausted slump. His legs lacked any sign of tremble, but it carried the stiffness of facing the unfamiliar. The King of Darkness was not a person who appeared as though he had ever sat on a hallway bench before.

His canine companion was still honking into his handkerchief.

He had contained his frustration for longer than many might expect. He had only lightly bonked the back of his head against the plaster walls of the hallway a few times. Nonetheless, his nerves were on fire.

The blonde, spiky haired fighter strolled past. He glanced from Isabelle to Ganon before fixing the latter with a suspicious glare. 

Ganon retaliated with his own fearsome look. 

A quick, silent game of “You better not have hurt-” “Or what-” “Or else” “Go ‘or else’ to a peon who cares” played out between them. 

Finally, Cloud decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and returned to the party.

“Are you quite finished?” Ganon managed as the door clicked shut.

The dog nodded softly, sniffling. “I-I’m okay. I’m sorry.”

You should be.

“Worry not.”

She brushed the last bit of tears away. “It’s just… not fair!”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it now?”

“Yeah! Having to struggle just to eat and live and survive...” She shook her head.

“Its not fair at all!”

The fires of justice in her eyes were lit by the sparks of passionate caring. The great king had to look away quickly before it blinded him.

“It is just the truth. Fairness has little relevance.”

“It has every relevance!” She huffed. “Everyone deserves to be able to… live. ”

“Everyone does what they must.”

“Still…” She crossed her arms. “I don’t like it .”

Care was not a thing Ganondorf was used to. There was deference. There was loyalty. There was fear. Concern was… different. Unexpected. New.

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Let it trouble you not. It is simply the way of things.”

Isabelle leaped to her feet. “Nuh uh. If there’s a problem, it’s our responsibility to fix it!”

It took every ounce of strength in him not to laugh at the determination in her little fluffy face and her little wagging tail.

“Our responsibility, is it?”

“Of course!” She puffed up, hands placed squarely on her hips. It was a heroic post she had seen superheroes make on TV before they fought the big evil. “Public servants like us have to do whatever it takes to help our communities!”

“Public-” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Several points of mental calculation had to be calibrated before he could even begin to understand what she was saying. “You work in… government.”

Her head chirped with bells as she nodded excitedly. “The mayor and I have launched twenty different projects to help improve our town! And they’ve done wonders for improving local morale!”

“Twenty, you say.” The sarcasm was thick.

“Well…” she winked. “Twenty so far .”

Oh, by the goddesses…

“I’m really proud of our new bridges too. It’s really made things so much more convenient for our villagers!”

“Yes, well… making things more convenient is hardly the highest priority of the Geru- what are you doing.”

A little notepad had appeared in her hands. The page was already almost full with elaborate notes. “Nomadic does make it a little harder. What sort of trade systems do you have?”

“Trade- my people do not give things to outsiders. ”

She blinked. “You… you don’t trade?”

This had gone on too long. Her brief confusion might finally be his exit. He stood, straightening himself. “My people can sustain themselves, thank you.”

“But trading is one of the basics of diplomacy! There’s all sorts of things you can gain with trade.”

“Such as?” 

“More access to other kinds of food, cloth…” Her eyes glittered. “And more friends!”

Ugh. He nearly recoiled. “My people have been alone for time immortal. They have survived before. They will continue to survive. Now, if we are done here…”

The little worker was still writing in her little book with her little paws and her little mind. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Dorf! We’ll help figure something out for you!”

“I am sure you will try.” He stepped further away. “Farewell.”

“I’ll talk to Mr. Snake and we can start making plans!”

“Quite generous.” More steps back. “If you will excuse me…”

The King of Evil bravely retreated from the overwhelming enthusiasm of a four foot tall shizu.

“Mr. Snake’s really smart and tough!” She called after him. “He won’t give up on this either! He never loses!”

Snake lost the fight.

On purpose, thank you. A fact he had to explain to several very, very upset American ambassadors. As soon as the battle had ended, he’d been shuffled off to some private room, with a private phone, with a bunch of private numbers on call. He couldn’t keep track of any of the names. Some generals, some White House stooges, some pencil pushers. Big important people. All a bunch of voices screaming that he lost to a space bird.

“How are we expect to make a show of force, if events keep proceeding like this? How are we supposed to prove the strength of America if weak old soldiers with a smoking problem are our heroes?! Maybe he should have died in the arctic with his brother after all!”

These weren’t the exact words, but they were certainly what Snake was sure they were thinking. Hell, maybe they were hidden in their lecture somewhere. God knows it went on long enough.

It was also completely pointless. They certainly couldn’t pull him back home. The military brass had to admit, Snake was always more useful behind the scenes than on the front lines.

That didn’t mean any of them were happy about the arrangement.

But that was fine by him. He was too far beyond caring about the political games these men played.

“One more thing, son.”

Snake had almost been free at last. He grimaced, turning back towards the machine. 

“Hrrrmgh.”

“You’ve given us the real good shit here, David.” The voice was gruff. Confident. Bit of timbre. Mix of American accents in there. Probably traveled from the South to the West to Washington often. Many politicians did. Snake couldn’t place him any more than that.

“But as… useful as this Traynor stuff is… I think the boys here might be looking for a bit more.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “More…?”

“You should have more free time now that you’re through with this tournament bullshit. Which leaves you stuck dealing with the daily grind of listening to whatever these fruit loops are spewing anyway. Your nation would love any tidbits you could get us.”

Realization struck.

“...you want me to spy on the others.”

The voice laughed. “Are we cutting right through the shit? I like it! That’s right, David. Whatever you can find out about these wackos. You gotta that little Inkling working for ya. That’s a good in right there. She's got some good ideas.”

His fist tightened. “...the Inkling?”

“You can’t deny it’s a familiar idea, eh? Perpetual war and all the wonderful job creation that comes with it. Might be worth learning more about.”

There wasn’t much more he could stand to listen to. In a quick movement, he burst out into the hall, slamming the door behind him.

A million miles away, Senator Armstrong grinned from the safety of his office. 

“Finally, a soldier with some goddamn balls." He popped a cigar in his mouth. "Might almost be worth my time if he could actually back them up.”

Snake was a soldier who faced all forms of imminent death. Nuclear weapons. Extremist terrorists. Deadly viruses. Close combat.

Yet it was the bureaucracy that gave him the shakes. His fingers fumbled with the cigarette, grumbling as the flame failed to light his stick of tobacco.

“You know, you might want to give vape a shot.”

He didn’t even have to see her to hear the smug look on the Inkling’s face.

“...The hell’s a vape.”

“Oh my cod, you’re so old.”

Nnnngggghhh. “Whaddya want?”

“More likes, mostly. Some resquids. A name drop on Fresh Off The Hook.”

“Inkling.”

“Also to see if there’s any footage of your face when you lost.”

“I lost on purpose.”

“Did you prepare that excuse before you tried to seem cool before the battle or have you just since a bird slammed you into the ground?”

“Falco is a fighter to be respected.”

“So you did lose!”

“Inkling-"

He shouldn’t have turned so fast. He wasn’t quite ready to look at the kid yet.

She was so small. So young. So much… life. 

All the ways it could all go wrong.

He could see it now. Weapons strapped to every limb. Each muscle trained for every reality except the lonely nights in whatever war-torn countryside they could drop her in. The eyes dull and empty after everything she’d see. Everything she’d do. The world burning. The perpetual war churning. And the toll. The endless toll.

“Snake?”

He shook his head. The vision vanished. The little soldier quickly replaced with the snotty brat.

Genuine concern played out in her eyes. “You, uh… having a senior moment?”

He snorted, looking away. “You wish. Then I’d forget how you’ve been slacking off.”

“Please. Traynor’s on, like, 3rd Street.”

“...and you know this how?”

She waggled her phone at him. “People post about her! She and Samus were out getting coffee or whatever. I can always know where she is!”

“Hnnnngh.” He dragged a hand down his face. “So this is the future of intelligence…”

“You’re just jealous because you don’t know how to work a phone."

He rolled his eyes as he returned to fumbling with his smokes. “Huskies bark less.”

“...Who were those guys that pulled you away, anyway?” The edge of curiosity in her voice.

He waved a dismissive hand. “Bureaucrats, mostly. Yammering about my loss.”

“Do you have fans?” The smug amusement was creeping back in. “Oh- they’re all dads in sweater vests, aren’t they?”

“No. They think I made the country look bad.”

“You kinda did.”

“Hnnnngh. People shouldn’t fight for flags or national honor. They need to fight for ideals. For people.”

“Is that really something a soldier should say?”

He grinned cheekily. “It’s exactly something a soldier should say.”

As he began his walk outside the building, the Inkling had to give credit where credit was due. She was starting to see why people latched onto Snake the way they did. She wasn't sure she had an anti-authority streak before now. But sometimes, talking to him, a little hum of "fight the man" lit up in her veins. 

It was a far more tempting feeling to explore than she expected.

Chapter Text

Coffee with Samus had been fascinating. Learning the names of things had been one thing. Learning the meanings had been… illuminating. Trainer had always known that words meant things. But the idea that words meant things was a much harder concept to grasp.

Currently, Trainer was experimenting with descriptions. Food and its “taste” seemed to be absolutely full of descriptions. The coffee had been harsh and “bitter,” but after the first sip, Trainer had trouble putting it town.  Thus, upon her return to the tournament building, she was primarily centered on the food table. It was time to really dedicate herself to the study of words.

It also helped to forget that the description of “The Trainer” proved to be… less special a  description as she had previously believed.

“How would you describe this?”

Simon Belmont blinked from his position on the other side. He squinted carefully at the donut. He seemed to spend quite some time near her. Trainer wondered if he was tasting things too.

“...I could not say. I have not experienced much of this new century’s food.”

Trainer considered the pastry before lifting it towards the vampire hunter. Simon reluctantly accepted the gift. He looked more like he was accepting a dead rat than a flavorful pastry.

Trainer picked up a new pastry, as close in shape as Simon’s as she could manage. She nodded to Simon, as though they were sharing a private agreement.

Then she bit into the donut.

Simon, with dread, imitated the movement.

He recoiled, coughing helplessly and struggling to keep the tasty treat in his mouth.

Trainer simply chewed thoughtfully.

“Good lord…” He breathed. Sweat dripped down his forehead. He had to grip the table to balance himself. “That was… far more plentiful in sugar than I anticipated.”

“Sugar?”

“Yes. Yes, that was… far too sweet.”

Trainer chewed some more, swallowing. After a thoughtful moment, she nodded. “Sweet. It was sweet. Thank you.”

Then she continued her food journey down the table.

At regular intervals, she noticed the other members of the tournament crowding around the windows overlooking the arena. Some of them pumped their fists into the air. Others yelled and cheered. Other even groaned and spit. It was quite a passionate display.

Curiosity overtook her. With a bagel in hand, she walked over to peer out the window.

In the center of the arena, an intense exercise was underway. Two figures moved quickly, dodging around each other, the occasional fist or kick stretched out towards the other party. One struck with a blade, the other shot light. They clawed and scraped and pushed and pulled. It was an all-out, melee. An ultimate brawl.

She bit into her bagel.

She wondered where Samus was. She could explain where this fight came from.

She tapped the shoulder of the fighter next to her. It took some doing for Ike to tear his attention away from the scuffle.

“Excuse me. Where is Samus Aran?”

“Huh?” He look was downright baffled. “You don’t know?”

Something of a rude question, although to be fair he didn’t know exactly how little the Trainer knew.

He gestured down to the arena. “That’s her in the suit. She’s fighting right now!”

Trainer’s eyes shot back out the window instantly.

Yes… yes she could see it now. Even beneath the metal layers, accounting for the weight and restrictions, the figure moved unmistakably like Samus. But why was she…?

Hero slashed Samus once more, knocking the hunter to the ground. Trainer slammed her fact against the glass, eyes wide in shock. No, no, no, no, no, no no no no no.

Ike, on the other hand, grinned. “Ohhhh, Mac’ll be payin’ up after all!”

Hero lowered his blade, pointing it carefully at Samus’ throat.

The moment didn’t last.

With a single kick, the blade shot up through the air. Hero didn’t have enough time to react before another blast of light and laser blasted him right in the face.

Ike could only watch as his payday flew out of the arena.

Confetti and cheers scattered the crowd. Samus Aran had won her first victory of the tournament and her die-hard fans were ecstatic . 

Relief coursed through Trainer. It hadn’t occurred to her that someone would want to hurt Samus. “Why would he do that?”

Ike rubbed his neck. “Kinda looks like he got arrogant towards the end there. You can’t just charge in blindly with a blade- you gotta plan it out.”

“Why attack Samus like that?”

“Hm?” Ike looked over the Trainer. She didn’t seem the swordfighting type. He couldn’t blame her for being curious. “Well, it’s usually polite not to attack while your opponent is down. In a real fight, you’d be a fool not to. But for sport, it’s just bad taste.”

A… real sport?

She looked over at the arena. Now that she thought about it, she remembered the resort offered swordfighting lessons. But, to her knowledge, the blades were not nearly so sharp.

She wondered: was this tournament for fighting?

What an idea.

While the Americans argued over their options, the Galactic Federation faced their own difficulties. In his cold, sterile office at the Embassy, the Ambassador drummed his fingers on the desk.

“Is assassination off the table?”

The Admiral, lightyears away, grimaced. “Aran’s still too popular. We could have an open revolt on our hands. Even an accident could prove dangerous.”

“I would have thought the media would have solved that predicament.”

“Only Federation loyalists seem to be listening. Aran’s… heroism has shown us up more than a few times.”

A bespectacled man from the Interior pushed on his glasses. “Her donations to victims of Space Pirate attacks has outweighed the Federation’s own financial support. The people haven’t forgotten that.”

 The Ambassador growled. “That damn woman is too good at winning public favor. What about our Phazon research?”

The Head Scientist of the R&D started here. “We’ve had progress, but certainly not enough for this tournament.”

“If you can’t do that, what is the use of you?”

“Watch yourself, Ambassador.” The Admiral fixed the Ambassador with a firm glare. “You’re a diplomat , not command staff. You’re on call in the name of Federation interest. Don’t overstep your bounds.”

The Ambassador would have loved to throw a screaming fit at this brass-ridden nitwit. But there was no use getting testy. As soon as he gained enough backing, he’d show each of these arrogant blowhards where the real brains rested.

“...Fair enough. If it isn’t overstepping , I’d say the Ridley project is our most ideal at the moment.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Ambassador.” The man from Interior shuffled through his documents. “This is Samus Aran . If anyone’s prepared to fight Ridley, it would be her.”

“Indeed.” The Scientist nodded. “It is fair to assume that her entire arrival at the tournament was for the purpose of eliminating Ridley. We cannot take the risk of losing our most valuable asset.” 

“An asset we would not have exposed to the public if it wasn’t for your insistence, Ambassador.” The Admiral’s glare couldn’t possibly deepen any further.

The Ambassador sputtered. “A show of force was necessary! The other governments can’t know that we’re trustworthy without seeing what weapons we can offer!”

And they certainly couldn’t learn to bow to the Federation’s might without them either.

“What’s done is done. For now, we need to make sure Aran does not actually encounter Ridley in the tournament. And we must be sure Ridley is under control before his first fight in the ring.”

The Interior Man rubbed his chin. “What about this Traynor woman? The news seems fixated on her. Does she have some new connection with Aran like they claim?”

The Ambassador snorted. “Absolutely. The woman herself told me Samus took her to bed last night.”

A brief silence stretched over the call.

“...Goodness.”

“Fascinating.”

The Ambassador began typing into his computer. “Sending the information now. I think if we learn more about Traynor, we might have leverage to put against Aran. Or at the very least, something to make her look worse if necessary.”

The Admiral nodded curtly. “Naturally. Anything we can do to keep the civilians on the right side of this fiasco, the bet-

The feed suddenly cut out.

The Ambassador blinked. Then he clicked the pad on his computer a few times.

“Hello?”

No response.

Damn connection. He hit the computer for good measure.

Still nothing.

He flopped into his seat irritably. Typical. Just typical. This stupid backwater planet and its stupid backwater internet and its stupid backwater people. They didn’t have a decent service and they didn’t have any decent people. The day he could return to a core planet, the better.

It was in the middle of moving to grab his whisky that the connection flickered on again. It screeched and cracked and buzzed until it settled instead to a dark hum.

A familiar figure was on the other side.

“Ambassador.”

The Federation man shook to attention at the soft tone. “Ah- sir! I, uh, wasn’t expecting a call!”

“I wasn’t expecting to need to call. How are the kids?”

He didn’t have any. “F-fine, sir. To… what do I owe the pleasure?”

The man on the other line glanced over at another screen. “I’ve just received a notification that you’ve encountered… a certain someone I’ve been looking for.”

“Yes, Samus Aran is almost within our grasp. She’ll pay for hurting our-”

“The BSL station was barely a drip into my resources. I’m more interested in her new friend.”

“Her… you mean Miss Traynor?”

The man grinned. “Yes. The Trainer.”

“Erm…” The Ambassador shuffled through his documents. “Yes- Miss Traynor has been enjoying a close friendship with Aran, it seems. Very close.”

“Charming. All the best to their relationship. I need her DNA.”

“Her… I’m sorry?”

“An x-ray scan might do, but the DNA is essential.”

“Wh-what does she have to do with anything?”

He smiled pleasantly. “That’s a little above your paygrade, wouldn’t you agree?”

“O-of course, sir.”

“Ah, but you’ve done well for me. My organization will be sending a small payment to your account as a… finder’s fee. Expect more once my information has been collected.”

“Th-thank you sir. I won’t let you down.”

“For god’s sake. Don’t make promises like that to a man like me.” He shook his head. “You should really know better.”

And the feed ended before the Ambassador could apologize any more profusely.

A black shadow had stretched his hands over the office.

Afternoon tea and biscuits were, as always, delightful. Peach’s staff always managed to outdo themselves. Conversation was similarly pleasant. The princesses traded opinions on the tournament thus far. Debates on the more talented fighters. Gossip on the particularly adorable couples. The pros and cons of the monarchies versus democracies, the risks of both, and the surroundings systems and hierarchies that would support or rebel against any deviation from the current status quo, as well as their own culpability in corrupt practices inherent in their position. 

Standard princess topics.

The Trainer was characteristically quiet. Zelda was sure that was its default state in the face of unfamiliar topics. Perhaps it was even in some form of sleep mode. Quietly twiddling away at algorithms and codes of its own design.

“So, Traynor,” Daisy finally ventured. “How ya enjoying the first day of the tournament?”

She seemed to consider carefully. She twirled a spoon in her tea. Zelda was fascinated by the movement. There was no purpose to it. No pre-programmed design to justify it. Where had she learned it? Why memorize it?

“It was… a lot of fighting,” the Trainer said finally.

Peach sighed. “Yes, I feel the same way sometimes.”

“Peach, you are too hard on yourself,” Zelda chided. “The tournament is bringing people together. It fulfills your goals quite nicely.”

“I doubt that.” She shook her head. “I’m just not so sure this tournament is bringing more people together.”

“Oh, I disagree.” Lucina set down her cup. “Nothing brings people closer together than a battle. Comrade in arms work well together.”

“But what else has it changed? There’s still wars and violence and…” She shook her head. “Not much progress at all.”

“Goodness, Peach.” There was a clink as Zelda set down her cup. “It’s admirable but… there are some things you can’t avoid. People are prone to disagreement.”

Peach sighed. “If that’s true, then I don’t see the point of tournament at all.”

Trainer always had trouble following these conversations. But from the words…

“The point of fighting is to… stop other fighting?”

The royals did not necessarily hear the question mark at the end of the sentence.

“Exactly.” Lucina nodded. “Sometimes, soldiers are forced to intervene in the face of serious threats to the peace.”

“Or worse,” Zelda remarked dryly. “To threats towards the status quo. Those who deviate from that is surely disturbing the peace, hm?”

Daisy cared little for such talk. Sarasaland residents struggled with the more abstract conversations. When your entire populace had once been hypnotized by a space alien, you liked to keep things solid. Political theory was already a mix of abstract and real and Sarasalandites dealt with enough abstract already.

Thus, Daisy liked sports. They had a nice jolt of pain and risk to keep you grounded in reality.

“Fascism aside...” she attempted. “The tournament is doing well. People are coming together. Getting along. Sharing their passion for nations and their people. And there certainly hasn’t been any war caused by the tournament.”

A sixth, usually quiet guest, spoke here. “And how many people can claim they haven’t caused a war?”

“Exactly!” The others stifled their laughter. Daisy was too enthusiastic to notice. “If it isn’t starting a war, I say things are going well!”

Zelda filled up her cup once more. “Stopping the tournament now might even harm peace, going forward.”

Peach slumped in her seat. “I suppose. I just wish I could do more. I’m not quite sure I’m… fulfilling my proper purpose.”

“You’re fulfilling enough, Peach. Trust us on that.”

As she took a sip, Zelda glanced back over at the Trainer.

The woman was listening to them all with rapt attention.

And for some reason, that made the princess very, very afraid.

Mona should be clocked out by this point. She had clocked out. She had almost reached her house by the time she decided to swing back to the office. It was just bothering her too much. All the information she needed to double and triple check weighed too heavily.

Financial Reports. Tax information. Employee records. Deeds. Titles. General documentation.

All things Wuhu Island had an astounding lack of.

On her first glance at the paper work all those weeks ago, everything seemed through. Employee records were well-documented, taxes and bills properly filled out. It all seemed to make perfect sense.

Yet in retrospect, the island’s history was full of too many gaps. Too many things that didn't hold up under scrutiny.

Normally, when investigating a company they bought, Mona catalogued a list of the Knowns and the Lacking. Then she could direct a team to focus on the Lacking.

There were very little Knowns and an egregious level of Lacking.

Financial Reports: Everything had been paid for in full, certainly. But where the money came from was confusing and vague. Who exactly was supposed to pay for expenditures and tax reports other than "Wuhu Island Resort?" All dealings with the company lawyers were done over email. No in-person meetings had taken place. No one from the company had ever called. They had dodged WarioWare's insistence that the Island now belonged to him, following the purchase of Diamond Software. Then, one day... they simply gave up and emailed everything over to the new owners. This lead to the acquisition of the...

Employee records: Initially, this also seemed through. Dozens of employees circulated through the Resort and Mona even briefly exchanged information with a secretary. But she had never been able to actually meet her in person either.

None of the supposed employees seemed to exist.

There was certainly evidence of people living on the island. There were pamphlets and billboards on-site advertising the prestige lessons only Wuhu Island and its Wii Fit Center could offer. There were houses for all its guests and residents to enjoy the resort locale together. And there was not a single name attached to any of it. 

And then there was the question of ownership.

Wario had a habit of snatching things on the cheap and Wuhu was no different. The island had changed hands through quite a number of collapsed companies. It reached Wario’s hands upon his consolidation over Diamond Software some time prior. Mona had worked at Diamond herself briefly. It wasn’t a bad place. It certainly paid better. And deep in Diamond’s pockets was a bankrupt equity firm. Rupee Savings and Loan had purchased the island just after its own purchase by Diamond. But, when contacted, the owner of Rupee Savings and Loan wasn't even aware the business was still running.

"I abandoned it like old shrimp, honey," the chipper young woman explained. Mona could almost hear the cord of the phone being twirled in the woman's hands. "It was part of this end-of-the-world kinda scheme- I'm so over it now. I was happy to sell it. Too much work, y'know?"

Diamond Software was little better. Mona couldn't find evidence the company was even aware of purchasing the Island. And before that… the history got tricky.

The island passed from company to company, each shutting down for some reason or another. Strangest of all was that many of these companies didn’t seem to sell anything at all. Tute’s Flutes certainly promised to sell quality clarinets and trombones at a good price. Yet Mona couldn’t find anything that suggested they managed to successfully sell a single woodwind instrument. The island’s history stretched further and further back until, at her best estimate, its acquisition by the Better Business Association. While the other companies at least had some kind of specific purpose, the Better Business Association appeared to have no discernible theme. Its purpose or financial goals were an utter mystery. Prior to its merger with these other groups? Its only product was that unused, but highly regarded fitness resort.

And the only trace of any of these companies was a single woman doing stretches in an abandoned room of an abandoned building on an abandoned island.

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am.” The voice on the other end of the line seemed sheepish. “There’s just… not much here. The closest thing to useful we’ve found is some animal bones in the basement.”

Mona took another swig of her coffee, tapping her foot anxiously. The elevator doors finally opened on her floor.  “Okay, well, that’s creepy. And suspicious. And a start! No one innocent has just… random animal bones in the basement. Keep looking. There has to be something we missed.”

“Ma’am, we really need to let the construction guys get going on tearing this place down. You know the boss wants Wario Land up and running by the end of the year…”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to miss anything useful. Besides, there’s other islands we got from Diamond Software too. Why can’t we starting building there instead?”

“Boss wanted it here. He liked the look of it more.”

And that would be the end of that. Wario was stubborn at the best of times. He was also stubborn at all times. She sighed as she pushed into her office.

“Just…  try for a little longer, alright? It we get behind schedule, I’ll take the blame. The information could be too valuable to-”

She froze.

Her papers were sprawled across the desk. The careful organization lost to a frantic search for knowledge.

She stared at the intruder. The intruder stared back at her.

He moved slowly, carefully, trying not to startle her further. He plucked a cigarette from his pocket and placed it carefully in his mouth.

“Mona, is it?” Solid Snake forced a smile. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Chapter Text

It took quite a bit of the night to calm Mona down. She had started by throwing her phone at him. Followed by one of her books. Followed by several of her other books. Snake finally had to intervene when she picked up a vase.

But once she recognized him, curiosity took over from there. There was some benefit to being a celebrity. Realizing an international super-spy was after her information charged Mona with a frantic energy.

“-Then the island gets bought out by this balloon company! This part’s really interesting- there actually was a few purchases for supplies Balloons and Co. wanted. And they bought them from another balloon company!” She grinned with manic wonder. “I mean, why? You only buy one of like five things for a decade and its balloons? Who needs balloons?”

This was its own flavor of exhausting.

Snake gazed over her pages idly, trying to pretend he had some measure of understanding. This sort of spy work was never quite his expertise. If he knew he was going to get caught, he would have brought Isabelle.

...No, the guilt of breaking in at all would destroy her.

He pressed his cigarette into a tray.

“Hnnngh. Let’s back up. Traynor… she hasn’t contacted you?”

Mona shook her head. “Not once. And, sorry, this has been bugging me so much, are you sure that’s her name?”

“...Huh?”

“I mean, she was just a fitness trainer. She called herself the Wii Fit Trainer.”

Snake blinked. He hadn’t accounted for that. Research across the globe was going into this woman. Aliases had been considered. But just being The Trainer was too… simple to be considered.

“When using an alias, it’s always easier to use something closer to your actual name. Definitely easier to remember.”

Mona grinned eagerly. “Is that what we think? She’s like… a spy?”

Snake didn’t know what to think. By all accounts, the situation didn't make sense. Nothing about this history seemed to suggest anything dangerous about the woman at all.

“Oh this is so cool..."

“Focus.” He tapped the desk. “All these… organizations and shell corporations… Is there anything else unusual in their history?”

“Besides all of this?"

“Its weird but… it can’t just be this.” He dragged his fingers through the papers. “All these smokescreens and disguises… the only thing it seems to be used for is for this island. There has to be something else.”

“Well… I’m sticking going through all of that. The only thing that seems to get delivered to Wuhu is fitness and sport supplies.”

She paused.

“Although… there are a few other things.”

“Other things?”

“Well, they found… a lot of orders for batteries.”

“Batteries?”

“Yeah. And never the same kind. They went from triple A, D, some nuclear stuff…”

He stood up. “Nuclear?! ”

“Nothing that could hurt anybody! Just… they were experimenting with something.”

Hnnngh. Snake had dealt with enough nuclear technology for a lifetime.

“How can there be nuclear technology and you still say there’s nothing of interest on the island?”

“That’s the thing. According to my guys, it doesn’t look like any of them were used.”

“What?”

“They’d all be opened, but they were all either expired or still working with a full charge.”

Snake slowly returned to his seat, tapping the desk thoughtfully. “...Then they needed to power something. And nothing was doing the trick.”

Mona leaned forward. “Who’s they?”

“I don’t know yet. What was the other thing?”

She turned back to her papers. “Well… most of these corporations are obviously fake. None of them ever sold a thing. But one of them… Had a much bigger business than the rest. There’s a lot of money changing hands, so… this one might be legit.”

“Hnnnnngh. Which one was that?”

“Something called... Dross and Company.”

Something flickered in the back of his mind. He grimaced, scratching his face curiously.

“That name… sounds so familiar…”

“Is it important?” Mona was trying to seem casual, but the delight infused in the word “important” was downright giddy.

“Maybe. Could be nothing. Logically, something. Hard to tell with instinct.” He stood up. “Keep looking into it. I’ll be sending an asset who can help you comb through on this.”

“So… I’m on the team? Like, a real life spy team.”

“...Sure.”

Mona hadn’t done a happy dance in a long, long time. Snake wished she still hadn’t. It was a flurry of ecstatic motion and energy.

“Ohhhhhh this is awesome. I’m on a real life spy team!”

“You… sure are.” He started attempting to make his way past her.

“You won’t regret this! Just you wait to see what I can do!”

“I already am…”

“Who are you sending? A team of experienced hackers? A squad of undercover spies and investigators?” Her grin was through the roof. “ A super robot?”

“No, uh… a dog.”

Her face froze.

“...A dog.”

“Yeah. A dog.”

“Who can help with corporate investigation.”

“She’s a really good dog.”

Mona stared at Snake.

Snake met her stare.

Mona grinned. “Awesome.”

Deep in the stands and balconies and hidden rooms of the arena, personalities of numerous stations were yammering into their microphones and cameras. The table for the Glitz N’ Glamour radio program was notably absent, however. One of its announcers, Glitz Pit Champion Rawk Hawk had been so excited by the surprise twists of the Terry Bogard/Kirby match that he lifted up the table and smashed it into several nearby tables. Rawk Hawk was politely escorted out the door. As a result, several other tables were forced to share space together for the interim.

The combinations were somewhat unique.

“Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellcome people of the universe! If this is your first time listening to the dulcet tones of Professor K, get ready to experience a new, true, and radical experience! Your corporate, censored newswaves have just been hijacked by Jet Set Radioooooooooooooooo! ”

Professor K didn’t have access to his DJ equipment, but his sheer energy seemed to provide more than enough beats for the listeners.

Next to him, the goomba girl rolled her eyes. “Somehow, I can’t help but think that this professor isn’t as accredited as his claims. Listeners, this is Gombella, archeology department, representing University of Goom Radio.”

“Thaaaaaaaaat’s right, skaters and dancers! Not one, but two pirate radio stations smashed together for this Smash of a tournament!”

Their companion coughed, mildly. “And, uh, hello this is Nick Skip. I was asked to fill in for Rawk Hawk during his absence. Welcome to Glitz and Glamour.”

“What’s that?! Three hopping stations in a crossover event?! This event really does bring people together!”

“Sorry, you said you’re from Glitz N Glamour?”

The man straightened his glasses. “Well, uh, technically, yes. Champion Mush is set to arrive a little later, I’m just doing a favor for Hawk.”

“Its like I always say, listeners. One corporate stooge easily trades for another! But don’t you worry- your favorite network of street life won’t be selling out! We’re just bringing our complaints straight to the MAN himself!”

“Well, uh, I’m really not that associated with the Glit-”

“Annnnnnd what about our little academic?!” Professor K shoved a mic against Goombella’s cheek. “How’s a scholar like you going to fit in with the resistance movement swinging down in the streets?!”

She shoved the mic back at the loudest man she had ever encountered. “Oh, if you think my thesis is gonna, like, keep me from stuffing that mic down someone’s throat if Mario loses, you’ve got another thing coming, pal.”

K cackled with wild merriment. “Now there’s a spark of resistance, folks! We got ourselves an exciting duo here!”

“Ah, yes, well.” Nick straightened his glasses. “It looks like our next competitors are coming down the walkway. Whether you’re ready or not, the matches… are kicking off.”

“Hello there!”

Little Mac paused mid-bite. He wasn’t technically supposed to eat donuts. Or pastries. Or brownies. Or cake. Or most sweet foods. Doc wouldn’t be… the most excited.

He somehow doubted Traynor would be pleased either.

“I was just, uh….” He set the uneaten donut back on his plate. “Its my cheat day, right? So… it’s no sweat.”

Traynor tilted her head curiously. “You cheat? Isn’t that against the rules?”

“N-no, I just…” He gulped. “What, uh… brings you this way, boss?”

She blinked in surprise before smiling. She seemed to like the title.

“Why are you in the tournament?”

“Huh?” What kind of question was that…

He looked back on his donut.

Oh god. She was mad.

“I-I mean, of course I want to be here! And I’m taking it seriously! One donut ain’t gonna to ruin that!”

“Certainly not. But why are you in the tournament?”

“It’s not like one donut is gonna ruin everything I’ve worked for!”

“Yes. Why are you here?”

The criticism was devastating. His shoulders slumped. Despair wracked his soul.

“...You’re right. I should be listening to what Doc told me. I’m at this tournament to make the people back on my block proud. I can’t… risk losing that now.”

She listened with absolute attention. Every word was memorized. Analyzed. Considered.

She smiled again. “Thank you very much. Don't start a war. Goodbye.”

And without another word, she turned around and walked off.

Little Mac glanced at the donut with longing eyes. It was so tempting but… she was right. He had to take this more seriously. He could give himself a treat later. Traynor reminded him how important it was to stay on task. The Coach was counting on him. Captain Rainbow was rooting for him. Brooklyn was relying on him.

...Still, what was that about a war?

Professor K whistled loudly. The victor declared, the crowds pumping, the world chanting the name of a classic fighter getting his due.

"Wow! Little Mac of the ol' NYC, doing his city proud!"

"I'll tell you, wrestling fans, its really good to see Mac back in the ring. He really had some off years, but he's really made a full recovery."

"You a fan, Nick? Mac's a bit new to me."

"Oh, Wise Girl! Mac was the hottest boxer on the market! The one-punch, knockout, punk-smasher, ring legend!"

"And just a really decent guy, all around. If we have a break here, I think I'll say a quick hello."

"Listen to this corporate radio nerdling trying to step up to Little Mac."

"I mean, I haven't seen him in ages. It'd be impolite not to."

"Wait- you know him? I mean, like, know him?"

"Oh, definitely. Shared a trip to Mimin Island. He was in a really depressed state. Its good to see him pushing through."

"Real fancy life this big shot leads, kids!"

"Ignore the... sad excuse of a catfight, U Goom. Who's our next fighter?"

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

Olimar was in the middle of his own meal. He had set up a complicated process. Despite assurances from the planet’s authorities, he was concentrating his attention on testing and confirming the status of each piece of his meal. He stuck little scientific needles into pastries. He waved a little metal wands that beeped annoying, high-pitched beeps at fruit and veggies. Then he would bag the approved meals and, eventually, carry it back to his private ship. In the safety of its purifying walls, he would finally eat much of the food he hoarded across his days on the planet.

As a result, unlike his competitors, Olimar often ate two meals a day instead of three.

He never made it very far in the tournament.

“I can repeat it.” Traynor was cheery as always. “Why are you in the tournament?”

He hummed thoughtfully as he dropped an eyedropper of a strange substance into his soda. “Well, I’m representing Hocotate Freight. Hocotate at large, I should say.”

“Hocotate?”

He nodded with no small amount of pride. “Hocotate Freight is happy to offer expert delivery and shipping to all corners of the universe. I’m their most valuable employee, you know.”

“So you are in the tournament because of your value?”

“Exactly! I’ve earned the company quite an amount. Saved it from bankruptcy. Saved Hocotate , from bankruptcy.” He puffed up, grinning. “I’m kind of a big deal.”

“That’s your purpose?”

“Yes!” He paused. “Er, no. No, I have other skills too. Quite a number of them. Explorer. Adventurer. Scholar. If you want to be incomplete, those are some descriptions for me.”

She blinked. Then repeated. “That’s your purpose?”

He repeated as well. “If you want to be incomplete.”

Traynor’s expression seemed vaguely unsatisfied. But she nodded and began to take her leave.

She paused.

“What are those?”

Olimar knew before he fully looked over. A handful of Pikmin were playing around on the table, carrying food to and fro. This wasn’t even the biggest pack. Thirty of them were carrying some of his meals to the ship as they spoke.

“Ah, these… are my proudest discovery.” He gestured with glee. “The Pikmin!”

She leaned down to meet the creatures at eye-level. Fascination played out in her eyes.

“Pikmin….”

“I found them on a distant planet. It took quite some effort to recreate their living conditions to get them off-world.”

“You took them from their homes?”

It didn’t sound… great phrased like that. “Well… they kept following me on my ship. And they died on their own. Their planet was too dangerous otherwise.”

He brushed one with a gloved finger. It glanced up at him, humming happily, before continuing with its work.

“It… didn’t seem fair. I wouldn’t have survived on their planet without them. I didn’t want to see them get overwhelmed.” His tone had softened. “My wife- the constant work has definitely taken a toll but… I couldn’t leave them alone, you understand. It just… wasn’t right to leave them in danger.”

Ah. He had gotten too personal. He turned back to apologize.

The woman was examining him carefully. Considering him thoughtfully. Every single word. Every single feeling.

Then she smiled. “Thank you very much. Don't start a war. Goodbye.”

And she left him alone with his little discoveries and a sudden, brand new anxiety.

"Is it just me, or was the Fishbowl fighting differently than usual?"

"Good eye, Goombella. Olimar's used a more careful strategy this time. It worked out well for him- using his Pikmin wisely netted him the win there."

"Learn it, listeners! Work together, not apart. If someone's giving you trouble, get your friends to back you up!"

"Do... do kids listen to your ramblings?"

"Only the sickest, slickest, most razz-a-ma-tazz kids on the block!"

"He's really popular with local skating groups and graffiti artists. I saw some stunning art of him near Goldbobbington's, actually."

Goombella rolled her eyes. "He sounds like a 90s kid's show host..."

"That's how long he's been going..."

"And I'll keep going! And never stopping! Who's next?"

An orange rose into the air. It slowly, steadily, reached the peak of its trajectory before it began its descent back to Earth. A strong hand caught it. Then, with careful practice, tossed the orange back up toward the ceiling.

Captain Falcon was deep in consideration.

“Now there’s a heck of a question!”

The Trainer nodded. Her eyes couldn’t help but follow the Captain’s little game of toss with the fruit. It was almost hypnotic.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I have won quite a number of races. Gained quite a following. I was invited. And I said yes.”

A basic answer. But it was straight-forward and clear. The Trainer had to appreciate that.

“I see. Thank you for your time.”

She began to leave.

“You’re looking for something.”

Trainer froze. She looked back at the Captain.

“I am?”

Captain Falcon’s finger dug into the fruit. His fingernail pulled on the skin, slowly peeling a long strip. “You’re asking almost everyone about why they’re here. Why they do what they do. Stands to reason that means you’re looking for an answer.”

She did not respond. Not out of shame or discomfort, but for lack of knowing how to answer.

“Why are you in this tournament, Traynor?”

A pause.

“I was invited.”

“I see.” The strip got longer. “And you said yes?”

She had to think about it. “....I don’t remember.”

He considered. “If I were to guess… you just sort of went along with what everyone else was doing?”

She didn’t know how to react to that one either. He made it sound like a bad thing to just do what other people said to do.

“Ma’am…” He peeled off the last of the orange skin. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to see what everyone’s doing. People seek out communities. It’s almost natural to follow the crowd. But every now and then…”

He fixed her with a strong look.

“You do have to make your decision on how you’ll affect the world.”

Words failed.

She nodded politely.

“...are you ready for the first decision you’ll need to make?”

She wasn't. But she nodded again.

He grinned cheekily. “Whether you're gonna talk Samus into giving me rocket boots.”

"-another day down, with more fighters to go! If you thought today was exciting, tomorrow is going to blow the roof off this joint!"

"Its an arena! It doesn't have a roof!"

"Tomorrow's supposed to be the debut of that mysterious new entry, right?"

"Mysterious is right, Nick. I've looked into her, and that girl's got nothing. Not even a shroomjournal to whine about her crush on."

"Oho, the scholar's doing her research? Watch out, skaters, maybe Wise Girl could dig up some dirt on any of y'all."

"Oh, just you wait, I'm coming prepared with dirt on you, K."

The DJ cackled. "Girl, you are a delight. You're welcome on Jet Set Radio anytime."

"Before we sign off, I just want to say Professor K, I'm a huge fan. It really was an honor to meet you."

"You?! Tha- wow! You don't put out that vibe at all! Maybe I need to change my style, if this is the crowd I'm getting!"

"Nick, not to be catty, but are you sure you should be working for the Glitz Pit?"

"H-huh?"

"She's right on the ball! You're not giving us any energy, man!"

"Yeah! Like, how are you operating a wrestling broadcast?"

"Emergency measures. Prince Mush will be here tomorrow."

"Either way, man, happy to hear from a fan. And even happier to see how things shape out! We'll be seeing you tomorrow, sports fans!"

"This has been: University of Goom Radio."

"Glitz and Glamour."

"And JET SET RADIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! "

Peace between nations. Making people proud. Protecting the beings that needed protection.

Knowing your own purpose.

Trainer had a mission, of course. Spread fitness, as far as wide as could be. But… it seemed to her that it was already spread. 24 Hour Fitness lived on without her before she even left the Center. And the tournament itself seemed to celebrate the abilities of its patrons. The power, strength, and fitness of its fighters. And that certainly reached more people than she had ever met at Wuhu Island.

Her mission was being fulfilled better and quicker before she could even begin.

It was late now. The fighters and ambassadors and other such figures were beginning to return towards their temporary rooms and domiciles. Trainer had discovered a nice balcony that extended over the city. A few tables and chairs sat at little resting spots. A nice breeze flowed through the area, cooling off the summer heat.

She dragged her hand along the railing. She could see lights in buildings slowly flicker on everywhere. The shift from day to night. A process she was still getting a grasp on. She supposed the big ceiling light in the sky needed time to rest and save energy. Many students needed to take breaks to keep up their own strength. You couldn’t just leap from a sun salutation to a downward facing dog. You had to pace yourself.

She wondered what other things she could stretch into. She could complete a tree exercise again. A tree was solid and stubborn. Never changing, always still in the face of harsh winds. Or should be the Sun. Lighting the earth with her glorious light.

So many things she could be that were more useful than her.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder. She jolted, turning quickly.

Mr. Ganondorf Candid grinned at her with his pearly white teeth. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you. Thinking hard about things?”

She considered the question. “It does not feel like soft thinking.”

“Hm. Indeed.” He didn’t seem to be paying much attention, glancing around carefully. “Report.”

...report? Well, usually the Balance Board handled those, but…

“Your fitness age appears to be about the level of a 63 year old.”

He turned sharply. “I... beg your pardon?”

“Your fitness age. 63.” She peered over at him. “Perhaps younger. You have certainly quite a deal of strength.

"Wh- not on me, dolt!" His charming smile took on an angry, awful, spiteful bite. "The princess! Now!"

She wasn't sure she liked his tone. She had never met anyone with such... upsetting emotions in their voice. She didn't even know how to respond.

"Do you hear me or not?"

"I... hear you."

"Then answer!" Flames skirted up from his fingers. "Everything you've learned about the princess!"

Her mouth moved quick, brain regurgitating many hours of observation. "Princess Peach spends most of the first hours of the day in bed. She makes loud noises with her eyes closed. When she finally gets up, she always dresses in a pink dress. She eats quickly before going to a special table to write her name on many many pieces of paper. Then, she meets with many Toads to talk about the pieces of paper. Sometimes she drinks what she calls tea out of a tiny cup with other Princesses in other dresses. Sometimes she goes to see people in town to tell them about the reasons she wrote on the pieces of paper. The reasons are often people and taking care of people and love. After that, she eats a third time and then falls onto the bed once more.”

Mr. Candid did not seem to like that answer. His face curled up in complete bafflement and frustration.

“By the goddess… have you anything useful?”

“....her fitness age is 26?”

His hand clenched, veins sprouting up across his body. He lifted up a fist into the sky. Flames sparked and roared as it swung…

“Oh, there you are Mr. Dorf!”

The flames vanished and the fist turned into an awkward pat on Trainer’s shoulder.

“Ah… Isabelle.” Sweat was dripping down his forehead. Perhaps he was getting some decent exercise after all. “I’m… a little busy at the moment. Sharing… pleasantries with Miss Traynor.”

The dog smiled brightly.

“That’s nice! Well, I put together some ideas that I think could really help you out!”

“That’s… swell. Perhaps another time…?”

Well, now she was curious. “Ideas?”

“Oh, yes!” Isabelle puffed up proudly. “I’m going to help Mr. Dorf improve his diplomatic relations. I’ve written a draft for a potential trade agreement that I think-”

“Thank you, Isabelle.” His teeth were grit together. “But I’m quite... satisfied.”

“Oh, don’t worry! It’s just a draft! Obviously, you can improve the terms that better fit your people’s needs.” She hopped into one of the chairs. “What we need to focus on is your reputation. I did some early polls-”

“You did - what?! How?! It’s only been a day.”

Isabelle shrugged. “I asked on the way home! People are open if you give them the chance!”

The Trainer couldn’t help but watch Mr. Candid’s (Mr. Dorf’s?) expressions with interest. He displayed such a wide array of emotions. She hadn’t seen them combined like this before.

“Anyway, your reputation doesn’t seem to be all that pleasant? In fact, it’s pretty negative! That definitely needs some improvement.”

He growled. “I don’t… need the approval of these people .”

“Of course you do! If the people here like you, the government will be much more inclined to make a deal with you to make the people happier!”

The words caught her ears sharply.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m far too busy to-”

“If it makes people happier…” she spoke slowly. “They’ll be more united?”

Isabelle grinned brightly. “Yeah!”

“More peaceful?”

“Oh, definitely!”

She considered.

In terms of purposes… that seemed quite productive.

“I could help in this exercise.”

Fluffy eyes sparkled. Baffled eyes furrowed.

“You will?!”

“You’ll what .”

“I will help.” More confidently now. More assured.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Her popularity is through the roof! She could really help your image!”

“I… suppose. But I don’t-”

“Oh, how about a rally? A public event like that, with her support could do wonders for you!” Isabelle clicked her pen, scribbling down already. “If we get into contact with a catering team, set up a place somewhere near the arena if we’re allowed…”

“And we could help people…?”

The grin got bigger. “A lot of people.”

The King of Darkness was so… tired.

Isabelle was chattering away about her new plan. Her eyes sparkling with potential and delight. Energy seemed to flick off her every word, optimism and joy reverberating in every word. Everything just made him more and more desperate for bed.

The Trainer was nodding and smiling. Interest building in her own robotic eyes.

Something was wrong with this thing. Something was very very wrong with this thing.

It briefly crossed Ganondorf’s mind that the Trainer could… not be the sheikah warrior. The weapon that legends promised would bring him the power he needed. A nefarious invention, now turned against their masters and biding his own command.

But that was ridiculous. The Trainer was the only thing here that could possibly match the description. The warrior could alter its form, true, but the woman’s robotic mannerisms were an obvious sign to her true nature.

If it wasn’t the Trainer, that would mean the warrior was somewhere else. And what other place could it possibly be?

Somewhere deep within a mysterious temple, buried in a mysterious desert, the sheikah warrior was marching forward.

It had been called some time ago. Summoned by the current bearer of the Triforce of Power. Ancient programming moving ancient gears, solving ancient problems with ancient solutions. Ready to obey any order without question. Take on any disguise and appearance. Use any means necessary to win. All would fall before its might.

That was the idea, anyway. Laser blasts. Magic spells. Shifting forms. Etc. Things like that. For the moment, it looked more like a metal spider. About the size of a table.

In the many years since it was built, the sheikah temple had run into some. Problems. Time was a fickle thing to architecture. Walls and ceilings collapsing. Metal rusting.

A pillar tipping over in front of the exit.

It kept marching forward. Its metal exterior was pressed against the stone pillar. Just past this itty bitty obstruction was the exit to the temple and freedom to its new master.

The spell cast by its master ensured it would not do anything without the master’s approval. Certain protocols were locked unless given a direct order. The legendary weapon had not been ordered to alter forms. It had not been ordered to fire its laser. It had not been ordered to jump.

So the great sheikah warrior kept pressing against the stone obstruction, marching forward and getting nowhere.

A hard place trying to fight a rock.

If there was a lesson to learn from the creature’s endless march, it was that the most devious plans only needed one unanticipated oversight to fall apart.

Chapter Text

Peach squinted at the paper curiously.  It had been slipped on her desk by a tiny paw. The paw’s owner couldn’t be seen from Peach’s position behind the desk. Still, it wasn’t difficult to guess who handed it over. She could hear a slight jingle and a tail wagging back and forth.

“And what… kind of event is this, exactly?”

“It’s like a get together! Mr. Dorf and Miss Traynor are gonna say some stuff! Get people excited!”

The princess had to consider this. She did trust Traynor’s instincts. The woman had been nothing but helpful to her. A constant plethora of wise words seemed to flow from her mouth.

Still. There was some concern. She tapped the table carefully. “The problem is, Ganondorf does not quite have… an incredible track record, in these matters.”

Isabelle tilted her head. “Huh?”

“He has had rallies before. In Hyrule, at least.”

Isabelle grinned. “Oh- so he does have experience! He seemed so nervous; I wasn’t sure he would be a good speaker.”

“He has… riled people up, before.”

“Wow! He can really work a crowd then!”

“Into nearly destroying several surrounding businesses and buildings, yes.”

Ah. Hm. That was the first bit of information that gave the dog even the slightest pause.

“Well… I’m sure that won’t happen this time!”

She said it with such complete trust. The princess could almost hear the sparkle in the dog’s eyes.

As much as she disliked Ganondorf… Isabelle and Traynor seemed determined to trust him. And she was always a firm believer in second chances. If people were careful… it should work out swimmingly.

“Very well. But the event will need security.”

“Oh! How thoughtful! Thank you, princess!”

With a quick stamp and a signature, the princess had successfully approved the presence of a wannabe dictator.

Such is the way of politics.

Samus was having her own difficulties with the Trainer. The two women had gathered over their now regular breakfast. Trainer was invested in spinning her tea around idly and recoiling from the sheer sweetness of a cinnamon roll. Samus, who had selected a more nutritious meal of fruits and sausages, watched her like one might regard a zoo animal pacing in a cage.

“I think this is a bad idea.”

“I agree. I’m not sure I like sweet.”

“No- Traynor. Allying yourself with Ganondorf is… not something most would agree with.”

She twirled her tea more. “He is… intense.” 

She was testing out the word. She wasn’t quite sure what it meant but it felt like something that fit. It had a scary tone to it. Mr. Candid had a scary sort of vibe to him too.

“But Isabelle said this would help people. So, it must be done.”

Samus did trust that dog. She was a good dog. “But you do know what Ganondorf has done?”

“Of course.”

He had clearly been exercising a significant amount. That was an exceptionally good quality.

“And you’re okay with… supporting him?”

She wondered if she was as clear on that subject as she previously thought. Samus’s tone carried quite a bit of concern.

“I am okay with… helping people find peace.”

Samus fixed her with a careful, hesitant look.

“...Well, alright. If you’re sure you know what you’re doing.” She waved a hand. “Maybe I shouldn’t have worried- you’re too smart to normalize anything really bad that he’d do.”

“Normalize?”

“I mean, I was a little concerned that with your popularity, your support might make him look not so evil. If people started thinking a murderer bent on world conquest was okay, they might start thinking those things weren’t bad things at all. It could cause a lot of damage.” 

She shrugged. “But clearly you’ve got a good grasp on this.”

Trainer gulped down her tea. “...Yes. That would be… a bad thing to do.”

“Well, if you think you can handle it, I trust your instincts.”

It was funny, Samus thought. The lighting seemed to make Trainer look even paler than usual.

“Still,” she added, munching into her apple, taking a pause to relish the sensation of energy and relief that coursed through her mouth. “I’m surprised you’re putting this on your plate today too.”

Trainer looked down at the table. She had already finished off most of the food. “My plate isn’t that full.”

“Only you could think a rally right after a tournament fight would be simple.”

Samus chuckled lightly, just barely missing Trainer’s confusion. Only a woman like this could dismiss her own tournament day like this.

 “JET SET RADIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Welcome back, fighters new and old, to a new day of brawling! This is Professor K live with another expose!”

Goombella groaned. “Criminy, are you going to do that every time?”

Nick chuckled. “He certainly seems happy to be back.”

“Speaking of back…”

“Ya know, I’m curious myself, Goom Goom!” Nick earned the pleasure of microphones shoved into his own face. “What brings the corporate noose out of his cage?”

He did his best to push aside the overwhelming energy of the DJ. “There was a, uh, complication with Prince Mush’s plane tickets. He couldn't make it in time. I'll be filling in another day.”

“Never mind that!” Goombella was doing her own leaning. “How are you a superhero?”

“He’s a what?!”

Nick waved his hands, blushing. “I’m not. I just played one on TV.”

“Yeah, I saw your videos. They were nuts! How’d you go from that colorful bonanza to this milquetoast thing you got going?”

“Hold. On. The. PHONE.” Professor K’s grin could reach the sky. “That’s what I know you from! You’re Captain Rainbow!”

Nick couldn’t help but laugh in surprise. “You watched it?”

“Every day it was on! I scheduled broadcasts around it! Oh, freaks and geeks, this is a blast from the past for the Professor here.”

“I wish I’d known- I’d have done a shout-out if I didn’t think the censors would get at us for promoting pirate radio.”

“Corporate noose snatches away another innocent soul! Let Captain Rainbow be a warning, skaters- the Man will bring all your heroes down! You have to skate for yourself sometimes in this world!”

“Annnnnd with that rebellious spirit, it looks like our next competitor is a government employee.”

"Get ready to boo, Jet Set Radio fans! Show the people how we feel!”

“It looks like she’s a Shih Tzu. Wow, she’s really cute…”

“On second thought- throw all your support behind this pup! If you hear anyone giving her a rough time, you show them that Jet Set Radio fighting spirit!”

Isabelle’s fight went far better than any might have expected. Partly because Game and Watch couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. No one could.

The crowds roared in utter adoration. It was so embarrassing. Isabelle had to leave quickly before she tripped over her own blushing face.

 Snake was impressed. But he was also a little displeased.

“You can’t just… skip your obligations.”

She bowed politely. “I’m sorry Mr. Snake, but I already promised to help Mr. Dorf!”

“With a rally. Which you’re giving to a known criminal.”

She puffed up. “Mr. Dorf needs it. His people need all the help he can get.”

“His people. With the evil army that captures and murders quite a bit of people.”

“Now, Mr. Snake, don’t go spreading rumors. It’s not nice.”

“They aren’t-” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. I need your help. There’s a lot of files we need to comb through and you’re the best organizer I’ve ever seen.”

“Awwww, Mr. Snake!” She was already getting teary.

“Don’t- That’s not-”

“Ohhh, and you’re just worried, right?” She brushed away some incredibly happy tears. “Don’t worry Mr. Snake! I’ve run lots of events before. I can    handle it!”

“Stop that. I really do just need help with the research…”

She winked knowingly. “Sure, Mr. Snake. Don’t worry, I’m sure you guys can handle it without me.”

Ugh.

The crowd’s cheers could be heard for blocks. The thrill of the tournament. The overwhelming excitement. The support and condemnation.

And all those many many eyes that would be staring at her.

The Trainer had been led to a door on one side of the tournament. From what she could gather, she would eventually step out before the thousands, if not millions, of viewers and proceed to… do something. Was this the rally Isabelle had mentioned? The dog made it sound like the event would be closer to the hotel, but she supposed the Smash building was closer to the hotel than Wuhu Island. Everything was relative.

The gate pushed open. A Toad gestured happily out toward the light and sound of the arena.

The… arena.

Where the fights occurred.

The arena she was stepping into.

That arena.

People had mentioned fights before. She had gotten the idea that she would be fighting at some point, for some reason. But she still wasn't exactly clear on when that was or why-

oh.

oh.

Watching her step into the field was exactly as he expected. She carried herself with a strong, confident posture. Never wavering once as she stepped into the arena.

She did seem fascinated with her surroundings. Moving slowly. Taking everything in. He couldn’t blame her. Being that close to the arena designed for you was always kind of a revelation. He hoped it wasn’t a distraction from the battle that would ensue. 

He wanted her at her best.

Ike stepped into the arena with a typical swagger. He balanced his sword carefully, testing its swing. Comfortable with its weight, he carried it by his side. Each step brought him closer to his competitor.

It was time to test the woman’s mettle.

“Annnnnnd now, the match you’ve all been waiting for! The match you’ve been begging for. After weeks of mystery and mayhem, the famed Traynor is ready to punch her way through the ring! University kid, tell us your deep, dank analysis.”

Papers flipped around the table. “Well, according to my research, people just have really nice things to say about her. She’s gathered a few parties, advised numerous princesses in their affairs… In terms of her role as a diplomat for the competition, she’s been a great addition to the tournament.”

“Diplomats?”

“Without question. This is actually part of a thesis I’m working on, but I think the real value of our fighters are just as much as how well they’ll represent our cultures as much as show-off fighting ability. It’s an important function I don’t think many have considered yet.”

“Yadda yadda- how’s she in a fight?”

“I can field this one, Goombella- I think the mystery around her is actually intentional.”

“If children’s program host Captain Rainbow’s about to drop some flat-earthy, secret government conspiracy theories on us, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“You’re the one talking about fighting the Man- why are you giving him slack for it now?”

“There’s a major difference. ”

“Whatever the case, Traynor’s kept herself guarded. She trains often, but no one’s seen her in battle yet. You see this kind of storyline in wrestling all the time: the mystery fighter emerges with capabilities no one is prepared for, then rocks the competition until someone figures out their skillset. Ike is played, however. The mystery around him has died down almost completely and his moveset is well-understood. Traynor’s got an advantage both in entertaining the crowd and in defeating an opponent.”

“Now there’s the Glitz N Glamour analysis I expected! What else you got?”

“Well, the fact of the matter is, Ike’s a mid-carder. If Traynor beats him too easily, it would demonstrate her abilities, but it wouldn’t necessarily sell her to the crowd. If she loses on her first match? She could be deemed a jobber forever. There’s a lot of different ways this could go, and the results will change how people feel about Traynor for good.”

Goombella snorted. “Wrestling’s fake.”

“Weren’t you a wrestler?”

“Your point?”

“Yoooo, wrap it up! I think this thing’s about to kick off!”

Eyes swiveled to the arena. The two competitors had met in the middle now. They shook each respective hand, gave a little nod, and then returned to their side of the arena.

“Doesn’t seem to be any resentment between competitors…”

 “Laaaame. If it’s gonna be a fight, it should be a fight.”

“The crowd is CRAVING the fires of PASSION!”

“Don’t downplay them just yet. Let’s see them in action first.”

“They’ve reached their places…”

"The energy of the people are almost suffocating! No one can stand to wait!”

“Get ready….”

The match had the rapt attention of every viewer. In the crowds, in homes, hidden in the restroom at work staring at their phone… the world leaned forward collectively.

Deep breath exercise. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

3.

2.

1.

Boot stomped into dirt. A full-blown sprint. In a second, Ike was before her. She only had a second to process before the blade struck her side. 

In searing pain, she collapsed to the ground.

“First blood!”

“Ike certainly didn’t waste any time. Can Traynor retaliate?”

The world was ringing and shaky. It was kind of hard to focus. That… hurt. A lot.

The mercenary spun his sword, lifting it above the Trainer.

He’s gonna hit me again.

She rolled quick as the sword swung into the metal floor.

Okay. So. This does seem like a fight. That’s good to know. 

She had some experience in a fight. Sort of. Kind of. On a technical note.  From time to time, she used fitness to become a warrior. From her understanding, warriors were fights. But the Warrior did not… fight per se. Shifting into the warrior position often meant staying as still as possible. It was really more of a single pose than anything.

Somehow, staying still didn’t seem like a very warrior technique at this juncture.

She could hear the blade hissing behind her. Each swing and slice just an inch out of reach.

“He’s got her on the flipping ropes!”

“Not looking good for her first outing!”

“She’s keeping a safe distance though. If she can find an opportunity…”

Running away could only get her so far. She still wasn’t entirely sure what they were fighting over. There had to be a purpose to it. If this was supposed to make the world better, more united… she was failing the mission.

She needed something to appeal to peace. She didn’t have much experience but… perhaps dancing could do the trick.

She shifted her posture accordingly. 

She let herself become the Dancer.

Her hand and leg drove into Ike’s chest.

“Whoa-

 “WHOA!”

“Oh my god!”

The blow launched him into the air, gasping in surprise.

This was her chance. She had to disguise herself while he was distracted. She quickly stretched her arms up, lifting a leg she became a Tree.

A tree Ike was falling towards

Once again, her hands drove into him. He was launched further up, only to fall back into the pose once more. He tumbled to the ground.

“Look at that combo!”

“This match just took a SWERVE!”

Trainer glanced down. Oh goodness. He’d been hurt. And he was gasping now, fishing for his sword.

She attempted to give him a comforting smile. Maybe she could talk him down from this… violence.

“Let’s finish for today.”

He blinked in surprise. But he grinned. His tension eased. Excellent. That was much better for the body.

Ike jumped to his feet and raised his sword back up.

Alright. So still fighting then. That’s… great.

Still. He might need a demonstration. If he was going to be this determined to fight… the best thing to do would be to show him a calm demeanor. A nice, long, deep breath would do.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Nick squinted at the arena. “Hold on, something’s…”

Now, for the next exercise. She let the top-half of her body fall forward. The ground caught her. She pressed her hands against the floor, letting her arms and legs balance her.

The sharp slice of the blade bounced through the air. 

“Double whoa!”

“She just deftly dodged Ike’s blade in one movement!”

“Oh, but she’s put herself in a tough spot, Professor. I don't think-”

The hilt of the blade slammed into the back of her skull. Everything pounded and rang and hurt and screamed.

The Trainer crumbled into dirt.

“Ooooooh, that's gotta hurt.”

“Just as I feared.” Nick straightened his glasses. “Her downward-facing dog position may have avoided the blade, but that was a bad spot to stay in.”

Behind the sudden ringing in her ears, she could hear the blade bounce around in the air. It was coming for her again.

She rolled quickly, as metal drilled into the tiles. This was getting them nowhere. How was he supposed to improve his health in this state?”

“Excuse me, sir?” Ike blinked in surprise. His opponent was talking to him.

“This does not seem conducive to your fitness level. You should complete arm exercises every day. Let me show you.”

“Wha-”

His confusion was interrupted by her outstretched limbs. The Arm and Leg Lift knocked into his chest, blasting him back with stunning force.

“Another hit!”

“Aha, I thought so. Goombella, you must have a tattle for us.”

“Sure do. Her Deep Breathing move seemed to buff her attacks! It left her super vulnerable, but Ike didn’t move in time to stop it!”

Ike leaped to his feet, but the Trainer was already waiting for him.

“Now, let’s complete our other exercises.”

She spun and a new hit sent him flying.

“Whoa- were those hula hoops?!”

She leaped after him. He was getting too far away now. But that wasn’t too much of a problem. All she had to do was do what she did best.

Stretch.

“Oooh! Another hit with the Tree Technique!”

“Wham! Look at those limbs lift!”

"She’s got quite a warrior spirit. With just one more...?”

They got their answer soon enough. Ike was positively launched into the air, a careful arc of air and natural trajectory. A sea of faces gasped and wailed. The mercenary’s poor head smashed right into the bleachers, not unlike a wayward baseball at a Sluggers game.

Ike was down for the count.

A silence hung over the crowd.

The Trainer heaved and breathed. She had never… sweat before. But sure enough, little droplets dripped down her forehead. Pain splintered from each spot Ike had struck her. Her balance was wavering. She forced herself to keep herself centered, unable to move a single step without risking her control falling to pieces.

The silence stretched on.

And then one solitary word echoed through the speakers.

Game.

The stadium exploded.

Toads flung banners. Turtles climbed over each other to scream louder than each previous scream. Cornerians howled, Takorans and Inklings blooped, excited bubbled over excitement into a cacophony of joy and glee and thrill. 

It was a blur of movement. Trainer had trouble following all of it. Hands were shaken, backs were pat, and she had a vague understanding that people were excited.

Which was weird. She wasn’t entirely sure what she did. She had tried to avoid fighting, but her demonstrations seemed to do more harm than good.

Not that Ike seemed to care either. He had climbed up from the dent he’d made in the dirt and applauded like everyone else before passing out again.

People seemed… happy for her.

So, for the moment, even if she didn't understand it... she let herself get swept up in the whirlwind of it all.

Chapter Text

The Balance Board was dying.

The Miis weren’t entirely sure what dying was. Nothing died on Wuhu Island. Wuhu Island was full of life and living. You played in the sun and you danced and laughed and splashed and enjoyed everything that everything had to offer.

But now, the Board said he was dying. There was no workable battery to stop him from dying. So they had to leave.

The Miis had moved before. Once, they had lived in a small little building on another island. The men called it the Board Game Island. There, they learned all sorts of things. Sebastian taught them how to sing. Party Phil taught them to laugh and play. And the Doctor taught them how to talk and communicate and understand and learn.

Then Phil left. There was no more Wii Party.

Then Sebastian left. There was no more Wii Music.

Then the Doctor left. There was no more learning.

So they were left alone on Board Game Island, no more fun to be had. Abandoned toys with nothing to do.

Then the Board appeared. And the Board taught them how to run and play and talk at the same time. They could fight and stretch and be productive members of society, as was expected of them.

But now, the Board was dying. And while they weren’t entirely sure what that was, they were beginning to understand the Board was going to vanish too. When the Miis thought about this, they felt a pain in their chest that they didn’t like. So, they stopped thinking about it.

The Miis got to play one more game before they left. The Board called it “Reverse Hide and Seek.” They had to find things all across the island and then hide them where no one would find them. Papers, photos, drawings, anything notable, were buried in the dirt, thrown into the ocean, placed up in the tree. The harder it would be to find them again, the better a job you did.

What a wonderful day of fun!

In one of the fitness rooms, the Miis who would be later described as “Brawler” and “Swordfighter” were picking up a clock off the wall. This was an especially big item, so they thought it might look fun to toss it off the cliffside. The soon-to-be Gunner watched them wobble with the heavy timepiece, a smile sprawled on her face.

Then she glanced at the Wii Fit Trainer.

The woman had kept up her usual routine. She stretched. She smiled. She worked. 

It cheered the Gunner up to see the Trainer stretching as usual. Some of the Miis had not taken the Board’s decision well. When she forgot to Not Think, the Gunner found her own thoughts drifting to the Board’s upcoming vanishing. Seeing the Wii Fit Trainer stretch soothed her. The woman was a stable constant. An unchanging presence in the middle of a changing world. No matter what happened to the Miis, the Trainer would be here. Stretching and teaching and working as usual. 

The Gunner turned away and raced after the Brawler and Swordfighter.

“Wait for me!”

“Too slow!”

“Hurry up!”

Their strange chirps bounced off of each other like a natural rhythm.

And the Miis left the Trainer alone in her training room. 

And she stretched.

And stretched.

And stretched.

Dr. Lobe wasn't a bitter person by nature. Far from it. He didn't have time for such dalliances in emotion. He was an intellectual. When he felt the urge to snap at a troublesome student or sense the edge of exhaustion in his subconscious, he simply remembered his sacred calling. He brought knowledge into the world. He sharpened dull minds and prepared them for their stunning futures ahead of them.

He… was an educator.

Unfortunately, it seemed, education wasn't quite given the reverence he thought it should be. He had always believed, deep in his soul, that knowledge should be given to as many people as possible. Knowledge should be embraced and spread, free of charge, to all the people in the world. Only then could we enter a world of peace.

The consumer market didn't agree.

He still didn't really understand the problem. So he didn't have the money to afford things like “electric bills” or “taxes” or “water.” The Big Brain Academy was a place of knowledge, not technology or fluids!

But he lost the case and the building was set to be demolished. Another batch of crummy apartments would replace it, no doubt. And once again, the spirit of knowledge was destroyed for the sake of financial gain.

Or so he had complained to the patrons of Club 64 many times before. By this point, many of the club’s customers had become all too familiar with the little blobs ramblings about the decay of society and the loss of true academia in this horrible world. They learned to tune the little blob out.

Ungrateful whelps. If the world wasn’t so dizzy right now, he’d give them a stern talking to. A lecture to ship them back into shape.

Instead, he focused on the acute problem that was his empty glass. He dumped his graduation hat on the table, fishing around for his wallet. Kids today gave up their graduation hats too early. How would they know you were a chap of intelligence otherwise?

A new glass of whiskey slid over to him.

It took a second for the doctor to process the sight. With the full strength of his analysis and identification skills, he traced the glass to its source.

Lobe had seen the man before, but he hadn’t paid much attention. He was a big hulking monkey, the kind that could probably smash more than a few skulls of the more unseemly residents of the bar. Yet he had been decked out in a professional suit. He carried it well.

The gorilla grinned with a full-toothed smile. “It’s on me.”

He carried it very very well. Lobe gestured to him pointedly.

“Now, that… That’s real appreciation.” His hand stumbled forward to pat the creature. “Real respect for… for the talent and prestige we should have for our schools.”

The gorilla leaned on the bar, still smiling in amusement. “It just doesn’t seem right. Talent like yours being tossed to the curb like that.”

“Quite right,” Lobe agreed as he grappled with his drink. “Quite right indeed. A-and what do those other schools have that mine didn’t? Literature, history… that’s charming , really, but without critical thinking, we’re no better than animals.” His brain caught up to his mouth, considering how his new system of payment might respond to such comments. “Erm. No offense.”

“None taken. Brains just ain’t appreciated the way they used to be.”

“Not one bit. Not one bit at all.” The drink sloshed down his throat with the ease that only particular drink enthusiasts have managed.

The big meaty hand of his new friend rested casually around Lobe’s shoulder. “Now, my boss is a rare breed. He was thrown out of his job for being too smart too.”

“ No! ”

“ Yes . Oh, and the slander they tossed his way. The things they called him. Unstable. Corrupt. Insane.” The gorilla shook his head. “No respect.”

“My god. There’s no sense in people anymore.”

“I’m glad you think that way.” A little white card dropped before Lobe’s face. “I think you and him would get along great, you know. You both got some big brains and bigger ideas. Ideas on how things should be run.”

Faint little bells started to ding from beneath the haze of the drink.

“Erm… yes, well, I don’t… know if I’m quite ready to leap back to work just yet.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. Besides, it’s the sort of thing you’re good at.”

He squinted at the monkey from behind his cola-bottle glasses. “That I’m… good at?”

He received another wide grin.

“Doctor Lobe… how would you like to work under Dr. Andross?”

There was a moment in time where Ridley was not Ridley. He did not have a name for himself during this time. Through the glass walls of his cage, he would occasionally catch the word Subject. Seeing no other alternative and not fully understanding most words to begin with, the Subject began to think of himself as the Subject.

There was a routine to the life of the Subject. First, he would wake up. On lucky days, he would wake up on his own. On other days, the scientists would poke and prod him until he finally stirred from slumber.

Then, he would get his food. The meals he was offered were small and unfilling, but he thought about them constantly.

Then there would be tests. How far could the Subject run? (Not far). How much could the Subject fly? (Not at all). How much pain could the Subject withstand before passing out? (Not enough).

The next part was hazy. Depending on how badly the Subject was doing, he wouldn’t be conscious for whatever happened next. But the scientists definitely put something in him. Whether in his food or through sharper means, something was injected or ingested. 

There was a lot more pain for a bit.

Then, he would have his final meal of the day. He would eat it, as best he could. Then he would sleep.

The cycle begins anew.

The Subject wasn’t sure what the scientists wanted. Whatever it was, the Subject wasn’t it. The Subject wasn’t strong. The Subject wasn’t fast. The Subject wasn’t smart. The Subject didn’t know who he was supposed to be or even who he wanted to be.

He was just tired and scared and lonely.

Then they gave him the fifty-eighth experiment. Something in a vial, something swallowed, something bumping and bursting and screaming through his insides. Angry and spiteful and full of pain and despair.

And then Ridley remembered.

He remembered the battles.

He remembered the conquests.

He remembered the woman.

He was on an even tighter leash after that. His rage boiled, but he kept it under wraps. It would be more valuable to listen.

Once again, he had been cloned. Dropped into a new body. A new fight. A new chance to unleash havoc. A new chance for revenge. It seemed, initially, they had planned to send Ridley off to the Corneria System. It seemed Andross had finally launched his campaign of terror across the galaxy, and the Galactic Federation hoped to put a stop to him.

Ridley was almost disappointed someone else beat him to the punch. He had always wanted to lead the space pirates against that egoistic primate.

But that was years old news. Now, the Federation found Samus a bit too troublesome to leave to her own devices. That suited Ridley just fine. It provided an opportunity for revenge. Delicious revenge for every pain and injury it had suffered at that woman’s blaster. No matter how long it took, he would end Samus Aran. It was his only real want. His only goal. And what other goal could he possibly need?

He was Ridley.

Always had been.

Always would be.

Things had exploded in the aftermath of the Trainer’s tournament win. The woman had already experienced the enthusiasm of reporters in a medium capacity. Their calls and conversations and interviews and requests were only skyrocketing after her recent success. As fast as the Trainer was learning, she hadn’t quite grasped the idea of refusing someone’s pleas for her time.

For the moment, Samus decided to give her friend some space. She didn’t want any rumors to start that could sully the Traynor’s reputation. Especially with how literally the Traynor seemed to take things.

And… the truth of the matter was, Samus had let herself be distracted. She was tired of the solitude of space. Talking to Traynor had been easy. Relaxing. No drama. No conflict.

Samus didn’t want to think about why she came back to this planet. But she couldn’t ignore it forever.

The Federation were promoting Ridley’s participation in the tournament as a challenge for the latter stages. Something as big and powerful as Ridley couldn’t be unleashed just yet, no no no! They had to let tension build, excitement bubble, the crowds feel the thrill! Only then, when faced with such a creature, would the universe learn to fear the power of the Galactic Federation.

Nationalistic drivel.

She leaned back against her seat, coffee in one hand. She had positioned herself carefully on a bench hear the Federation embassy. Army jacket on her shoulders. Beanie firmly pulled down her head. Scarf wrapped around her neck. Sunglasses obscuring her remaining features. No one looked at her twice, except for perhaps the confusion for why anyone would coat themselves in so many layers during the summer months. Not one thought to try and recognize the individual based on any other notable features. Samus wasn’t a person, in many eyes. Samus was a suit. A thing that people wore in order to fight.

Sometimes, she wondered if they were right.

But for now, she watched the Federation building with as much focus as she could muster. Trying not to reflect on the history and conflict and feelings bottled up just seeing the building.

Traitor, they had called her.

Traitor. Noun. Trai - tor. 

1. one who betrays another's trust or is false to an obligation or duty
2. one who commits treason

She had broken down the definition in her head plenty over the previous year. To betray trust. The Federation trusted her and she broke that.

But that wasn’t really what they wanted. They didn’t trust Samus. They relied on Samus. They expected her to follow orders without question. That wasn’t trust. That was compliance.

But let’s assume, for the sake of argument, they did trust Samus. Hero, mercenary, bounty hunter, etc. Trust had to go both ways. Trust had to be earned. When, exactly, had the Federation given Samus a reason to trust them?

Was it when they made messes of experimental life and expected her to clean up the mess?

Was it when they ignored her warnings and cloned Ridley?

Or perhaps, it was further back. Perhaps they demonstrated their reliable, competent, helpful nature when they stood back while her family was destroyed twice over.

That was the part that made Samus’ teeth grind. Insults she could handle. Being called a monster, being called a psychopath. She didn’t even mind when she was accused of blowing up the space station for money.

But the traitor part irked her. The assumption that she had to be loyal. That it was incomprehensible for her to act outside the “rules” of the Federation: that she must have saved people out of patriotic duty and not for the sake of the people.

That was the trouble with being a lone fighter in space. No one really understood who you were. But she couldn't stop being what she was either.

Maybe no one could stop being what they were.

The Gunner dropped the basket of fruit happily. “Snacks!”

The great space pirate huffed irritably as the little Mii pushed the basket through the electric bars.

“Don’t hate! It’s delicious! Healthy snacks make the world better!”

Ridley tried to resist the temptation to bite at the creature’s annoying chirping. Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. His nails, specifically. They tended to be much louder than other nails.

An apple tumbled from the basket, rolling along the bottom of the cage.

“Ah! Dirty food’s no good!”

Without missing a beat, the Mii stepped right into the cage. A sneer crawled up Ridley’s sharp features.

Once again, as it had many times before, a devastating electric shock jolted the little creature. The advanced Federation tech hummed and whirred and burned at the Gunner’s plastic skin. She stumbled about, shaking in pain. Ridley snickered to himself, entertained by its little plight.

But then she kept moving. Whatever pain she felt, it didn’t stop her from progressing past the bars and into the cage proper. And the electric shock soon ceased.

Ridley blinked and squinted, watching the little thing chase after the apple. Her shoe kicked the fruit further away, sending her running deeper into his prison. She really could come and go at any time. Whatever pain she felt, she didn’t mind. A strange little creature.

Eventually, the Mii managed to pick up the tiny little fruit, holding in carefully in her horrible little hands. She lifted it towards him with a smile.

He stared at her, for a moment. Then, carefully, cautiously, he picked up the treat as gingerly as his claws could allow.

That seemed to make her happy. She shook around in delight. “Sooooo good!”

Not really sure how else to proceed, he crunched down on her present.

The Mii found a way to grin even wider. Teeth wide and white. “Soooooo good!”

Terrifying.

She picked her basket of fruit up carefully. Then she scampered towards him with a frightening speed. Perhaps she finally meant to attack him. He clawed at her, hoping to scare her off. But she didn’t even blink. She swung her basket happily, neatly dodging his strikes.

Without a shred of hesitation, she hopped right onto his leg.

She grinned at him.

He stared at her.

She bit into an apple.

He slowly, carefully, bit back into his.

The Mii Gunner wobbled on his leg, happily.

“You’re a lot like the Trainer!” She chirped in her horrid little voice. “She was alone too! Never left her room!”

He snapped bitterly. It was hardly his choice in the matter.

“But she left too! Saw the big world! Like me, and Gunner, and Swordfighter! That’s what we’re called now! Things change so much!”

She pat his leg, still as happy as a clam. “We’ll get your present! Then you’ll see the world too! Have nachos with us! Sooooo good!”

He regarded her with a quiet fascination.

He reached a sharp claw towards her.

Then he picked a round fruit from the basket. He waited for anger. For betrayal. For pain. For some reason she would hate him.

But she simply kept smiling.

For the first time in ages, he let himself relax. 

And so, in a dark place beyond all other human contact, the two experiments enjoyed a moment of silence together.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong and Ganondorf couldn’t figure out what it was.

He had assumed his plan was straightforward. Activate his weapon. Attack the princess. Conquer the world. Standard villain plan. Devious and quick. Maybe simplistic, but nothing that should have unforeseen complications.

The past few weeks were rife with complications.

The Trainer, the weapon, whatever she was, continued to gain the support of the people. Whatever her intentions, her win against Ike had only increased her popularity. He couldn’t walk downtown without spotting Trainer t-shirts, Trainer merchandise, Trainer action figures. The whole mess of it all. The woman had fans.

At first, he still thought he could spin it. A way to gain control. Now that the Trainer was coming to his rally, all sorts of people would come to hear his words. People he could influence. People he could enchant. People he could enthrall to embark upon a reign of terror against this accursed land of naive fools.

The sensible political figures of the Mushroom Kingdom were right to fear the tyrant’s upcoming gathering. Ganondorf was a man of violence and he spread it wherever he went. Celebrations and parties and anniversaries and anything of the kind brought out the worst in nearly every version of the tyrant. Turn Zelda to stone. Put Zelda in eternal sleep. Kidnap Zelda. Create boss monsters. Terrifying for most people. A fun thursday for the lord of violence.

As a podium was installed onto a stage, Ganondorf could feel that craving build inside himself. While he had dreaded this accursed event, it was starting to appeal to his base nature. With a few choice words and spells, he could turn the crowd against each other quite easily. Friend against friend, family against family. Children turned to stone. Total destruction.

The Triforce of Power whispered sweet destructive nothings in his ear. It gave him shivers. His fingers crackled with dark magic. All his carefully crafted plans started to seem less important in the face of this opportunity.

There was one little obstacle to his plan.

“We need catering.”

The dark cravings vanished into a state of utter confusion. He turned to squint at the dog. She was already tapping her phone. “What?”

“Catering! Or at least a place for food and drinks.”

“ Why in the name of the Demise wou -” No. Pause. Close your eyes. Breathe.

He tried again.

“Why… would I need…. Food and drinks.”

“For the crowd of course!” Her smile was still so infuriatingly bright.

“The crowd doesn’t need food. It will feast on my words.” His fist clenched, a wicked grin rising. “My power will carry them through-”

“Mr. Dorf, don’t be so silly!”

He could practically feel his brain crack in complete, pure disorientation. “Did you just call me silly? ”

“You need catering if you’re going to gain people’s approval! You can’t get that if people start fainting!”

“I don’t need catering . This isn’t some… princess social! Those worms will eat nothing and like it and if they’re too weak to stay strong, then I have no need for-”

“Oh- one second!” She lifted up a paw, pressing her phone to her ear. “Hi! Yes, this is Isabelle, we talked earlier.”

Ganondorf stared at the paw, blocking the path between his rage and this tiny little secretary.

The great king of darkness had been ignored. Dismissed. Shushed.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

It might be important at this juncture to examine Ganondorf’s other current dilemma.

The Gerudo King was, as has been noted, historically, a known warlord, tyrant, and magic pig man. He was the villain. The bad guy. He knew his role. And he thrived in it. He lost often, certainly. In fact, he lost every single time he fought the so-called Hero of Hyrule. But he always came back. He always found a new way to escape death. To rebuild his forces. To trap Zelda. To overwhelm the hero with villains and monsters galore. So while his ego was often bruised, Ganon took losses in stride.

After all, a hero had to win every round. A villain only had to win once.  

The problem in this current incarnation was the rebuilding forces part. He had decided to fall back on an old favorite. The Gerudo Army was, ideally, a power to be feared around the world. But the army had been somewhat…. Fractured in recent years. Some went off to become pirates. Others found peaceful lives in Hyrule or other such kingdoms. Some even developed their own towns and cities.

Cowards and traitors, the lot of them. 

But it meant, though he was loathe to admit it, the man was strapped for resources. And he needed resources to build power.

And he needed power.

This time, he couldn’t con the king of Hyrule into offering support. Zelda had blocked off that particular route. He hadn’t been able to talk to the Trainer alone again and the so-called Shiekah Warrior seemed to be utterly useless regardless. Which meant he needed to find another avenue of gaining power.

Which meant he needed someone’s help.

Which meant he needed Isabelle.

So as much as the man of the desert wanted to strangle a tiny dog for fun, he couldn’t. As much as he wanted to ignore her yammerings, he couldn’t. As much as he wanted to turn this whole event into a festival of suffering for those weak fools who couldn’t match up to his level…

Well, that wasn’t off the table yet.

But for the moment, he stewed and grumbled and fumed as the little pup chirped happily on the phone.

As the call ended, Isabelle sighed in relief. “That’s taken care of! Honestly Mr. Dorf- I don’t know how you get anything done with such last minute planning. What were you saying earlier?”

He glared. “...I was wondering if we were providing gluten options too.”

The sarcasm didn’t land. “No worries! Already taken care of!”

He craved death.

Lady Rhea, Archbishop of the Church of Fódlan, wasn’t a bad person. Sure, she ran a militant church organization, hid historical truths from the public, assassinated and executed threats to her rule, locked the poor and the needy below ground, robbed graves, and experimented on people. But she wasn’t a bad person. She spoke for the goddess, after all. A bad person couldn’t speak for the gods now, could they? The facts were clear. Rhea was not a bad person. 

Take, for example, her luncheon with Lucina of Ylisse. Rhea treated every guest and diplomat with perfect respect and courtesy. This pattern held with Lucina as well. She provided biscuits, cookies, little cheese platters, drinks, and pleasant conversation. From all appearances, Rhea was treating her guest with perfect hospitality.

“Wonderful tea as always, Archbishop.” Lucina was polite. She didn’t have any particularly strong feelings on tea. In fact, she often found it a bit too sweet for her tastes. Such indulgences in sweets were… well, they weren’t bad things. She just wasn’t used to them. She had always relied on whatever food she could acquire. Anything sweeter than survival already felt overwhelming.

“I’m glad you think so.” She set down her own cup with practiced ease. “I was sorry to see you up against our own representative so early.”

“Ah, but it was a good fight. I learned a lot from the way the Professor fought.”

“Yes, she is a force to be reckoned with.” 

There may have been a threat in there, but Lucina did her best to ignore it. She was far too used to pain and betrayal. She found herself reading malice into almost every conversation around her.

“I hope she fares well against her next opponents. She will have some strong competition.”

“Your mother, I presume?” Rhea didn’t necessarily hate the Ylisse family. She simply found Lucina’s diehard admiration of her family…. irritating. Pitiful, even. One would hope the girl would learn to grow up and let go of such ties.

Projection was a particularly intoxicating nerve that tumbled in Rhea’s bones.

"Oh, she's not the only one. I almost regret that you finally entered the tournament this year. It could be humiliating for Fódlan." A light remark, if perhaps not well-considered.

"Do tell." Polite, if with an odd tone.

Lucina sipped some more tea. "Well, I've personally found Ms. Traynor to be an incredible addition to the tournament roster."

"Is that so? Some mention of this fighter has reached my ears."

"She possesses a sharp mind. Keen instincts. An experienced fighter and a fearsome warrior in many respects. I wish still in the running this year." For more reasons than one. Lucina would much rather remain in the tournament than be sent on diplomatic missions for the country.

"How interesting." Rhea's tone was even stranger now. More restrained. More difficult to read. Less warm and cozy.

It’s important again, as we observe Rhea before the weeks ahead of her, to emphasize that Rhea wasn’t a bad person. Flawed, certainly. Every person has needs and fears and wants. And if you lived long enough without acknowledging them, those fears and wants spiraled together into a toxic bubbling mess of ooze. Anxiety and fear, mixed together with a desperation for validation and a delirious paranoia that she was going to lose everything all over again.

Rhea was a person who needed control to feel safe. And for the past month, all she could think about was that she sent her precious Professor into the dangerous, terrifying, evil, outside world.

But she set the thought aside. The world outside Fódlan wasn't a threat. Her people were safe. There was no danger. They were safe. She was safe.

Still. Best to send a message to the Professor about this Traynor. As well as a few soldiers. Just to be careful.

In her own expert opinion, none of this was Ashley’s fault.

Sure, she let the exercise nut vanish from the boat. Sure, she didn’t do any follow-up investigation. Sure, if something went wrong and the company got sued, Wario Ware Inc could lose thousands of dollars.

But she didn’t see why her own paycheck had to be threatened. She should be paid extra for all her trouble, actually. If everyone would just do all the work for her and let her work on her potions, none of this would have happened.

It didn’t help that so far, her attempts to regain contact with the Trainer had been a complete failure. Every call made to the castle only resulted in a polite refusal or an outright mocking response.

“Listen kid, if you want an autograph, you’ll just have to be lucky.”

“I don’t want an autograph, I want-” The dial tone answered back. She slammed the phone on the receiver, fuming in a rage. Dammit all. Dammit all, dammit all, dammit all. She rubbed her forehead, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Okay. Fine. It was fine. Great even! Superb! Wonderful!

If she couldn't get things done in a normal way, she'd just have to get things done in a magic way.

So Isabelle was busy. Fine. Whatever. Snake wasn't mad. Not like he needed her anyway. Mona pouted about the loss of a dog, but he promised her that he'd drag the fluffy piece of sunshine as soon as she was free.

Of course, that didn't stop Mona from bailing for the moment too. Because she had a job to worry about and legal work to fulfill. Sure. Cool. Because he just loved doing paperwork himself.

And then Inkling refused too. Wanted to focus on her brand. Sure. Cool. Fine. Whatever. He was a grown man. He could comb through documents himself.

So that left Snake alone in his room, flipping through page after page of dense legalese. Transfers here. Bank statements there. Stocks there. Yadda yadda yadda. His bed, his desk, and his floor were covered in files casually tossed about. He considered calling up Otacan, but decided to pass for the moment. With the Americans keeping such a close eye on him, it'd be best not to accidentally give up his partner's location. His cigarette wafted into the air, swirling around the room's ceiling fan.

The door slammed open. "Sir Snake!"

Snake's gun came out first, pointed directly as Simon's skull. The poor man had a bag of snacks in his arm and mild alarm on his face. While the guy hadn't quite gotten a sense of guns yet, he definitely suspected they weren't good.

Snake scowled, shoving his piece away. "This is a private room. Don't startle me like that."

"My apologies, Sir Snake. I was merely ensuring your food arrived safely." Simon leaned in, conspiratorially. "We wouldn't want any villains to tamper with our leader's food, after all."

Leader, huh? That was a new one. He'd always been considered unfit for that sort of thing. Without more than a grunt, Snake snatched the little bag from Simon's arms. Damn. He could smell a fresh, delicious combination of ham, cheese, and bread overpowering the natural cigarette smoke that he seemed to carry from country to country.

"Is this the evidence Lady Mona offered us?"

Snake grunted vaguely. He was a little more focused on these delights of handcrafted food.

"I best get started while you rest then."

"What?" The soldier turned around, amusement in his eyes. "Don't waste your time. I'm doing it on my own."

Simon balked. "Sir, you should not bear this much work alone."

"Its not about the bearing, its about common sense." He waved a dismissive hand. "This isn't a beat you can handle. Shoo."

Confusion was turning to something akin to offense. "Excuse me? I have vanquished one of the greatest evils that has plagued this land. Piles of parchment are hardly overwhelming tasks."

Snake snorted. "Really now?" He reached down to pick up a lone, discard piece of paper. "Can you tell me what a hedge fund is?"

Simon's brow furrowed. "A... what?"

"A hedge fund. Can you explain that to me?"

"...I suppose not."

"How about an investment firm?"

A furrowed brow more clearly formed into a glower. "...I have not encountered this, no."

"Do you know what the stock market is?"

"...Young Isabelle mentioned turnips."

Snake tossed the paper aside. "Find another job, Simon. I got this one until Isabelle's back."

"What would you have me do?"

He waved a dismissive hand, already turning away from the hunter. "I'm sure you'll find something to fight. Don't fuss."

There was a long stretch of silence as Snake skimmed through the next batch of files. Part of him assumed Simon already left.

Then the sound of heavy boots echoed across the floor. The door slammed loudly behind Simon as he left.

Wonder what put him in a mood?

Ike’s weeks were far more peaceful than one might expect. Some people congratulated him on a job well done, but mostly left him to his loss. Perhaps they thought he’d be throwing a temper tantrum for losing so quickly. But the mercenary simply continued to socialize and train at his own leisure. The man wasn’t one to freak out. That was the only quality Ike and Ganondorf shared in common. A loss was nothing more than a setback. There was no shame in a loss if you gave each battle your full attention. 

And truth be told, Ike didn’t enjoy winning tournaments. Climbing the ranks meant fame, acclaim, trophies, interviews, attention. And Ike… didn’t like attention. He liked to keep to himself. Rally the troops if need be. Stop a tyrant, as was often necessary. But politics… annoyed him. Being a figurehead annoyed him. No, better to return to the mercenaries. To Soren and his sister. Less chance of stepping into a political minefield.

It was this thought in mind that Ike decided to go fishing with some like-minded individuals. At least, he assumed they were like-minded. Byleth was a quiet woman in general and he wasn’t sure he ever heard the Villager talk. And he wasn’t sure what he made of the Villager’s blocky friend…

Still, Ike couldn’t complain. The four fighters had found the perfect spot on the local lake, tossed out their fishing rods, and sat back for a relaxing day. The sun hovered over them as the water bobbed and bounced their boar idly.

“It was a good fight.”

It took a second for Ike to recognize Byleth’s voice. She hadn’t said a word for nearly an hour.

“Which one?”

“With Traynor.”

“Oh, yes. She’s a good fighter.”

Byleth cast out her line again, letting the pole go slack in her hands. 

“What are her beliefs?”

The question was odd. “Beliefs?”

“What does she stand for?”

Ah. Ideology. This was something Ike was unfortunately familiar with. Ideology could sway a person to many dangerous directions.

“I couldn’t say for sure. She doesn’t seem very patriotic. Hasn’t said much, politically.” He shrugged. “But it's not for me to decide someone’s beliefs.”

Byleth seemed to find this point agreeable. She turned back to the sea without another word.

Of course, Ike reflected, that wasn’t to say ideology was inherently negative. In fact, someone with no beliefs might be the most dangerous thing of all.

He glanced at the fellow mercenary.

Her blank eyes stared at the sea with a complete and total emptiness.

Someone without beliefs could be a dangerous thing indeed.

There was a gasp from the end of the dock. The Villager leaped to his feet, tugging and pulling on his line. The thin string drew the pole deeper and deeper into the waters.

Now here was some action! The two mercenaries raced to the young man’s side, grabbing him quickly. They held strong together as the fish zipped back and forth desperately, trying to escape the clutches of the crew. It was a battle of wills. A clash of strength. Humanity vs nature at its finest.

With one final, desperate test of muscle, the Villager yanked the pole into the air. The fish soared through the air, water splashing around it in a blaze of glory. It slammed onto the dock with a dramatic, final flop.

There was their triumphant prize. The fruit of their labors. Their grand success. 

A sea bass.

The three fighters slumped in despair.

Steve offered a pack of cookies.

In the many moving parts and pieces of the Smash tournament, it was often hard to tell what event would be important or unimportant. An athlete supporting a potential dictator? A religious organization taking notice? The feelings of a vampire hunter? Two mercenaries fishing? From the outside, narrowing down the important from the unimportant might be difficult

On this occasion, however, we will note that the following relationship was not important. No history book would detail their friendship. No experts would analyze how it would affect their behavior in the tournament. In the grand scheme of the infinite universe and in the small scale of local politics, the bond between two men would hardly warrant merit.

“Hey, kid!” The teenager turned, with a raised eyebrow.

The great Captain Falcon smiled with a wry smile. His movements were large and exaggerated. He jogged in place for a moment, his back perfectly straight. He left himself open. By comparison, Joker was on the defensive. His shoulders slumped. His hands in his pockets, stroking his phone protectively. He removed his hand carefully to straighten his glasses.

“You asking for me? Looking for digits? Cause you’re just a little too old for me.” The wit flowed naturally, like a river 

“Absolutely!” Falcon swung an arm around the teen, pulling him into a side-hug. “Now, normally I go for a roundabout method for worming my way into your heart, but you seem like the sort that appreciates honesty.”

Joker, rare to be surprised and even rarer to be at a loss for words, blinked. “...From others, yeah.”

“Wonderful! Then I would like for you to join me in a spirited game of bonding.” His grin somehow grew larger than before.

“...Uh huh. Why me?”

Falcon gestured to the air with a strong, confident finger. “I’m glad you asked. It seemed to me that your solitude couldn’t be healthy. And I would like an intelligent companion to converse with and entertain myself.”

Joker blinked once more.

He considered.

“Yeah okay, sounds baller. Would you rather be a lion or a panda?”

Falcon laughed heartily. “A lion, of course!”

“Bzzt. Wrong. Panda.”

“Horrible. Explain.”

“Eat and sleep all day.”

“Hm! Counterpoint-”

And the two drifted off, already lost in deep, meaningful conversation.

The bond would not matter in the larger sense.

But it bears noting here because it would prove to be very funny in the short term.

Chapter Text

The Trainer was beginning to suspect she had misunderstood something.

Since arriving in the Mushroom Kingdom, she had already been inundated with various strange conversations with strange people. But at the very least, she could enjoy some time stretching to herself if need be.

In the weeks after her first tournament win, the amount of free time plummeted while strange conversations skyrocketed.

Take, for example, the strange round head man known as Captain Olimar. After their brief discussion some time prior, he had insisted on asking the Trainer such peculiar questions. He kept furious notes, scribbling with a frantic energy.

“Now, when this situation erupts, what companies do you think will be in the most danger?”

“Situation?”

“Yes, you know, the….” And his eyes darted around, before he whispered in a low tone. “War.”

“Don’t commit a war.”

“Ohohohoh, of course not, of course not. There’s obviously no danger of something like that!” And he would wink before returning to his papers. “But, you know, hypothetically. What would be a good investment?”

She had to admit, she was profoundly lost. But it had been such a long conversation and she didn’t want to disappoint the poor man.

So she improvised.

“It's always good to invest time in half-moon exercises.”

Olimar blinked in confusion for a brief moment. Then his eyes lit up in understanding. “Oh! Oh I see! And, uh which-”

He paused here to glance around again.

“‘Half-moon is worth investing in?”

“....a… lucky one?” 

This seemed to do the trick, as he began scribbling even more furiously than before. “Oh! Oh a lucky fortune , you mean! Of course, of course! Now it all makes sense!”

At least he seemed happy.

In the dining area, Captain Fox McCloud of Star Fox skimmed through the paper as he ate his breakfast. His partner Falco idly checked his phone as toast crunched between his beak.

“Huh.”

Falco looked up. “What’s up?”

“Investors have suddenly started buying up properties and stock in planet Fortuna.”

Falco tilted his head. “That’s just a forest planet. Nothin’ useful there.”

McCloud shrugged. “Who knows what investors know. Maybe they got a hot tip from some financial wizard?”

“Eh. You thinkin’ of buying stock?”

“Sure, why not. If these guys think there’s something worthwhile, better get on the ground floor.” 

With a shrug, Falco returned to his game of Uma Musume. Business wasn’t his forte. If someone else seemed to know the wisest move, it only made sense to follow the trend.

The second oddity was from a short little man in a suit. He was… different from anyone she had met before. Frankly, the Trainer barely understood a word he said. He kept interrupting himself with a laugh or a snicker. His words were fast and garbled, like he barely had time to get them out before something better interrupted him. It was perhaps the first time the Trainer understood that some people just like to hear the sound of their own voice. 

Out of the many long, haughty sentences that loudly bounced around the room, she only managed to catch the basics of one sentence.

“With the (snort) investment experience you’ve flopped about, your (heh heh) reputation would help fund the creation of our (cough) product. A real (another snort) hot commodity like you is just the kind of (oink) appeal our company needs to (lick the corner of his mouth) really sell it to these suckers.”

She wasn’t sure she liked this Mr. Minch, but she reluctantly agreed to whatever he was saying. While she wasn’t sure what the thing did , the thing he wanted to give people seemed harmless enough. 

A Happy Box just sounded like a great idea all around.

The Inkling’s own Happy Box sat in the corner of her room, unused. After the spike in sales, the squid had chosen to film an unboxing video for her fans. She took the time to list off the various features and advantages from a little sponsored sheet off camera, forcing a smile on her face throughout.

At the moment, she was lying face down on her bed, squinting at the soft glow of her phone. She watched as the viewership numbers zipped up, digit by digit. Each number represented a person. A person who watched her video. A person who watched her and was interested in what she had to say. Each new number provided a little electric rush in the back of her skull. A comment full of admiration. 

“I wish I could go shopping with you!”

“I’d love to connect with you on Happy Box Network!”

Each comment only increased that feeling of delight and satisfaction and relief.

It was downright addicting.

Lately, however, the rush had been harder to acquire. She couldn’t help but focus on the other analytics. Which posts and clips didn’t perform as well as others. Who stopped watching her videos at a certain point. Which comments were more mean-spirited than the others.

“you people like this Callie wannabe? lol”

“Sponsored hack. What a sellout”

“[various inappropriate comments]”

So she turned to research. Chasing down the latest trend, the latest hot topic, the latest choice zeitgeist to center herself in. She searched through photos of celebrities and trendsetters and influencers or all kinds. These were the IT squad of the century. These were the people she needed to strive towards.

This is what would achieve that same little rush in the back of her head.

But the truth was, her social media expertise created the opposite effect. In fact, viewing pictures of the people at the Smash competition only seemed to make things… hurt.

Picture of Captain Falcon and Joker making coffee together. Smiling and laughing.

Lucas getting ice cream while Bayonetta pays. Ruffling his hair with humor and grace.

Traynor and Samus spotted in the wild, sitting close and grinning. Enjoying each other’s company.

Isabelle and Ganondorf’s stupid little rally. Dog chirping happily, Ganon scowling and hiding from the camera.

Each photo tightened at her chest, squeezing it into a smaller and smaller shape. Her teeth grit together as she pushed forward. This was stupid. She wasn’t upset. She had no reason to be.

Min Min teaching Cloud how to cook.

Falco discreetly catching Wolf trying to harass Fox.

Ice Climbers playing with the Pokemon Trainer’s Ivysaur.

Pearl and Marina, laughing on their show.

The phone dropped from her hands as she burrowed into herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, curling up into a pathetic little ball. A sad little whimper escaped her lips as she tried to fight off the indescribable, inexplicable ache in her chest.

What was she doing wrong?

Why wasn’t it enough?

Why wasn’t she enough?

Finally, there was the matter of the Federation Diplomat. He had taken a particular interest in the Trainer recently. He would show up unannounced at the castle, at visits with reporters. On the rare occasion she got to enjoy a private lunch, he would appear from nowhere, making polite conversation and resting his hand on Trainer’s shoulder.

The Trainer had never quite felt genuinely uncomfortable by a person’s presence before now. Which is why she was thankful for the presence of Samus. The woman was quick to glare at the Diplomat until he withered and vanished into the streets.

“I’m going to kill that man someday,” she muttered with a furious sip of coffee. They had found another private little cafe, unbothered by the patrons around them.

“That could be dangerous.”

“I’m stronger than him.”

“Of course. But unplanned fights can do serious damage to one’s health.”

She didn’t want to admit her arms were still really sore from her first tournament battle.

“I just don’t like the way he paws at you. He keeps trying to stroke your hair. It's gross.”

Now that Samus mentioned it, she did feel a slight tugging whenever the Diplomat was behind her. But she couldn’t think of any reason why someone would want to touch her hair. The hair was the most worthless part of the body. You couldn’t stretch it or train it in the slightest.

“I will just stay near you.”

Samus raised an eyebrow, a smile on the corner of his lips. “And why’s that?”

“I feel safe with you.”

Strange. Samus must have been in the sun longer than she thought. Her face had turned a slight pink.

“Um- how’s prep for that rally going tonight?” 

Hm. Samus must have been displeased with that remark if she wanted to change the subject so quickly.

“Isabelle says I need to…” what was the exact phrase again? “Give my heart to the crowd?”

“Oh, she’s got you public speaking?”

“I like my heart where it is. It's useful for exercising.”

“It's a metaphor, Trainer.” There was fondness in the tone, which Trainer appreciated. It made it easier to admit to her lack of knowledge. She didn’t lie. She felt safe to admit a lot of failings around Samus.

She leaned on the table, looking curiously at Samus. “So it means something else?”

“Exactly. Isabelle just wants you to say something… passionate. Something you really believe.”

“Believe about what?”

“I suppose about Ganondorf. What do you think of him?”

An image of Ganon’s hand on her throat, a flame in his hand, flashed back to her.

“...He seems angry.”

“Might be good to avoid that.” She rotated her cup, spinning the foam around. “Crowds like that want to hear something positive. Something affirming. Something that tells them they’ll be alright.”

“So I could praise their techniques?”

“Sure. But this event is about Ganondorf. They’ll want to know why they should support him.”

“Why should they support him?”

Samus gave her a quiet look. It felt weird, in a way she wasn’t used to from the woman. Finally, she set her cup down.

“Traynor, can I ask you something?”

Ah, more advice questions. “Of course.”

“Do you ever… agree to things without knowing what you’re agreeing to?”

Oh.

Hm.

Er.

Uh.

She looked around at the table for an escape.

“These cookies are very sweet.”

Samus sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You’re much more awkward than you pretend to be, huh?”

“Very very sweet cookies.”

“Traynor.”

She quickly gobbled a cookie. A perfect excuse not to talk.

Samus sighed, shrugging. “Alright, I won’t push. But if you need any help, feel free to let me know. Bailing people out of mistakes is one of my few talents.”

Trainer tilted her head, curiously. “That isn’t true. You have many talents.”

She must have said something wrong again. Samus spent most of the rest of their lunch staring into her own coffee.

She should really do something about that sunburn flaring up though.

As each step took her away from the cafe, Trainer found herself observing the city around her. She was doing her best to identify all the sights around her. The definitions provided by Samus from that bizarre night at Club 64 needed to be repeated to memory. She didn’t want to look like a fool in front of Samus, after all.

One of the metal machines gliding down the road emitted a loud noise at another machine. Cars. Cars honking. Honking horns. Where did the word honking come from? She heard that the duck of the Duck Hunt duo honked. Did the duck have a car inside it? Or maybe it was in the dog part?

She looked up at the streetlights. A few were starting to flicker early, hours before the night fell on the city. Streetlights. Light on the street. Frankly, streetlights were particularly confusing to the Trainer. If they all needed light so badly, why did they turn off the giant streetlight in the ceiling? What had Samus called it again? Sky? Yes, sky.

Then again, it was so nice when the giant lamp was off and the city started to cool down. And you could see it on the passerby too. The tourists taking off their hats, the sweat vanishing from brows. The way their lips curled up to show their teeth as they smiled at their friends and family. It was a time of peace and relaxation. And the Trainer felt at peace just thinking about it.

Down the streets of the Mushroom Kingdom, the Trainer was alone with her thoughts at last. No more conversation, no more advice. No more distraction. Just time to consider the events around her. How to prepare for the night ahead of her.

...she was beginning to worry that thinking was a task she was ill-suited for.

The sun began to drift downward. The flow of the city shifted and changed in its traditional daily patterns. Traffic that moved towards work in the early hours now changed its trajectory towards food and home. The city was always crowded and energetic and this only became more true during tournament season.

Following the destruction of Club 64, the property was quickly sold, purchased, and built over as the Cranky Kong Memorial Parking Garage. The leases and rights transferred over quickly and construction was finished within the day. In these fast paced times, there was no time to delay if the company was going to profit from the increased number of visiting vehicles. And indeed, the garage was filling up quickly on this particular evening. Not far from the parking garage that used to be Club 64 was Temsik Park. It was here where Isabelle had arranged the preparations for Ganondorf’s rally. A small stage had been installed in the park’s center. Food and drink could be found near a playground, allowing people to stay hydrated while children played during the boring political vigor. 

As the guests filled the Kong Garage, they streamed towards the park. While the politics of Ganondorf himself were somewhat troubling to the general populace, the promise of free food and hydration tended to drown out any wider concerns about the implications of such an event.

Isabelle was entirely within her element. Hopping from task to task with ease, directing caterers and buildings and event staff to the right locations. 

This was proving to be very confusing for the Gerudo bodyguards Ganondorf had employed.

The Gerudo army trained its soldiers in all matters of danger and warfare. They were trained to expect a weapon to emerge from any corner. They were trained to expect betrayal and malice from all outsiders. They were trained to remain completely stoic and strong against any form of pressure, torture, or manipulation.

They were not trained in the matter of parties.

Calyban and Pasha could only blink in confusion as a tiny dog handed them tiny little party streamers.

Isabelle’s tail wagged happily. “You just want to wave them around when Mr. Dorf goes up to speak!”

Calyban regarded the streamer as more of a snake than an article of celebration. “And this provides a… tactical advantage?”

“Kinda! But it also just looks good!”

Pasha grimaced. “You wish for us to look… soft.”

“ Relatable. Friendly! Like they can have a beer with you!”

“We do not drink.”

“Neither do I!” She gestured vaguely to the air, as if to illustrate a fictional person one would encounter at a bar. “But sometimes it's good to just hang out with friends?”

Calyban and Pasha regarded the little dog suspiciously. This sort of “friendly group-hangs” sounded suspiciously like enemy propaganda. They glanced over to the Dark Lord for approval to eviscerate such a tiny threat.

But the leader simply shook his head. It was easy to interpret the denial as a tactical advantage. Better not to hurt something that had gained such a vast crowd in such a short amount of time. Better not to betray her yet and so publicly. Better to finish the job behind the scenes, without prying eyes.

This was certainly the sort of justification Ganondorf gave himself. It was easier than admitting he was too exhausted to protest at this point. All her yammerings and offers and organizing was just too frequent to come up with a protest for each one. It was getting easier to just give in rather than continue to put up a fight.

He just needed to get through the night. Then everything would return to normal.

The Trainer did her best not to feel overwhelmed by the ginormous crowds she had to navigate through. Toads and Gerudo and the occasional walking animal or human milled about. She could hear all kinds of conversing and engaging with one another.

“I wasn’t really planning on attending but I’m a really big fan of Ms. Traynor. I want to hear what she has to say!”

“My parents didn’t want me to come- they said we left Gerudo village for a reason. But I want to see what the big deal is with this Ganondorf guy. He can’t be as bad as the last few Ganons!”

“I’m just here for the food. This is the first time I’ve eaten something nicer than instant ramen in weeks.”

She tried to let the words flow off her instead of sticking tight to her chest. People were coming here with… a lot of expectations. Ideas they wanted to see fulfilled. Promises that needed to be kept. 

And they were expecting something special from her in particular.

She managed to get through the crowd rumblings without any recognition, reaching the edge of the “backstage,” as Isabelle had described it to her.

The energetic pup herself was hopping up and down, waving at the Trainer with bounds of enthusiasm. Two very tall women stood next to her, as stoic and solid as the stone buildings the city was built from.

The sight of these women gave the Trainer some encouragement. They had clearly put forth tremendous effort towards the pursuit of fitness. On instinct, she approached the Gerudo bodyguards with a smile.

“Excellent work!”

The two women, already confused enough to begin with, struggled to process the compliment.

“Thank goodness you made it, Ms. Traynor!” Isabelle’s waving finally settled, but her energy was far from diminished. “We don’t have much prep time left, we’ll have to get you ready quickly!”

“Ready?” The word barely escaped Trainer’s lips before a little paw started dragging her further back behind the stage.

“Of course! I’ve set up the whole rally really carefully- everything has to go perfectly!”

The dog chattered away, gesturing proudly to the people and objects around them. Little machines that controlled the lights and the sounds, with all the experts she had found who managed that sort of thing. Words and ideas poured out of the shih tzu’s mouth like an endless river. The Trainer felt herself spinning just trying to process it all.

“-Then Kenny switches to the next track, and Kenny’s been so great, I need to make sure I send him a thank you card later, but then he’ll lower the music and I’ll step out. I’ll welcome everyone to the proceedings. Some icebreakers, you know.”

“Ice… breakers?” The path cut between a large speaker and a large moving box. The Trainer had to turn sideways to avoid bumping into the wooden frame of the box.

“Yeah!” She puffed up in pride. “I’ve been reading Dr. Mario’s book on public speaking, you know! He’s got all the right tips for aspiring business people! Making sure your audience is comfortable and safe!”

“I… see.”

“Anyway, once that’s done, I’ll introduce you! And you’ll get to come on out and speak for Mr. Dorf.”

If the Trainer had ever sweat in her life, a bit might drip down her forehead. “And… what sort of words do you require?”

“Oh, anything that comes to mind when it comes to Mr. Dorf! Something that gets people excited and eager to help him out!”

Eager to help out…?

Her mind flashed back to a moment on a balcony. Ganondorf towering over her, flames sparking and crackling from his hand. The real sense of fear, a fear she never felt before.

She supposed that was certainly a motive in helping out Mr. Dorf. Or Mr. Candid. The man certainly seemed to have a lot of names.

“Ooooh, it's good to see you thinking so hard on it!” Isabelle pumped a paw enthusiastically. “I gotta go finish the preparations! You and Mr. Dorf have fun, yeah?”

And before Trainer knew how to respond, Isabella had scampered off to another part of the backstage area, nearly toppling over the giant politician himself as he rounded the corner.

Ganondorf grumbled quietly to himself, wiping off any excess dirt from his uniform. Straightening out, he fixed Trainer with a firm, deliberate glare.

Maybe there was another area of the park that needed an expert to improve its fitness. She turned quickly and quietly. This seemed like a good opportunity to leave the scene without making a fuss. 

Calyban and Pasha stood before her, blocking off the exit next to the moving truck box. From a quick look around, there was no other avenue that wasn’t too crowded with tables and stage parts to make an efficient escape.

Ganondorf crossed his arms, glare only reaffirming at the Trainer’s confusion.

Well. Maybe there was some fitness work to do here instead.

Simon Belmont was in a foul mood. As he walked through the city streets of the kingdom, he felt compelled to kick the fragments of trash that bounced around the sidewalk. Sidewalks, now there was something he was still getting used to. Hills and trails that had been polished and paved over. Hundreds of years ago, he would journey through fields and hills, feeling the rocks and dirt beneath the soles of his boots. It was hard, true. But it had character. Life. Nature.

Now, on these concrete streets, there was nothing. No character, no life. Just uniform blocky buildings with uniform, blocky living.

He wasn’t trying to be overly negative. On some level, he could recognize that there was value in this new world. Billions of people seemed to live in it every day without any trouble.

But… it wasn’t a world he was meant to be living in. With its hedge funds and stocks and other such nonsense. It was a world where battle was entertainment instead of a fact of life.  It was a world he wasn’t sure he fit in.

He wondered how Dracula was managing, wherever he was. If anyone was succeeding in this era, it would be the vampire fiend himself. For all his villainy, Dracula was a forward thinking man. He had ideas and ambitions, benefited by technology and invention. It was easy to call it witchcraft, but Dracula… the beast had a scientific mind.

Evil... could really flourish in this era. They didn’t need overt violence or brutality to keep people under control. They just needed charisma and quick thinking. 

Simon watched as adults and children of all ages, decked out in Traynor merchandise, flooded towards the park with gusto and passion. Eyes bright with dreams and joy. Totally blind to the bland, oppressive world around them because of the way one figure made them feel.

Evil was flourishing.

Maybe… maybe the era needed someone to do something about it.

“...and so I told him, that’s more of a bye-lon than a pylon!”

The laughter of the crowd reverberated through the park, whoops and cheers scattered amongst it all. Isabelle’s tail wagged, soaking in the affection of the crowd.

Just behind the curtain, the Trainer tried to focus on things that made sense. Things that brought her comfort and peace. She shifted from side to side, positioning her feet firmly on the ground.

Calyban and Pasha glared in annoyance as the Trainer stretched into a Palm Tree pose.

“Is it… mocking us?”

“Impossible. It's supposed to be completely obedient.”

Pasha glanced over to where the Gerudo King was pacing. Their honorable leader was similarly focused on the Trainer. Confusion and frustration were building on his features.

“...it's not acting the way it should be.”

“...are you suggesting a failure of some kind?” There was a tension in Calyban’s tone. The sort of tone found in cults or particularly intense workplaces. The sort of tone that found any kind of disloyalty to upper management a crime worthy of beheading.

“Of course not.” Quickly, nearly desperate if not for the even cadence of her voice. “But this is… Sheikah technology. There could be a trap in its core.”

Calyban considered the point. Tilting her head. “...A threat to our lord.”

“Exactly.”

“It is of little concern.” The two guards nearly lept out of their skin at the deep baritone. Ganondorf’s hands were hidden beneath his cape and he barely seemed to be regarding his loyalists to begin with. 

This didn’t stop the guards from feeling the tremendous, agonizing dread of being recognized by someone in charge.

“This warrior…” Ganondorf’s tone wavered. “...it's too inefficient. Old, dated, out-of-touch. If the mutt lets it speak, the crowd will be left confused and frustrated.”

Calyban’s eyes lit up first. “I see… and from that frustration can build anger.”

“Exactly.” Ganondorf clenched a fist. “With that dark energy spread among this large an  audience… it is a simple task to work my own dark powers from there.”

It was here that Pasha understood as well. If the Dark Lord could influence the naturally formed angry energy of the populace, his magic could transfix the crowd. Brainwash the crowd. Create a loyal, violent army that they could unleash across the streets.

“Well, that’s enough of me talking your heads off!” Isabelle’s voice echoed backstage. “We’re all really here because we care! The needs of the Gerudo communities in Hyrule come before anything else here. So, my good friend has a few words to say about Mr. Ganondorf and the topics he cares about!”

The Trainer returned to her normal posture, legs and arms returning to their natural positions. She straightened her shirt anxiously as the crowd applauded.

“We won’t need the Sheikah warrior much longer.” Ganondorf gestured vaguely to the soldiers. “Prepare for the battle ahead. The Gerudo are counting on you.”

The two women saluted, stoic yet ecstatic. “Sir!”

“Without further ado, I’m happy to introduce our tournament favorite… Ms. Traynor!”

And the trio watched as the Trainer vanished into the echo of the crowds.

Blinding. Lights pointing from every which direction. She had to blink and squint before her eyes could adjust to the sheer brightness of it.

Deafening. Cheers and whoops and clapping and wailing and every sound outside or in-between. Celebrating and crying and hoping and dreaming and all the sounds that carried each possible feeling that might need to be conveyed.

Dry. Her mouth, drained of water. Desperate to retain any kind control over any of the million sensations she was surrounded by. There was no escaping any of it. The hundreds of eyes and ears and minds all directed right at her at this moment.

The only thing she could trust was her own fitness.

She stepped forward, as stable as she could manage. The sounds only increased with each step, getting rowdier and more electric with every second. A small shout echoed through the back of the crowd. It bounced through the people, repeated and regurgitated over and over until nearly the entire crowd was shouting the same word.

“TRAY-NOR! TRAY-NOR! TRAY-NOR!”

The chant only made the march more difficult. The words were like a powerful wind she had to fight against. She tumbled forward, clutching onto the podium in the center of the stage for dear life. She hated having to lean on anything during an exercise, but the sheer power of the crowd was too all-encompassing. Hundreds upon hundreds of passionate exercises, all directed at her, could not be overcome alone.

She wished Samus was here. Samus’ exercises could have held strong against the powerful torrent of emotion and celebrity.

It took several minutes for the chanting and cheering to even begin to die down. Trainer glanced across what little she could see through the lights. Smiling, eager faces, standing here for hours without a sense of emotional and physical exhaustion.

All waiting for her.

She swallowed. Then she slowly, carefully, leaned over to the microphone.

“...Hello there.”

Another round of cheers reverberated through the air. It took half a minute to die down once again. She desperately used the time to try and find any kind of key phrase or word to her advantage.

“I… am the Trainer.”

More whoops and cheers, if less than before.”

The Trainer swallowed again. Words she had learned and forgotten in the past few weeks tumbled through her mind like a toddler shaking all the toys out of their toy chest. She reached desperately for the first ones that could come to mind.

“...Exercises,” she began finally, “are… complicated. They require care and effort to accurately complete. It is not infrequent that students fail. They fall or falter between poses. They might want to give up on exercises entirely.”

The crowd’s cheering died down further, quieting to a small murmur.

“But proper exercise, proper improvement, requires a willingness to stand up and try again.” She tried to reflect back on her old fitness room. She could picture herself in the mirror, shifting from position to position. “The Warrior pose is an efficient exercise to train in. But we shouldn’t rely on it too much. We should be willing to try other ways of building our strength and cores. A dance, a bridge, a sun salutation.”

She kept her hands on the podium, ignoring the trembling she felt inside. She could wrap this up quickly. She needed to wrap this up quickly.

“Together… our exercise can change ourselves. Transform to fit the needs of our surroundings. Change to be… more fit.”

Instinctively, her hand rose to wave to the audience. The sort of habit she formed from her teaching to end each day.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

There was a long, quiet silence. The people absorbed the words, ruminating on them carefully in their minds.

And then the crowd exploded. Shouting, screaming, cheering, crying. The passion of the tournament, up close and personal, howling and wailing for the dreams of the past and the future. A belief in change, in triumph, in redemption. A united audience, drawn in and fully righteous in the cause they wanted to see. A righteous cause that this woman believed in, this humble fighter that wanted to see a better world.

Trainer stumbled backward as the stage itself began to quiver  from the weight of the response. That quiver became a tremble and that tremble became a wobble and that wobble became a shaking. She moved quickly, plastering on a smile, as she attempted to make her escape backstage once again.

And the shouting and chanting roused up, somehow even more energetic than before.

“TRAYNOR!”

“GANON!”

“TRAYNOR!”

“GANON!”

“TRAYNOR!”

“GANON!”

What… in the name of the Goddesses?

The three Gerudo could only stare. Feelings that couldn’t be demonstrated in words or expressions shook through them. Confusion, bundled with wonder, bundled with awe, bundled with a bizarre sense of admiration, wrapped up in the nice bow of sheer incomprehension.

This… wasn’t right.

Ganondorf reached out a hand, feeling the invisible strings of energy in the air. He reared back, feeling a burn even beneath his gloves.

The passionate, bright, enthusiasm of the energy hurt to touch.

“They… love her.” Pasha could barely even grasp the idea, much less put it into words. 

“They like what she’s saying. What they want to hear.” But even that definition felt pathetic to Calyban. Hearing the roars and cheers made the concept of “liking” words feel childish and narrow.

“Of course they do, silly!” Isabelle’s tail wagged happily. “She’s speaking for Mr. Dorf, after all!”

Ganondorf glanced at the tiny dog. Then he gazed back to the roaring crowd.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Those cheers… couldn’t possibly be for me.”

“She was talking about you, wasn’t she? What else could she mean by second chances?” Isabelle nudged him playfully. “They’re here to support you now!”

Support… him?

Ganondorf felt his body move of its own accord. More machine-like than man. Before Calyban and Pasha could stop him, their leader stepped out onto the stage.

He could only stare in confusion as the crowd’s excitement only increased. The stage rocking and trembling from the joy and hope and excitement of hundreds upon hundreds of people. Forced to confront a sensation the King of Thieves had never seen before.

They weren’t afraid. They weren’t angry.

They genuinely, truly, liked the Great King of Evil.

Chapter Text

Ganondorf spent much of the subsequent hours in a daze.

He barely remembered what he had said to the cheering crowds on stage at this point. Quick buzzwords and promises of justice and unity or some such nonsense. 

But the crowd ate it up. He drifted through the excited crowd, aimlessly interacting with the hundreds of strangers who suddenly thought the world of him. Words drifted in and out through his ears. 

“Finally, someone with sense in politics!”

“I was doubtful but… you and Traynor have a tag-team I can get behind!”

“Mr. Ganondorf, I know my grandparents left after the last Dark Lord’s rule but… would you mind a pciture?”

He just dumbly followed whatever request people had for him. He shook hands, he kissed babies, all the political stunts people wanted to see.

Calyban and Pasha weren’t doing too much better. The duo was used to fighting off threats to the triumph of the king. Assassination attempts or obsessive heroes were easily disposed. They were clear dangers. Obvious enemies. A simple world with simple requirements to survive in it.

Fandom was… different. None of the people in this crowd wanted to hurt Ganondorf. In fact, they wanted to celebrate Ganondorf. But it wasn’t the quiet obedience of the traditional Gerudo sect. It was intense, overwhelming passion.

They weren’t sure whether to fight them all to death or offer recruitment papers.

The Trainer wasn’t in a much better position. People desperately wanted to touch her hair or her muscles in a way that made her profoundly uncomfortable. She hadn’t fully considered her exit strategy once she had finished speaking to the crowd. Usually, someone came by with a car and drove her right back to Peach’s castle.

She still didn’t fully understand motor vehicles. If she did, she might have asked her companions if any of them had a driver’s license.

Perhaps the only person of the crew in a good mood was Isabelle. She navigated the crowd with ease. She offered quick compliments to the passersby. Thanking them for coming, praising their support

Perhaps the most crucial part was that she kept herself close to Ganondorf. In the long-term, as the crowds dispersed and a calmness returned, many of them would only remember who they were looking at when they received the compliment. As a result, more people would report that Ganondorf personally praised them, rather than recall the tiny little puppy truly offering them recognition.

After nearly half an hour of a slow, steady escape, the five foreigners to the Mushroom Kingdom discovered the edges of the park. Isabelle raced over to the street, patting the hood of the first taxi she could find.

“Hiya! A quick ride, if you can!”

The Toad behind the wheel jolted awake, quickly turning on the taxi light and starting the car. “Of course! Right away!”

Isabelle perkily moved around the front of the car, reaching the front passenger door before the other rally speakers could recognize what was happening.

“Come on, guys! You gotta rest up after all that!”

The three Gerudo glanced at the taxi warily. Mental math drifted through their minds as they attempted to measure the full carrying capacity and size of the vehicle.

Behind them, the mass of excitable, unrelenting fans was only getting closer.

They were out of other options.

Pasha dutifully opened the door and Ganondorf swiftly disappeared out of sight. Trainer followed suit, placing herself right next to the Lord of Darkness and the greatest evil Hyrule has ever faced. 

It was at this point that the mental math the Gerudo had deduced sunk into Trainer’s mind as well.

Calyban settled in as best she could in the final remaining seat of the car. She could only grumble as her head bumped the top. Pasha struggled in after her. While Pasha was shorter than Calyban, she was still a Gerudo woman. The two women bumped and clashed and as they tried to find a comfortable position stuffed next to each other. It took several attempts to close the door. Trainer found herself pushed against the king, Pasha’s foot somehow sticking itself to the fitness enthusiast’s cheek while Calyban’s legs were sprawled across someone in the mix. Ganondorf’s face was shoved into the second passenger door, his hand painfully trapped somewhere between Trainer’s arm and Calyban’s right leg.

Isabelle waggled happily in the front. “Well, that went really well I think!”

“...is that so?” Ganondorf’s annoyed tone couldn’t quite come across when his mouth was pressed against glass.

“A bit unpolished, but a good start! The next one will be easier.”

“ Next one?!” Pasha couldn’t hide the incredulous horror in her voice. “Absolutely not.”

“I think what my colleague means to say is…” Calyban forced herself to what she hoped was an approximate professional stance. Her left arm clenched around Pasha’s thigh as a result. “The security risks are too great. We do not require another one of these… rallies.”

“Oh, we can hire extra security if that’s what you’re worried about.” She laughed, a light twinkling sound. “But why would someone ever want to hurt an activist?”

None of the passengers gave that comment the dignity of a proper response.

“My troops are correct.” Ganondorf tried to raise his tone, but it was difficult when one ear could only hear the rumbling of the car through the streets. “This exercise has been enlightening, but ultimately unnecessary.”

“What?” Isabelle peered over into the back, worry plain on her face. “Oh Mr. Dorf, you can’t give up now! There’s so much more support we can gain!”

“ More support?” Pasha and Trainer glanced out the window. Even after peeling away from the park, there were still people in the Trainer shirts milling about in the city at large. 

Ganondorf groaned. People moving in this cramped space… it wasn’t tenable. “You can’t seriously think that these people care about me .”

It was an idea Ganondorf didn’t know how to grapple with. He was to be feared and obeyed. Adored and praised… this was hard to conceive. 

“Oh, don’t worry!” Isabelle waved a hand. “Sure, they’re wearing Traynor merch now… but if we can get the message out there, they’ll be donating to your organization soon enough!”

“Donations?” He tried to turn towards the pup. Trainer was pushed sideways, shoving Calyban into Pasha and Pasha’s foot into the cramped little pocket on the side of the car door. She felt an abandoned water bottle crinkled beneath her weight.

“What on Earth could motivate those… creatures to donate?”

“They’re interested in your policies! People always want to vote on ideas they agree with. And they like what your ideas are!”

The joy of political work and organization had somewhat blinded Isabelle to the serious lack of policy that had been discussed at the event. The sheer sparkle and optimism permeating around Isabelle made it difficult for Ganondorf to even remember how little he said.

“That would hardly lead to this… financial support you’re suggesting.” Ganondorf waved a hand idly, smacking Trainer in the face. “Where would they even donate to?”

“Your campaign site, of course!”

He blinked. “My… my what?”

“Oh, I knew something slipped my mind.” She fiddled through her bag, tugging out a large touch tablet that was way too large for someone her size. “I put a lot of effort into it: I think it's the sort of site that really catches people’s eyes!”

Reaching between the labyrinth of limbs and confusion, Trainer managed to gingerly pluck the tablet out of another’s paws. The screen was full of simple, strong colors. On a red background, Ganondorf’s name sat in the center with strong white text. There was a variety of links to other parts of the site, including “About Us,” “Community,” “Donate,” and “Volunteer.”  

“When… did you put this together?”

“While Traynor was on-stage. I still need to upload photos of the rally to really give it character, you know?”

Ganondorf tried to pinch the ridges of his nose, but his hand couldn’t reach that far without pulling something. “I did not… approve of any of this.”

“Oh, I knew you’d be too shy to ask for help, so I did it for you!” Isabelle’s blinding, innocent smile was an impossible cliff to overcome.

Trainer tapped on the screen warily, activating a link to another page. “What do these numbers mean?”

“That’s the donations we pulled in so far!”

The Great Lord’s temper flared. “As I told you time and again, none of this… dog and pony show is necessary. You had ample time to have your fun, but we’re done with-”

His voice trailed off.

His eyes had caught the numbers on the screen.

“You can attach these numbers together?” Trainer’s question was painfully sincere.

“It… makes the number bigger.” Calyban was so stunned by the visuals on the tablet, she didn’t even consider ignoring the question.

“I see.” Trainer tilted the screen thoughtfully. “This is quite a big number then.”

Ganondorf slumped in his seat, world spinning.

Money meant funds. Funds meant resources. Resources meant more weapons, more troops, more power.

Power. His precious, precious power.

He spoke carefully. “How… do I acquire these funds?”

“Oh, well, it's in a special financial account I set up for you. Once the bank knows what cause the donations are for, it’ll divert the funds to the appropriate accounts. You just have to put together a financial plan for me and I can arrange the whole thing for you. ” Isabelle tilted her head. “But you knew about normal procedures like that, right?”

Yes. He understood now. He allowed himself to try and ignore the little assistant. Give into her demands. All he wanted to do was survive the day with his sanity intact.

And now… she was the one that held the power over the future of his empire.

He watched the streetlights go by, drowning himself in the wave of ideas and drives that flowed endlessly from Isabelle’s mouth.

Simon was in a foul mood.

He’d seen it all before. Pale figures persuading innocent people against their own interests. Empty words and empty flattery before draining them of their blood and soul.

The pattern always held true. It was certainly holding true now. The crowds eating up her promises like it was golden mana, ignorant to the manipulation it could be leading to. 

What kind of evidence was that for Snake though? Snake wanted datasheets and recorded conversations and analysis. That sort of modern thinking just wasn’t in Simon’s forte. He had a straight-forward solution to the problems of the world. Fight them. 

He watched the taxi vanish into the city, carrying its malevolent passengers towards freedom.

Well.

Maybe he'd have to find some old-school solutions to modern day problems.

Princess Peach was waiting on the steps of the castle for the Trainer’s return. Ganondorf refused to stand up. This forced Pasha and Calyban to open the door on their side of the taxi, followed by a contortion of complicated movements.

The much less crowded cab quickly sped off the second Calyban reentered the car. Pasha, abandoned on the sidewalk next to the Trainer, quickly began the arduous task of chasing after her countrymen.

Peach, ever the diplomat, made no mention of the display.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?”

Climbing the steps of the castle, the Trainer had to really grapple with that question. Pleasant was such a curious word. Feelings, thus far, were absurdly malleable. Lacking in physicality and sense. How could an event have a feeling? 

...these were thoughts she was too exhausted to process. She wasn’t used to this sensation and she couldn’t say she cared for it. As profane and blasphemous as it seemed, she just wanted to slam her head right into a pillow and cease existing for several hours.

“It was an evening.”

Peach tilted her head, but her smile didn’t falter. “I’m sure it was. Before you go to sleep, you have a caller waiting on the line in your room.”

Callers. More words from that strange object in her room.

Just the thought exhausted her more.

She managed a tired nod in Peach’s direction before she quietly entered the castle proper. She trudged up the steps, each movement feeling like an exercise on its own. Toads and visitors waved idly as she passed them by.

Retreating in her room didn’t quite bring the relief she expected. The blinking light on the “telephone” was like its own sun in the dark secluded room. She sat down on the bed, splaying out on the mattress, covering her face with the pillow. But even then, the blinking shined through, red light glaring through the pillowcase feathers.

With tremendous effort, she finally reached over and picked up the phone receiver.

“Hello?” Her voice was strained and grating.

“Woof. Long night, huh?”

Exhaustion instantly gave way to relief and comfort at the familiar tone. She sat up immediately, re-energized. “Good evening, Ms. Aran.”

“Good evening, Traynor.” She could almost hear the smile in her words. “Sorry for bothering you. Just wanted to check in.”

“No. It is… good to hear you.”

“Ganondorf didn’t give you any trouble, right?”

“He was very quiet and distant.”

“I guess that’s the best you can expect…” She could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. “And you kept things… peaceful? I wouldn’t want you to get wrapped up in Hyrule politics.”

Peaceful. Pleasant. She still wasn’t sure if you could define an evening like that, but... Peace was good. Peace meant none of this war or danger that the princesses so feared. That was the duty Peach had given her by putting her in the tournament.

“The crowd was… enthusiastic. But not dangerous.” It was the best description she could offer. Something that would appease Aran’s concern. “And your work?”

Miles away, Samus hesitated. She was wrapped in a heavy layer of hoods, coffee cup in hand. She glanced across the street at the Galactic Embassy. She hadn’t told Trainer about her current… observational work. 

“Oh, it's been harmless. Nothing I can’t handle so far.” It was the best description she could offer. Something that would appease Traynor’s concern.

"Rest is important to a healthy mindset." Not usually advice she liked to offer but... Trainer found herself worrying about how far Samus might push herself off the edge.

“I'll... get some sleep soon. I promise. As long as you do too."

"As you wish."

Both of them privately sighed in relief. As long as their friend was safe, there wasn’t anything to worry about. 

Footage of the event was trending. Trainer’s inspiring words on Ganondorf’s behalf had instantly shifted the public view of the villainous king. People were donating in droves to support the cause of the Gerudo people. Pundits debated if, perhaps, the threat of the Gerudo had given way to an era of peace.

Which meant, of course, those that might oppose that peace would come under fire in due time.

Link was stoic as Princess Zelda scrolled through the various news reports. News station after news station, praising the tyrant Ganondorf as a moderate thinker. Her posture was tightening with each clip and post and meme that zoomed past her view. 

How people could be so easily fooled. This disgusting, murderous... sand beast comes around puts in a token effort at the peaceful diplomat and they lap it all up like camels in the desert. 

She tapped her desk anxiously. She had to make a decision. She had to make a call.

It’s important to remember that Princess Zelda was a hero. Everything she did, she did to keep people safe. For the good of Hyrule. For the good of the world.

She held the Triforce of Wisdom. The world relied on her intelligence and her ability to make the toughest decisions. 

“...She’s become too troublesome. There’s too many complications and wild cards and they all revolve around her. If she’s not what we thought she was… and if she’s helping Ganondorf regain his powers...”

She turned to Link.

“Get rid of her.”

And the great hero of legend nodded without question.

He held the Triforce of Courage. The world relied on him to hold the strength to hold back the things that would spread fear and terror.

It’s important to remember that they were heroes. They were good people.

It’s important to know what horrible things people could do in the name of good.

On the highest floor of the WarioWare building, Mona and Snake were pouring over document after document. Untangling each connection amongst the paper trail. Every single possible clue seemed to lead in circles. One company bought by another, one that was a subsidiary of something that had already gone bankrupt and scavenged for capitalist parts. A whiteboard was covered in connections and half-baked realizations. 

Every single entity that should have some record on the Trainer simply didn’t exist. 

Mona was on her eighth coffee. Snake was on his twelfth cigarette. Eyelids were slowly closing shut, before jolting back upward, startled. Then there was an effort of refocusing before the process began again.

In one such stage of the cycle, Mona was attempting to sip her latest mocha. Her head started to dip, eyes struggling. Maybe if she just… closed her eyes for a second…

Her hand wavered a little, allowing the elixir of energy to swish around in the mug. And slowly, but surely, it splashed out of the cup and descended onto the papers and Mona’s lap.

“Heck!” Mona leaped up in a panic, only for her quick movement to spill the remaining drink onto even more papers. The brown liquid spread quickly across the table, contaminating document after document.

“Oh for the love of-” Snake moved quickly, gathering as many precious documents as he could. Papers barely snatched from the jaws of messy spillage.

“Sorry, sorry!” Mona ran around, picking up soggy papers, in a futile attempt to dry out the ruined pages.

Snake merely grumbled, moving the salvaged documents to a safer table. “If you’re wavering, maybe it's time for you to head home. Rest for another day.” 

“No, I’m fine! I can keep going.”

“Not if you’re damaging the operation.” He shuffled through papers grumpily. It was taking all his own self-control not to yawn himself. “Get some rest. We’ll print out the sheets again tomorrow.”

Mona bit her lip, struggling not to protest. She didn’t like the idea of interrupting the work flow. She was the one who kept everything moving efficiently and dynamically. Kept the workers happy and dynamic.  She didn’t want to be the one causing trouble.

But she swallowed the lump as best she could. She shifted through the ruined documents, trying to figure out what could be salvaged from the stains ahead of it.

She paused as she looked over one in particular.

“...Hey. Are there any other islands that have come up on your end?”

Snake didn’t look up, focusing on organizing the remaining papers. “One or two. Why?”

“I was just thinking- maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”

Snake huffed. He had to remind himself not to be petty and ask if the coffee spill was the right way. “How so?”

“I mean, we’re looking at connections specifically for Traynor. But she’s just one piece of whatever’s going on here, right?” She wagged the soggy paper idly. “Maybe we should be looking at the most frequent place all these companies and organizations seem to go.”

Snake finally turned to regard Mona, leaning against the table. It wasn’t completely out of line. “Alright. Where does that take us?”

“Well…” Mona handed over the page. Still wet from the spill, dripping with coffee. “There’s a lot of ships that seem to pass through this area. Eight times as much as the pass through Wuhu Island.”

Snake squinted at the paper. A series of ship manifests, all passing through one specific island. One location that tied all these separate companies together. The culmination of all their hard work and research. 

“...What the hell is Board Game Island?”

Several miles off the coast of Newmoon Island, a forgotten man waited on a forgotten little piece of land.

His routine began and ended as it normally did. He paced around the entire island. Looked for intruders. Looked for evidence worth keeping or destroying. Around late afternoon noon, the man would find some kind of animal or bug to torment.

He loved to watch them squirm and wail and cry during playtime.

Maybe today, Black Shadow would come for him. Maybe today, he’d finally be proud. Maybe today, he could finally come home.

But if not, well...

The man on the island would settle for at least having more fun visitors to play with.

Chapter Text

Littlest Bird’s fists were tight in her lap.

The name Littlest Bird wasn’t entirely accurate. In the years since her arrival on Zebes, she had grown quite a bit. If one wanted to be blunt, she was also blatantly not a bird. But the name “Samus Aran” was hard for most hatchlings to pronounce. 

And so, in an attempt to help her fit in during important developmental years, she was named Littlest Bird.

Old Bird was pacing through the room. His brow was furrowed and harsh. Littlest Bird kept her focus on the ground, trying to keep her temper under control. In her first three years on Zebes, her temper had been her greatest enemy. She’d thrown more than a few tantrums and some of those tantrums had led to brawls at the local schoolhouse.

School was not the right word per se. Temple was closer. Learning Chozo proved to be a bit more difficult for her human tongue than it was for her classmates.

Her latest brawl had been with two upperclassmen. There had been a conversation, some words thrown around, a lot of confusion, and then claws and fists.

Upperclassmen wasn’t the right word either, of course. Perhaps Elder Hatchling or Less Fragile Egg was closer.

And thus, Old Bird was once again in a furious huff, bristling with frustration.

“...They started it.” The bubbling emotions in Littlest Bird’s chest was too strong for a six year old to bear. If she was any younger, the anger would have tuckered her out and knocked her right to sleep. Children couldn’t handle strong emotions for very long.

Old Bird fixed her with a stern glare. “That’s not what your teacher told me.”

“She’s lying. She hates me.”

“Why would she hate you? Perhaps it's the numerous disturbances you’ve created in class.” She had to look up to figure out his tone. His feathers were puffing a little. That meant he was upset but also that he didn’t understand the idea that she could be hated.

She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

“Everyone hates me.”

“The Chozo reject hate. You must also reject hate.”

She scowled, her little nose scrunching up like she smelled an old, rotting egg. “They were being mean!”

Old Bird sighed and finally sat down next to her. “You must be honest with me. And not-” he cut off her protests with a firm tone. “Because I don’t believe you. But as a member of the Chozo, you must see things in a new way. See the honesty that’s harder to grasp. The honesty that hurts and the honesty that warms.”

She crossed her arms, still fuming. “They just… wouldn’t stop bothering me! Making fun of me!”

“And who is they?”

Littlest Bird struggled for a moment. The Chozo names were hard to express with her human tongue, even if she barely remembered Basic. “...Blue Claws.”

“I thought you two were friends.”

“They’re in… Gray Voice’s feather family.”

Among the Chozo tribes of Zebes, there were egg families and feather families and several different kinds of families in between. Most Chozo didn’t live with their “birth” parents and instead joined different feather families throughout their lives. Many esteemed scientists and philosophers were praised for shedding such physical attachments, devoting their lives to study and research.

Old Bird and Littlest Bird knew this. They also knew that Gray Voice was strongly opposed to Littlest Bird’s arrival on Zebes. He didn’t like the idea of sharing their vast technology with someone so young. He was adamant that a human could never fit in among the Chozo. Despite his protests, he was the one who infused the donated Chozo DNA within Littlest Bird. On some level, he could be considered Aran’s egg family.

Eventually, he had left Old Bird’s feather family. He never claimed it was due to the arrival of Littlest Bird and the man was blunt enough that Old Bird would have expected Gray Voice to mention it. He promised to return one day, after handling a different feather family for a time.

Still. It was hard not to wonder.

“Did Blue Claws mention… agreement with Gray Voice?”

“Kinda. Sorta.”

“Go on.”

She twisted from side to side, trying to form the right words in the right order. “They were saying things. Saying things about… Mom and Dad.”

Old Bird’s brow furrowed again. “What sorts of things?”

“...I’unno. There were words I didn’t… know.

“Ah. So you attacked them, not knowing what they were saying?”

She scowled again. “They were making fun of me!”

“Did they know that?”

The question was so perplexing, it stopped the rage cold. “Huh?”

“Did they know they were making fun of you?”

“They had to!”

The old avian sighed again. He reached over and rested a claw on Littlest Bird’s tiny hand. “Sometimes… when people come from different lives… they have trouble talking to each other. The words don’t match. Or the wrong words match.”

Her face scrunched up, considering. “I don’t get it.”

“Show me how Blue Claws said what they said.”

“I don’t have-”

“Use mine. Pointing to what feathers were moving when.”

Old Bird didn’t have many feathers left, but enough to communicate in the more complex Chozo ways. Still, the risk of losing more to a tiny human’s little grubby hands was considerable. It had happened a few times before.

Littlest Bird tried to be gentle as she flattened the feathers on his arms, while fluffing the feathers on the tip of his head.

“You’re sure? These feathers were moving?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“It typically means they were sincerely curious.”

“...oh.” She slumped, gazing down at the floor.

“Can you recall the words they said around you?”

“...They asked if my Mom and Dad ate worms.”

“That seems harmless enough.”

“It hurt.”

“And why wou-” Old Bird paused here, considering some salient points about human cultures and memorial practices. “Hm. I can see why that might… feel insulting.”

She burrowed into his shoulder. “I don’t remember.”

“...Remember?”

“What they ate. Or what they sounded like. Or what they looked like.”

Old Bird’s posture shifted here. “Oh, Aran…” He was one of the few who could speak her name without any troubles.

“I don’t fit in.” She clenched Old Bird’s cloak tightly, trying to hold back a well of tears. “An-and mom and dad… they must hate me too.”

“They would never hate you, Littlest Bird.” This close, she could feel the vibrations in his chords. The deep, unabiding affection in it that wouldn’t be decipherable to normal human ears. A special tone that only a Chozo or a Chozo-infused child could understand. “All good egg families want to see their child join a loving feather family. A family they can trust to keep the child safe. To help them grow and flourish into a harsh world.”

Enough time had passed that Littlest Bird couldn’t recall that humans didn’t traditionally have feather families. But there was still pain there. Pain that she couldn’t understand at so young an age.

“...They… were talking about leaving their feather family too.”

“...Blue Claws?”

She nodded weakly. “And they said I would too.”

“That sort of decision is for full-grown Chozo. Not hatchlings.”

“...So you won’t make me go?”

Whatever distance was remaining, Old Bird immediately closed. He wrapped her in a full, gentle hug. She felt warm and safe beneath his wings and she clung right back to him.

“Never. You’re a part of my family, as long as you wish it to be." The floodgates opened and the tears came streaming out. She clung to Old Bird with long, pathetic sobs. And he rocked her through it, allowing the little hatchling to slowly recuperate and feel the agony and pain and relief that no small child should bear.

Eventually, the tears seemed to dry up. Old Bird pet her head softly, brushing her head.

“There. That was Chozo honesty. Did it hurt?”

“...yeah.”

“But it had warmth too.”

She smiled beneath his wings. “Yeah.”

She felt his hand reach over to lift up her chin. She let him, eyes still glistening, searching for the features of her caretaker.

The skeletal, rotting face of Old Bird gazed down at her. Purple energy was flowing from his chest into her hands. The longer he held her close, the more power and life was drained from his body. The more it flowed into herself.

And it felt… good.

“There we go.” Trainer’s voice was coming out of his shattered beak. “Was that so hard?” 

She screamed, kicking at the air. The movement propelled her out of bed  and onto the hard, metal floors of her ship.

A sharp, ringing pain echoed in her head from the collison. She felt sweaty, yet cold. Her body was shaking, despite her best efforts to reign it under control.  She tried to climb up, only for the ringing to worsen, forcing her back to the floor. 

She had to take a few moments to breathe. Let the pain pass.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

She could hear the faint rhythm of the city through the ship’s walls. Cars honking. People laughing and chatting. A world of safe, harmless, innocents.

A Chozo swear escaped her lips.

“Any problems, Lady?” The tone of the ship’s AI was as robotic as ever, tinged with a trace of humanity. “Your heart rate has increased significantly.”

“...it's fine, Adam.” She climbed to her feet, ignoring her bout of shakes and jitters. “I’m fine.”

Everything was fine. Everything was safe.

And she just needed to keep it that way.

The second event Isabelle organized was much smaller and much more manageable.

Part of this was simple marketing. Trainer couldn’t attend this event due to prior commitments. As such, Isabelle needed to account for the fact that she couldn’t just rely on just fans of Trainer’s work at this stage.

The other obstacle was the scale of the operation. A charity drive where the candidate would help feed the homeless and needy wasn’t going to receive the same kind of crowd, regardless of how many fans Ganondorf had on his own.

Calyban and Pasha were left far less stressed as a result. 

For the most part.

Calyban had arranged the easiest job for herself: guarding the door. Granted, this came with a few more complications than she expected. Isabelle was insistent that this wasn’t just a “guarding” job. This was a “greeting” job. And as such, she needed to welcome all visitors with smile and cheer. 

It took a fair bit of training before Calyban’s smile was more of a “welcoming” smile than a “I’m going to murder you” smile.

Pasha was in a different, but no less demanding position.

As part of the layout of the eat and greet, someone needed to monitor the kids’ table. Here, crayons and beads and string and toys and crafts more were left about to play with and create art with. Pasha was assigned to monitor the children and make sure food and crayon never mixed. She has raised sisters before. She didn’t foresee any problem.

Within an hour, a pile of children had successfully climbed the Tower of the Gods (aka, Pasha’s arms) and were toppling the monarchy to institute their own dominance over the land (aka, jumping on Pasha repeatedly). Their advanced weaponry of paper-mache and glue had proven to be far too effective to overcome on her own.

Ganondorf, apron on his frame and a ladle in his hand, was significantly more stressed for far more stupid reasons.

It was a simple action. Scoop food with ladle. Put food in bowl. Smile at person with bowl. Send them on their way.

It was a nightmare for him. Every part of his brain screamed “ this is not power! This is not power! This is servitude! You’re serving others! No! Noooo!”

The inner scream echoed like a ringing headache. It was hard to think, much less focus on the people he was serving.

“Thank you for coming. Take care.” He mumbled the words irritably.

Person after person filed through, a sea of sad, pathetic looking faces. What a worthless batch of miserable whelps. How they begged for scraps and trash to shove into their filthy gobs. If they had strength, real strength, they wouldn’t have allowed themselves to fall to such a state.

“Thank you, my liege.”

“Thank you for coming, take-” Ganon’s brain stopped for a moment. He looked up for a moment to see a young Gerudo woman accepting a bowl of gruel. Hanging on her back was a small Gerudo child, sleeping without a care in the world.

He… knew this woman. There was a distinct scar on her cheek, something that marked her as different from the many many Gerudo soldiers he interacted with on the daily. Scars were a prideful sight. A symbol of battle and victory. Yet this woman had been taking effort to hide it beneath a scarf.

A batch of names spinned through his head, hundreds of faces appearing and disappearing in his mind before he could find the right one.

“...Cadet Deltan?”

The woman looked like a sand seal caught sneaking into the food bin. “I-I’m sorry, my lord. I did not wish to upset you…”

He tried to remember the details of Deltan’s assignments. Deltan had been one of many spies he’d sent out in the world. His generals handled such affairs, but he received regular reports on the progress of such assignments. But he had not heard any updates on Deltan’s progress in some time.

...No, he realized. That wasn’t true. He had given a speech to the army about Deltan. About her noble sacrifice for the good of the Gerudo. How everyone must be as courageous and fearless as her to end the menace of Hyrule. It wasn’t the first speech of this kind that he had made and it wouldn’t be the last.

And there was the contradiction, as he stared into the features of the ex agent.

His generals had informed him that Deltan had died. The people had prayed for her spirit to fight against the goddesses in the next life.

“...You don’t… appear to be dead.” There was an accusation under the surface. The rage of power and the spirit of conquest bubbled within his bones.

Genuine confusion reflected on her face. “Well… no? I’m sorry?”

...No. She… didn’t know about her deceased reputation.

Which meant that someone… had lied.

He glanced over at the other volunteers giving meals to the needy. They wouldn’t miss his presence for too long.”

“...Let’s find a quiet space to talk, shall we?”

Trainer’s latest interview was a flashy affair. Bright lights, loud music, large energetic crowds. At least the studio audience was smaller than the Ganondorf rally. A crowd like this felt much easier to manage 

It was funny. Weeks ago, she never would have thought she could have handled this many students of fitness. Now, she was relieved to see a mere hundred people in the audience.

She was having a hard time caring about most of the interview, to be honest. Her thoughts were primarily occupied with the location of Samus Aran. The woman still called, when she could, but she hadn’t seen her in person since before the rally. It made her worry that she had done something… wrong.

Compared to the life of her friend, the interview itself was barely worth considering. Even if it was an… unusual affair.

To begin with, the questions were odd and prying. The Ringside Reporter loved to rile up the crowd and seemed to select questions that she knew would do so. There was an emphasis on the temperature of various competitors. Trainer couldn’t claim to understand why that mattered, but the audience seemed to get excited when she noted when a fighter was warmer than the others.

“Now, as I understand it, you’ll be facing someone very much like your first opponent next round.”

“Is that so?” This particular line of dialogue was a new tactic Trainer had discovered. When you asked questions without asking for specifics, people tended to fill in the blanks for you.

“Indeed! Another mercenary, another powerhouse, another candidate to crush. Would you agree that Byleth, the Ashen Wolf, is about to receive some serious decimation?!”

“You could say that.” Another useful tactic. Agreeing that someone said something without acknowledging their actual words.

“Would you say that to her face?”

What an interesting question. The tactic had worked so far, so she could see it working if she engaged in a conversation with Byleth.

“I suppose so.”

“It’s funny that you’d say that, because it just so happens that she’s just backstage right now!”

The crowd gasped in shock as a figure stepped out from behind the curtain. An almost regal figure with green hair, a blank stare, and more power than anyone would expect from someone so young.

She sat carefully across from Trainer, straightening her skirt before fixing her gaze upon her latest rival.

Trainer simply tilted her head. “Hello there.”

Byleth copied the movement. “Hello there.”

Ringside Reporter glanced between the two mysterious women, lips split into a wild grin.

Now, the drama could begin.

“Now, Ms. Traynor, you were talking some serious trash at Byleth here.”

“I suppose so.”

“Really throwing down the gauntlet. ”

“Perhaps.”

“Byleth, you wanna answer her threats?”

The mercenary considered for a moment. “Not really.”

Eh?

The reporter kept a smile forced on her face. “Beg pardon?”

“I don’t have much interest in threats.”

“But she was… really going for the jugular!”

“She said words. My jugular is fine.”

“It is in good condition.” Ringside Reporter swiveled back to the Trainer. The woman was peering at Byleth’s neck curiously.

Compliments were not exactly the tv drama she had planned out.

“Thank you. I have trained it.”

Something resembling a light blipped into Trainer’s eyes. “Trained it?”

“Yes. Training your body every day is essential to effective battle.”

Trainer nodded quickly. She could tell from Byleth’s abs and posture. “You have great balance.”

“As do you.”

“Don’t stretch yourself too hard. Stretch only as far as you feel comfortable.”

“Sound advice.”

“Your stride length and running endurance tend to deteriorate with age.”

“Important facts to keep in mind.”

As previous events have demonstrated, it is easy to project ideas onto other people. Conversations could be interpreted any number of ways by onlookers. Memory could retroactively interpret pleasant conversations into fierce battles.

This particular logical leap was a little more difficult in this situation. The crowd was mumbling, confused. Was this some sort of advanced insult game that mere mortals could not comprehend?

Ringside Reporter understood the situation, however. She had worked years with wrestlers. She had picked up on the subtle nuances of wrestling promos and athletic rivalries. How persona and reality mixed together or split apart.

She understood that Byleth and Trainer were genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

She also understood that they were just phenomenally boring people.

As the Trainer offered stretching tips, the Reporter sank into her chair, for once anticipating the next commercial break.

Deltan’s mission was simple. Join a trading guild and infiltrate the local trade routes along Hyrule. Use this access to sabotage various Hylian strongholds across the vast territories. Then, the Gerudo army could use the weakened state of the Hylians to sweep through and conquer their enemies without any major obstacles.

There was an unforeseen factor, however. Deltan was never allowed into any territory.

As the traveling guild moved from town to town, local farmers or guards always stopped the merchants at the gate.

“Your pirate friend will have to wait outside. No Gerudo are allowed into town. Order of the crown.”

And so, Deltan waited outside with the cows and the carts. Regarded as some kind of wild animal to be watched with suspicion and fear.

Ganondorf interrupted at this point. “Why did you not simply inform the high command of these issues? If we knew Gerudo were forbidden from Hyrule, we could rework our strategy.”

Deltan glanced over at the child. The little Gerudo girl had left her back and was making little friendship bracelets out of various strings and beads.

“They thought I was lying. That I was… compromised.”

Ganondorf did his best not to pointedly look at the youngling. “...were you?”

It was hard to put into words, but Deltan tried her best. She had fallen to… weakness, out in the world. She had been so lonely without her fellow Gerudo to strengthen her warrior spirit. She was all alone, without any familiar faces to guide her path.

So, she had found some… comfort in a fellow trader. She thought they had shared a genuine bond at the time. It seemed a foolish idea now. As soon as she confessed the truth of her past, he abandoned her quickly and swiftly. She was reported and excluded from the trading group almost immediately afterwards.

After the birth of Teake and the failure to retain her cover, the high command had excommunicated her from the Gerudo. She was never to set foot in Gerudo territory ever again. She was dead to society, as far as they were concerned.

With nowhere to go and a child to care for, Deltan escaped to other countries, trying to find work. She’d worked a few jobs here and there, even found a few different homes to raise Teake. But few places were interested in keeping her long term. She had no past and no resume to speak of. The Mushroom Kingdom had the best of the charity programs to offer young souls, so… she’d traveled here last year. Local Gerudo branches offered different work opportunities and temporary homes for displaced Gerudo. But it was temporary. There was only so much they could do for ex-spies with missing records. 

And that was that.

Teake continued playing as a silence stretched between the two Gerudo warriors.

Power demanded that Ganon smack her down. She had betrayed the Gerudo. Allowed sentiment to cloud her heart and her loyalties. The military command was right to banish her from their ranks.

But. They had lied to him. Lied to the people. Manipulated events to avoid some kind of pathetic embarrassment.

Deltan… had not been the first missing presumed deceased spy. Nor the last. Perfectly good soldiers, wasted and ignored out of some foolish pride.

He… didn’t like it. He couldn’t define why it bothered him. But he didn’t like it.

“...it seems to me you have already been duly punished for your transgressions.” He spoke calmly, idly. As if it was a casual problem. Truthfully, each word seemed to come out of his mouth on its own, against his own internal ranting over power and prestige. “We shall have to find some kind of… permanent solution to your financial problems.”

Deltan tried not to look like she was worried he was intent on murdering her. “Is that… so, my lord?”

“Yes. My… associate, Isabelle.” He gestured to the little pup giddily playing amongst the various children and the disheveled Pasha. “Find her when she has a private moment. I’ll inform her that I asked for her assistance with your problems. She should be able to help you find something much more acceptable to a warrior of your stature.”

The poor Gerudo woman was stunned for a moment, eyes blinking back tears. He could see a cloying “thank you” close to appearing on her lips.

“You are still a soldier, Cadet.” A desperate attempt to cut off any emotional displays. But the woman caught on quickly. Her tears gave way to a familiar steely glint and she quickly moved into a firm salute.

“My lord.”

He nodded calmly, to signal that she could be set at ease.

...what was he doing, really? Playing along with some lost soldier’s fantasy of being worth his ranks again? Allowing her pathetic sentimentality to leak it’s way into his mind?

He stood up quickly, murmuring something about work to be done. He needed to get away from such… weakness. This would be Isabelle’s problem soon enough. Then he wouldn’t have to think about such frivolity ever again.

He felt a little hand brush up against his leg.

He glanced down.

The tiny little Teake girl stared up at him. She couldn’t be more than… eight years old. No, younger. Five or six. If that.

“Mama’s friend?” The voice was pathetic and pleading and sickeningly sweet. Like something out of a tiresomely saccharine tv special that this nation seemed to delight in.

“...if that is what you want to call it.” He tried to keep his voice firm and solid.

This seemed to be acceptable to the little brat. She lifted up her hand, holding up a little bauble of some kind.

A hand-crafted bracelet. Little beads of colorful shapes and sizes glittered in the light.

It was disgustingly soft.

And before he could protest, the little nuisance was tying it around his wrist.

“Teake, that’s not-“ Deltan’s voice was filled with fear, terrified that this little act was pushing the leader much too far. And that just made him angrier. Did she think him so weak, that he couldn’t handle a measly toy like this?

He gave Deltan a firm glare that she shriveled under. The little Teake hardly seemed to notice as she finished tying the bracelet. She stepped back, satisfied with her results.

“...and this is?”

“Friend bracelet! For Mama’s friend.”

“...quite.” He regarded the dingy little thing for a few moments, resisting the impulse to shatter it in front of a crying child.

So, he simply turned around and marched away from the mother and daughter duo.

What a miserable exercise. He’d have to find a quiet spot to dispose of this irksome little bind on his wrist.

Shockingly, he found several compelling reasons to keep the bracelet on for several days to come.

The Inkling was... tired.

She had spent the last few days isolated in her room, obsessing over post after post after post. All everyone was talking about was Trainer and Ganondorf and the Church and… bleh . All boring old fogies who yammered on about growth and who was fit to rule and yadda yadda yadda.

Yet, somehow, people seemed to care about what they had to say.

And so, she had gouged on snack foods and comfortable internet gaffs and cuddled her pillow and generally enjoyed a good sulk. A solid day of sulking was, in her opinion, an excellent way to spend one’s time. The chemicals you could get from a sulk should be sold in pharmacies as a chewy gummy treat.

Eventually, however, her treats were running low and all the delivery services in town were too busy. Thus, the squid was forced to emerge from the safety of her sheets to the outside world. 

“Wonderful! Mr. Dorf’s people will be in touch with your people!”

And there was the chirping again. That optimistic, delighted chirping. That eternal ray of sunshine. Chatting away on her phone, making wheels and deals and getting all these people into the limelight.

She was really starting to hate it.

She tip-toed down the hall, past the jingling sound that seemed to naturally emanate from Isabelle’s entire being. She was sulking, dammit. She didn’t want to be inundated with the cheery little platitudes and concerns of a bureaucrat.

A stray, crumpled up candy wrapper bounced up and down inside the jacket of the sneaky squid. The force of the stealth operation edged toward the edge of the pockets, peeking its head out towards the outside world. Then it simply fell from the Inkling’s pocket, tumbling through the air, crashing into the hard carpets of the hotel floor.

A barely noticeable krinkle reverberated from the wrapper.

“Oh, Inkling! There you are- we’ve missed you!”

Crap .

She forced on a false smile as she turned to face her cohort. “Isabelle, hiiii. Didn’t see you there.”

Even a perpetual smiler like Isabelle would have trouble ignoring the messy ensemble and the bags under Inkling’s eyes. Still, it seemed rude to bring it up.

“How… have you been? I haven’t seen you in the group chat lately!”

Only Isabelle used the group chat. Her memes were truly, profoundly atrocious. Filled with cats begging for cheeseburgers and various reaction faces with irreverent white text plastered over it. The Inkling had muted the group after one too many squinty faced “Not sure if paperwork is lit, or if I’ve been blessed with good paperwork.”

“Yeah, been… pretty busy.” She stepped onto the wrapper, covering up her recent litter. “Working the grind on social media. I’m getting a lot of heat on squidtok, you know.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ugh. Her smile just felt like a taunt now. What was the point of lying about being internet famous if she wouldn’t even feel jealous about it?

“Might even get my own TV show.” Her mouth moved faster than her mind. It was a pathetic lie almost immediately. The sort of thing you tell on the playground to get a one-up on your classmates. She needed to cover her tracks quickly.

“A TV show? Really?!” Isabelle’s eyes were sparkling, enraptured with the possibility being promised here.

She waved a hand casually, as if she was fending off fans and not blowing away the stink of a poor lie. “I mean, it's all pretty early talks. These sorts of things fall through all the time. But uh, you know, people talk.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll nail it! What kind of show would you want to make?”

The Inkling blinked. She’d thought about being a tv star plenty of times before, but she’d never thought about details like what the show was about .

“Uhhhhhh, well, you know... something that’ll stay in the public consciousness. Something based on all the current trends, you know?”

“Oh? What kind of trends?”

“You know, the trends.” She waggled her hand again. “A few years ago I might’ve said talk shows, but those are really falling to the wayside. Nothing compared to internet personalities. So… it’d have to be a really gripping adventure story, I think.”

“Oooh! You have something like that all planned out?”

Inkling scowled. “Look, it's a complicated process. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, if it goes through, let me know! I’d love to arrange some promotional deals for Mr. Dorf. Ooh- or the town, even!”

The squid crossed her arms. “Why do you keep backing these... I dunno, what’s a polite word for lame?”

That was too blunt. Isabelle’s face was plastered with horror and disappointment. “Inkling! That’s not nice at all!”

“That’s why I asked for a polite word!”

“But that just means you were thinking lame!”

She threw her hands in the air. “Well they are! They’re unpopular, they’re not anywhere close to the cities, there’s nothing to do , and they’re probably all racist anyway.”

“Are not!” The dog stomped her little foot, a small jingle cutely bouncing to the furious display. “I mean, Mr. Nook doesn’t like foxes but… that’s not important! Just cause they don’t have a lot of people doesn’t mean they’re lame!”

Inkling waved a dismissive hand. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say.”

Isabelle clenched a little paw. It was taking all her training as a bureaucrat to not yell or cry. “You’re being… really mean right now. I don’t know what I did but… you don’t have to take it this far.”

The teen paused. A flash of guilt clawing into her gut. She had to look away to salvage her ego from the irrefutable fact that she had been bullying a puppy dog.

“...it's just facts. The old man and the town are old news. They aren’t trendsetters. It's holding you back from getting more attention.”

A humph. “Well… I disagree! I think you can get anything done if you work hard enough.”

Inkling rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Wanna bet?”

“...Yeah!”

“Huh?” Inkling spun her attention back to the pup. The fear and frustration had given away to trademark determination and grit. Eyes shining with ambition.

“Lay down your terms! I’ll take on any challenge you got!” She mimicked the moves of a boxer, paws slamming into an invisible target that was theoretically weak enough to falter to collapse from such tiny blows.

“Come on, be serious.”

“You come on! Unless you’re scaaaaared.”

The scowl quickly recentered itself on the Inkling’s features. “Ohhh, you don’t wanna go there.”

She puffed up proudly. “Maybe I am.”

The fires of indignation burned deep in the Inkling. One didn’t win a SplatFest without a less than healthy competitive streak. She reached over and gripped the animal’s hand. “You’re on. Name the conditions.”

“The conditions?” A tired, deep voice interrupted the squabble. “My conditions are that my teammates actually do some work.”

The two girls quickly leapt to attention, trying to look as serious and well-organized as possible. “Ah- hi Mr. Snake! How are things?”

The soldiers toyed with his cigarette, eyebrow raised. “Busy. Not that you two have been around to notice.”

Inkling leaned against the wall, quickly relaxing back into her casual defiance. “Sorry for having hobbies, boss. I’ll be sure to cut out everything except work.”

“That’s not-” Ugh. He was already exhausted just talking to them. “Enough. Meeting in the Wario building. Three hours.”

“The Wario building?” Isabelle tilted her head. Curiosity overcoming the need to look professional. “What do we need there?"

“Hmph. What else?” He lit his cigarette idly, letting the smoke waft into the air.

“We need to get ready for our little island vacation.”

In more ways than one, the interview with Trainer was an unmitigated disaster. What should have been a ratings success featuring a popular new celebrity ended up costing Ringside Reporter many long-time viewers. The Trainer’s supposed charisma was noticeably lacking to even the most diehard fans. Byleth’s reputation among sports fans failed to improve or grow in any shape or form. Upon posting the interview online, the video received far less views than numerous other news stories the network promoted. The interview, in any natural news cycle, would be forgotten in less than a day.

There were, however, two items of note that kept the story out of the forgotten panels of history.

The first was a small accident. As the Trainer left the stage, a stage light suddenly dropped from the set. It slammed into the ground merely inches behind the competitor. The studio executives apologized profusely, reiterating they were certain the stage lights had been probably fixed and it was so unusual for this kind of thing to ever happen. The Trainer forgave them easily, regarding the incident as an odd fluke.

Still, the Trainer couldn’t help but wonder if television stages were inherently unsafe. That was the third time since the rally that a malfunctioning set piece had been inches away from crushing her. 

Incidentally, a certain acclaimed hero would be receiving a rather pointed lecture about the dangers of such accidents occurring near cameras and a live studio audience.

The second item was a bit crasser. A newspaper columnist of a particularly low-brow magazine, between deadlines, struggled to think of a choppy headline for her article. The conversation between Byleth and Trainer was so dreadfully boring, she could barely remember what they even discussed. With the clock running down, the columnist sent out something rather basic to the editor.

“Smash Favorite Offers Yoga Tips to Religious Mercenary.”

This was, however, not satisfactory to the editor-in-chief. Garnering readers of any kind required stewing up a little bit of controversy here and there. Thus, the editor quickly spruced together a much more attention grabbing title.

“Sexy Smasher Tells Church To Be More Flexible.”

Taken out of context, a few trashier media outlets would quickly leap upon the opportunity to make all sorts of claims about what the competitors really meant in their interview, attempting to drum up business for the next bout.

One would hope the Church of Seiros would have good humor over these sorts of things.

One would hope.

Following the event, Trainer decided to sit down and call Samus for advice. She fiddled with the cord of the castle's landline as the little machine rang and buzzed in her ear.

A strange new voice echoed through the phone.

“We’re sorry. The party you’re speaking to hasn’t set up their answering machine. Please try again later.”

“I do not wish to call a party. I’m looking for Samus Aran.”

The voice did not respond back. Only a low, prolonged dial tone waited for her.

Chapter Text

Samus Aran hadn’t slept since Thursday.

Little things like “rest” were getting in the way of the mission. She couldn’t keep indulging in… indulgences. Not when Ridley was waiting beneath the surface. And thus, she had returned to observing the Embassy. Several sleepless days and nights were dedicated to this task.

She watched carefully, her eyes fixed on the entryway, as diplomats walked in and out of the building, conversing idly amongst themselves. Not a care in the world. 

It was sick.

These were the men who organized some of the biggest scientific crimes in the universe. Developed monsters and weapons of mass destruction. Revived the greatest murderers in the history of history just for the sake of some bureaucratic back-pats and shallow promotions

And they could just walk anywhere without scrutiny. 

While she was the devious traitor that betrayed humanity.

“Having fun?”

The hunter almost pulled a gun out at the innocent question. She was still tempted to draw at least some kind of weapon when she saw the smirking, affable face.

She scowled. “Not now, Falcon.”

“Oh, we can’t have that.” He dropped down to the bench, arms outstretched along the back. “What’s got you all down in the dumps?”

“Why do you insist on asking questions you know the answer to?”

He tilted his head. “Sometimes it helps the person answering the question realize how silly they’re being.”

Her frown cut deeper, as she turned her focus back to the Embassy. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand you aren’t as stealthy as you think you’re being.”

“Excuse me?”

“Wake up, Samus.” An unexpected trace of disapproval cut through his relaxed tone. “They caught onto you days ago.”

What?

She scanned the diplomats again. Now that he mentioned it, there had been… fewer bureaucrats than usual. Several of them were wearing sunglasses, an easy way to cover up any stolen glances to the traitor across the street.

Dammit. How has she missed that…?

“When was the last time you went to sleep, Samus?”

“That’s not your concern.”

Falcon crossed his arms, frowning. “Believe it or not, if you pass out and get captured by those clowns, I wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“I’m not gonna get caught.”

“The last words of someone who’s going to get caught.”

She turned on him, glare deepening. “Is there a point to this?”

His features were stoic, unreadable.

Then a wide, goofy grin broke out. “Are you sure you aren’t just avoiding something? Something important?”

A scoff. “More important than my worst enemy locked up in my friend’s kingdom?”

“How about how things are going with Trainer?”

She couldn’t hide the flushed reaction fast enough. She could see his eyes sparkle beneath the visor, knowing that he landed somewhere pointed.

“She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“So, not well then?”

“That’s- look, things are fine. We’re friends. It's great.”

“And no progress past that.”

She threw her hands up. “What do you want me to say? I’m a fugitive. My relationship options aren’t… it's not something that concerns her. Or you.”

He shrugged, uncrossing his arms. “Both of you are under protection by the princess. If anyone’s safe, it's her.”

“It's not as simple as that.”

“Talk about it.”

“I’m not-” She rubbed her eyes in annoyance. “I’m too tired for this conversation.”

“Then let’s grab coffee. I’ll pay.”

...dammit. She didn’t want to sleep, but she would need something to energize herself. And the cold air… stung a little, on her cheeks. “Do you have a spot in mind?”

Falcon clapped his hands together. “Oh, definitely. I think this requires special circumstances with special help.”

Samus felt dread in her spine. “Special help?”

So terrified was she at the prospect of Falcon’s help, she completely missed the sight of a youthful Mii Gunner strolling into the Embassy unnoticed.

Byleth was a woman of simple tastes.

Her tastes being that she had little to no taste.

She had spent her life in the company of mercenaries. She worked hard, she obeyed orders, and she didn’t cause any trouble.

She also didn’t cry, laugh, or react emotionally to most things. She had simply grown up without attempting to experience those emotions. It was deeply unsettling to most people who encountered her, especially her father. If that reaction troubled her, she did not seem to notice.

Yet despite her unemotional nature, she was quickly promoted to a powerful position with the highest authority in the land, gained the trust of its rulers, and was sought for advice by numerous diplomats.

It could be argued that the Trainer and Byleth had quite a bit in common.

But, for how little she expressed, Byleth enjoyed simple things. Tea. Fishing. Flowers. Fishing. Friendship. Fishing. That sort of thing. She often let troubles brush right past her without noticing.

Which is why Byleth found her latest conversation with Lady Rhea confusing. The archbishop was not handling recent news articles particularly well. The Archbishop despised leaving her church, but she chose to make an exception to meet with her prized professor. She paced the room, red in the face, anger practically dripping from every orifice.

“It’s shameful. Insulting. Blasphemous. This sort of… backtalk can not be allowed to fester.”

“Backtalk?”

“Indeed. Actions such as this… must be met with action. You will defeat her in the tournament.”

“I will?”

“Yes. You will strip her of her honor. Her success. Her… popularity.” 

Never had the word carried such an enraged tone.

“Is that… necessary?”

Rhea swiveled, fixing her professor with a pointed stare. “It is crucial . It is the will of the goddess . She will be defeated, and her dangerous ideas along with her.”

On some level, Byleth wanted to push against this. But the truth was, she couldn’t make herself feel strong enough about the issue to protest. A battle was a battle. Work was work.

So, she simply nodded her head. “As you wish, Lady Rhea.”

Samus pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to suppress the stress and irritation bubbling in her throat.

The Roost was a classy establishment. It celebrated a relaxed, yet cool atmosphere. There was an unspoken agreement that everyone must be on the best behavior within the walls of the Roost.

Falcon and Joker seemed to delight in being just a bit outside the unspoken rules.

“Since when are you two friends?”

Falcon leaned back with a characteristically charming waggle. “I’m Captain Falcon. I’m everyone’s friend.”

Not to be outdone, Joker propped up his legs on the table to demonstrate his own considerable swagger.

“I’m leaving.”

“Whoa now!” Falcon quickly cut off Samus’ path of escape. “You agreed to listen. Are you going to break your promise? Is that the example Samus Aran wants to set to the universe?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m delightful. And the person you clearly need to be listening to.”

She held onto her coffee tightly. Its heat was a valuable source of stability that she couldn’t do without right now. “I don’t need… whatever you seem to think I need. And I wouldn’t ask for it from you.”

“Why not? I’m a reliable source.”

“Please.”

Falcon leaned on the table. “I’m a renowned racer and bounty hunter. I’m maybe the only person who could even try to advise the legendary Samus Aran.”

With a slight cough, Joker raised a hand. “For the record, I shot God in the face, which is sort of the highest diplomatic incident you can face. I’ve got a lot to offer here.”

“You what.”

Falcon waved a hand. “Everyone’s fought a god, sport, it's not that special. Kirby’s probably eaten a god. Maybe Kirby is a god.”

“I, for one, happily convert to the puffball church.”

“He’d be a firm but fair leader.”

“Full of love and food.”

“Like a panda.”

Joker immediately raised his hand again. “Samus, would you rather be a lion or a panda?”

Samus pinched the bridge of her nose. “I want to die.”

“Not an option. For animals or dating.”

“Let’s get to brass tacks.” Falcon leaned forward. “You and the Trainer would make an adorable couple. You’ve got a real romantic flower here that’s begging to bear fruit.”

Joker lifted his plastic cup. “Cute to boot.”

“Have some romantic river dates with a lute.”

“And looking great in a suit.”

“Now that’s astute.”

“On that fact, we’re cahoots.”

The two boys lightly clinked their cups together. Samus knew it was her solemn duty to soldier away from rhyme based wordplay as soon as possible.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Oh, see, I’m afraid it is.” Falcon spun his chair around, leaning over the seatback not unlike a middle school teacher trying to seem cool and relatable to the kids.  “You’re both pretty big political powerhouses now. A match like you two, well, it could have an impact. Maybe for the better.”

“Oh yeah, real romantic.”

“So you admit there’s romance.” Joker was trying to one-up Falcon’s posturing. With an alarmingly casual demeanor, he lifted the coffee cup into the air. He held the cup from the bottom, with not a single finger touching the sides. All five fingers balancing the cup in the air from the bottom.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But is it? And would it be so bad if it was?” Joker removed his pinkie finger from the balancing act. Four fingers kept his coffee from tumbling over. 

Samus’ leg jittered up and down. “...it's not important.”

“Isn’t it?” Falcon’s tone was particularly cloying. 

“It doesn’t. This, what you’re talking about… it's personal stuff. It doesn’t matter to anyone but me.”

“And to Trainer.” Joker removed another finger. Three fingers balancing a single cup into the air.

“No, it doesn-” Samus cut herself off. They were baiting her. She had to keep her cool. “Even if these thoughts were… real, it's not something she needs to be bothered with.”

“I’m not sure I get the problem here.” Two fingers. Only the thumb and index finger left. “You like her. She likes you.”

“You don’t know that-”

“What’s the harm in finding out then?” One finger. A single, delicate balancing act, a level of dexterity that seemed impossible for the average human to achieve. One false move, and his coffee cup would collapse to the table.

“Anything could happen.” Her eyes were transfixed on Joker’s cup now. It wobbled in the air on that single index finger, dangerously close to spilling onto all three of them.

That's a cold brew, something whispered in her brain. For reasons she couldn't quite grasp, that factoid filled her nerves with more fear than the idea of getting spilled on at all.

“It could be something good,” ventured Falcon.

“It could be something great,” offered Joker.

Samus closed her eyes, forcing herself  to look away from the mesmerizing cup. “And what if she dies?!”

The final finger was removed.

The cup dropped down to the table, landing perfectly on its bottom. Not a single drop of coffee spilled over the top.

The table was finally, mercifully quiet.

Samus kept her eyes shut. She wasn’t eager to look in their perplexed eyes.

“...why would you think that would happen?”

She covered her face, rubbing her temple. “This was a mistake. I need to get back to work.” She stood up quickly, stepping away from the table. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Samus-”

But she was already storming out of the cafe, tugging her scarf around her neck. The door slammed shut behind her.

Joker raised a singular eyebrow as he watched her go. On top of everything else... was she really wearing a scarf in seventy degree weather?

“Board… Game Island…?” Simon squinted at the map.

“That’s the place.” Snake was sitting on a cabinet near the wall. One could easily mistake his posing as part of some natural aura that made him try to look like the coolest gentleman in the room. In truth, he was largely trying to stay out of reach of Isabelle. He’d lost too many cigarettes to her disapproval at this point.

For the moment, the dog was focused on searching different Wayback Machine posts on her touchpad. The original domain for Board Game Island had long been bought out by a spam site.

“Is this really so important?” Inkling was sprawled out on three different chairs. Like a little bed she’s bad for herself. “Traynor doesn’t seem like the resort type. Too dry.”

“All our details connect back to this place.” Snake drummed his fingers on the cabinet, the metal taps reinvigorating his mind strata. “If we want information, this is the place we need to go.”

“Ah, here we are!” Isabelle leapt to her feet, pacing around. “‘On Board Game Island, we offer a variety of training and trust-building exercises for all guests. Enjoy our Party games, such as Buddy Quiz, Hide and Hunt, Word Bomb, and more!”

“They have bombs? ”

“That’s why we need to be prepared for anything.” Satisfied with the amount he’d smoked, Snake jumped down to the ground, leaning against the wall. “We’ve chartered a ship that’ll take us that direction. Snoop around the place, see what we can find. Simon.” Snake gestured to the hunter. “You’ll join us on this one.”

Belmont blinked. “You… want me to come with you?”

“Of course. You’re probably the strongest of all of us. If we run into trouble, you’re probably the best option here.”

The vampire hunter’s mouth opened and closed for a moment. There was an odd expression on his face. Strange confusion and relief and… something else.

“I… apologize, Sir Snake. But I have plans.”

“Plans?” He scowled. “What kind of plans could you have?”

“Plans for... the mission! If you’re off across the globe, someone needs to monitor our target. Ensure that nothing untoward occurs around her.” 

Or because of her.

Snake hummed with the tone of a doubtful Derek. “You sure you can handle this? You won’t raise any... suspicions?”

“Of course!” Simon grinned proudly. “What could be suspicious about a virtuous gentleman keeping watch over a young woman?”

...Snake decided not to press on this. Still, he had been counting on Simon’s muscle for back up. He could contact some old military buddies, but who could say if there was anyone the military could spare for a mission like this.

“Fine, fine, you don’t have to beg.” Inkling waved an annoyingly smug hand. “I’ll bail you out, Snakey.”

“Hnnnnngh?”

“I’ll join you on your little world tour. I could use a vacation anyway.”

“...Uh huh.” He crossed his arms, warily. “And what exactly do you offer to a mission like this?”

“Come on, grandpa. I won multiple Splat Fests. I can handle sneaking around an island.”

Hnnngh. The Splat Fests were well-regarded for their tactics and strategy.

“...Fine. But you better not slow me down. This is a serious mission”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!”

Hnnngh. He couldn’t afford to turn down the help. This mission needed to succeed above all else.

Still. He didn’t like the way she was grinning over at Isabelle.

With a little flourish, Inkling signed the document in messy, unpolished cursive. She spun the pen in her hands with utter, superior glee. “So we have a deal.”

Isabelle straightened the papers. “I’ll work on Mr. Dorf’s campaign and you’ll work on yourself. Whoever’s trending online more wins?”

“Time limit’s the end of the week.”

Isabelle nodded eagerly, albeit with a pensive edge. “I… guess I don’t understand. How are you going to trend at all if you’re going to be out of the city?”

Inkling perched her head on her hands, grinning an insufferably pleased grin. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ve got the perfect plan. And think of it as an advantage! I’m wrapping an arm around my back for you.”

“I… suppose so.” She fiddled with the papers anxiously. “Still… you’ll come back safe, right?”

“Psh.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t be fussy, I’ll get enough of that from the old man. I won’t let you win that easily.

“Besides, it's an island vacation. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Bubble bubble, toil and trouble. Eye of newt and lizard root. Kitten breath and the dog’s jaws of death.

Give me knowledge, give me power, give me hope in this awful hour.

Give me talent, give me strength, give me something to keep the old hag at arm’s length.

Give me the power to enter a skull, let me twist like a shadow into the empty and dull.

Let them boil, let them shake, give me insight into the tournament fake.”

She toiled through the night. Bubbling slime splattered from her cauldron onto her long pigtails. Ashley always forget to tie them in a hairnet during her work.

But if her enchantment got Mona the information she kept whining about… the foul roots would be worth it.

Ganondorf had been avoiding his calls from his generals for some time now.

He was perfectly capable of lecturing them as much as he pleased, of course. With such insignificant fools as these, he could have them executed and replaced in mere seconds.

However, he felt it was best to approach this issue with a modicum of care. Gather some evidence. Some support. Ensure that Deltan’s account was entirely accurate before he laid out his accusations.

It was making time for such an investigation that seemed to bring so much trouble. With Isabelle’s endless campaigning, his schedule was far too busy for his personal liking.

When he was finally forced to accept a call from those traitorous worms, he couldn’t contain his utter contempt for the conversation. Strategy updates, field work, spy networks. All of their reports were detailed in such a way that made the generals look competent and composed. It was such blatant sycophantic behavior in the light of this new day.

Still, there was an unspoken tension in the air. A hesitance. An understanding between both parties that something had changed.

“My Lord,” began General Kotake. An old warrior, named after some old witch that served a previous Ganondorf. He couldn’t keep track of all the soldiers and servants from previous generations. “The troops were hoping for more updates in the Mushroom Kingdom. It sounds as though you have been… speaking frequently.”

“Hm?” He kept his voice level and disinterested. “Yes, I’ve been building some support in the local areas. Potential new followers for the Gerudo."

“The lower ranked Gerudo are somewhat concerned by these reports.” She was phrasing herself carefully, avoiding anything that might sound treasonous. “Our spies suggest that dissidents have spread rumors that our Lord has grown soft on his travels abroad.”

“Then squash them, General.”

“Of course, sir. But those rumors would be easier to eliminate if the people had an example of the Lord’s attention….”

He waved a dismissive hand. “It's political theater, General. Kissing babies, praising the common so-and-so. A small requirement to achieve our wider goals.”

Kotake’s eyes kept glancing down nervously. “Are you... certain of that, my liege?”

He followed the General’s line of sight.

Teake’s little friendship bracelet was still firmly attached to his wrist.

Ah.

“I... merely forgot about it. Nothing more.”

“Of course, sir. So you can take it off, then?”

He tensed. “Of course.”

“Indeed.”

He didn’t move.

Neither did she.

“It’s just little baubles on a string.”

“Pathetic toys, sir.” General Koume piped in here.

The advisors were getting bolder.

Finally, he began to tug on the string, careful not to break it, and pulled it from his arm. He spun it in his hands for a moment before tossing it into the trash can by the desk.

“See, General? A useless knick-knack. Nothing more.”

“I wasn’t worried at all, sir.”

But she was. He could see it in her eyes. He could see it in all of their eyes.

They thought him silly.

“I’ve had enough of your drivel. You have work, Generals.”

“By your command, your wickedness.” And with a final salute and a hidden smirk on multiple faces, the call ended.

He stood there for a few moments longer, forcing himself to remain upright. There was a strange weight pushing on him. He felt himself slouch more and more, closer and closer to the ground. His fingers twitched and sweat was building. His breath was rough and ragged.

He couldn’t stop glancing at the trash can.

It was just... a little trace of sentimentality. Nothing more. He could give up any time he liked.

Still. Was he really going to let himself be bullied by his own General? A General who had hidden precious information from him? A general who might be scheming behind his back this very moment, manipulating his own army against him.

The inner pulse of the Triforce burned in his chest.

The Great Lord, the King of Darkness, the Master and Tyrant of Evil and Destruction, and a dictator who drove fear into the hearts of innocents, dug through the trash to retrieve an insignificant friendship bracelet.

The Cranky Kong Memorial Garage, formerly known as Club 64, was to be demolished within the coming days. Recent lawsuits from the Kong family. Contrary to popular belief, Cranky Kong was not dead and he was enjoying his retirement quite a bit, thank you.

It was here where Simon Belmont exchanged a bag of gold for a new tool of violence.

Reports are vague on the exact nature of Simon Belmont’s purchasing decisions. Perhaps it was a deadly poison. Perhaps it was a powerful, legendary sword. 

Either way, the Weapon was hidden away in Belmont’s personal belongings. Within 72 hours, the Weapon would return to the Memorial Garage.

Sadly, a refund would be impossible under its final conditions. 

Not that Belmont would be capable of asking for one.

Barring an increase in political oddities, the tournament had been progressing smoothly. Bowser had, as usual, barged into Mario’s match and earned a sound defeat. The Pokemon Trainer earned a surprise victory against Prince Marth. Kirby, as always, was undefeated for the first few rounds.

Tomorrow, the Trainer’s next highly anticipated fight would finally begin. 

As would the first bout with the Galactic Federation’s particular, feared candidate.

The universe continued to churn forth. And the people within continued to desperately try to control the flow of chaos to a favorable position.

Chapter Text

The plan was not operating under the expected parameters.

Link had a simple mission. Eliminate the Trainer. Make it look like an accident. No chance of martyrdom. Any resulting conspiracy theory limited to message boards and Toads in basements. Simple, straightforward. There shouldn’t be any kind of issue in the matter. Everyone knew that arranging someone’s death was the easiest part of any active monarch or authoritarian.

Yet, complications kept emerging. Narrow misses in studios. Too many witnesses on stealthy exits. Tight windows of opportunities lost between hectic schedules and quick escorts away from Link’s intended path.

The prey was wily. Crafty. And skilled.

With such erratic, busy movements, the Trainer was a target that would require much more dangerous methods.

It would require Link to enter Peach Castle itself. 

Killing the Trainer on Mushroom Kingdom territory was risky to begin with. Killing the Trainer in the castle was another level. Peach’s downright spooky sense of omniscience when it came to her castle required a more visible method of approach than the hero was accustomed.

The plan follow as such:

1. Link would approach the princess with an issue of health. He would ask to spend the day and evening healing at the castle, to be sure of his safety against some more dangerous competitors.
2. He would leave a sign on the door requesting personal space, merely time to recover his senses in quietude.
3. He would then hide under the Trainer’s bed. It would take hours of waiting, but it would be the perfect spot to stab a blade into her chest.

A bit more roundabout than Link usually preferred. But difficult problems required difficult solutions.

Of course, this plan of attack was merely a back-up. With a plan this important, Zelda couldn’t leave the Trainer’s fate to chance.

No, while Link’s position in the castle would be an important Plan B, it also achieved the lovely task of providing her knight with an alibi. 

The many private suites and sky-bridges that overlooked the coliseum were a wonderful offering to the political figures and tournament fighters that went in and out of the rooms. The balconies connected to one another, allowing the guests to mingle amongst themselves as they observed the matches. A variety of foods and services were available for the tired fighter. A private staircase and elevator connected to the locker rooms in the basement, allowing the fighters some additional privacy from the roaring 

There was some minor tension with the media booths housed nearby. While generally peaceful, Peach was dismayed to realize one year that she would have to hire more determined guards to keep battle-drained competitors separated from the nosy reporters.

But the central concern for Princess Zelda was the issue of food. The food spread was delightful, spread out across various long tables, as well as some smaller batches of snacks for the smaller gatherings. With such constant mingling, it would be nigh-impossible to hide a spike of a drink.

Thus, Zelda thought it best to cook at home.

Muk Pies weren’t inherently dangerous on their own, but they were highly unrecommended. Using some leftover slime from the shy poison-type, one could effectively use the Pokemon’s to give someone a serious case of food poisoning within minutes. Combined with a sleepy shroom and some other items of far less legal value, the pie was a viable treasure trove of instant illness and haziness.

That would be enough to put the Trainer out of sync. And with Fódlan’s fierce, suspicious mentality, it was only natural that a representative like Byleth might accidentally kill her opponent during the match. It was a story that made sense. Who would ever suspect otherwise?

There could be consequences to this, of course. In the ideal scenario, the controversy surrounding the Trainer’s death could put Fódlan in a precarious position. The isolationist country, with its already wobbly global reputation, would be forced to cave to the frustrations of other states. Their burgeoning power would be cut off and new diplomatic ties would need to be installed for Fódlan to maintain its own independence.

In the less ideal scenario, Fódlan could deny any wrongdoing in Trainer’s death and spiral into a war with the Mushroom Kingdom. However, the Mushroom Kingdom would have the alliance of nations such as Hyrule, Ylisse, or Corneria. Ultimately, Fódlan would cave to outside pressure and have no choice but to either collapse or, at least, allow enemy nations to dig into the many, many rumored resources lying beneath its tombs and walls. Fódlan’s enemies would get more powerful and the global presence of the Church of Seiros would get weaker. The three goddesses would easily outnumber Fódlan's measely Seiros.

Either way, Zelda would find the results pleasing.

This was what scholars might call a "preventative" war. Better to start a war early when your enemy is weak than wait for the enemy to get too powerful.

Two birds, one stone.

Simon Belmont held a more straightforward approach. An approach one might too easily summarize as “hiding out in creepy alley between the tournament building and the castle.”

He felt his logic was sound. Trainer would no doubt be taking some side streets to avoid paparazzi after today’s match.

All he had to do was wait.

A simple plan, but he found that simple plans generally worked better than complicated ones.

Generally.

At the moment, a strange gentleman in the alley was offering a unique deal on different kinds of shrooms. He had seen the power of a mushroom in a few tournament matches, so Belmont couldn't see the harm in purchasing one for himself. An experiment to give himself an advantage in the upcoming fight with Ms. The Trainer. And perhaps, a small experimental taste could offer him some insight into how the magics of this modern world operated.

Whatever else could be said, the mushroom certainly offered insight.

Wario was hardly pleased about the events. There was yelling. There was threatening. There was crying.

Mona didn’t bear it any mind. She could get any job in this city- hell, in this kingdom . If he wanted to fire her, it was his loss.

But going out on an adventure ? A deep dive into the depths of conspiracy and subterfuge? Riding along with legendary heroes of the world?

No money in the world was worth missing that.

The Inkling was tossing several personal bags into the back of the boat. It was a small motorboat that Snake had chartered. Ol’ Kapp’n whistled a merry tune as he took each bag below deck, full of pep and vigor.

Snake was preoccupied with his military contacts. Making sure the vessel stayed under the radar. Alerting his employers to his whereabouts. Assuring them that no, he was not returning to hiding, he was still following mission protocol. 

One particular politician from some state Snake had never visited attempted to veto the operation. “We can’t have a soldier invade a civilian’s private property!” He had blustered. “That would be illegal!”

He quickly acquiesced after some assurance from his comrades that the military had no plans to invade his own island vacation homes. That would just be silly. 

Snake’s hand was just on the switch for the ship’s signal jammer when he remembered a particularly important call he had forgotten to make. A small pit of regret pierced his insides.

In a small corner between a collection of drinks and a novelty singing fish, Snake sat down at the and tapped his ear. 

“...Otacon.”

The weathered face of Hal Emerich appeared instantly. 

“Snake! There you are.” Relief was plastered on the scientist’s features. “You haven’t called in a while.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been busy.”

The scientist pushed up his glasses. “Well, that’s no excuse. Sunny’s been having trouble sleeping without her bedtime story.”

Guilt wreaked havoc to Snake’s stomach. “Nnnngh. You could have read it…”

“I’ve tried. She says it isn’t the same.”

“...Alright. Put her on the Codec.”

Otacon looked off-screen, smiling at the unseen. “Come here. It’s alright, he’s right here.”

Slowly, but surely, a little toft of hair toddled along the bottom of Otacon’s screen. He lifted her up into his arms, where she could get a full view of the world’s most famous soldier.

Snake cleared his throat, trying to get it to a softer place. “...Hey, kid.”

The five year old looked away, wringing her hands. “I-I-I’m s-s-sorry….”

“Sorry? You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I-I-I m-m-messed up the eggs…”

His heart melted. “Kid, hey, it’s alright. It’s all good. I’m not mad about the eggs.”

Sunny looked up, hopefully. “P-p-promise?”

He smiled softly. “Yeah. I promise. I wanted to read your story, I really did. Uncle Snake just… got really busy. I’ll read you a story as soon as I can, alright?”

This wasn’t quite the answer she wanted, and they both knew it. But she nodded, eager to be as agreeable as possible.

Snake looked away from the call helplessly. There was so much Sunny needed that they couldn’t give her. A life outside the ship. A life of safety and comfort. A life with…

“...Say, kid. How about I try and bring some friends for you when I come back?”

She almost jumped, startled. “H-h-huh?”

Otacon straightened his collar anxiously. “Snake, are you sure that’s a good idea…?”

“A little visit won’t hurt. Besides, the company would be good.”

“U-u-uh… I-I-I don’t w-want to b-bother.”

“It’s not a bother, kid. I promise. All these fighters are really friendly.”

“E-even the b-bird…?”

“The bi-” Oh, yes. “Yeah. The bird’s a stand-up guy.”

Otacon played with Sunny’s shoulders. “She was really looking forward to seeing you in action.”

“...You don’t say?”

Snake glanced back at Sunny. There was a disappointment in her posture he hadn’t noticed before. For the first time, Snake started to care about losing a tournament fight.

“Tell you what, kid. They have bonus, non-tournament matches. When I wrap up my other work, I’ll enter again. Give it a much more exciting match.”

Sunny’s eyes shot up, sparkling. “R-really?”

“Yeah. Just for you, kid.”

Hidden on the ship’s stairs, Mona couldn’t help but smile at the sweet display. Any outside observer could see how his posture relaxed in a conversation such as this.

So charmed was she by the sight, it completely slipped her mind to make any last minute calls of her own.

If Ashley was the sort of person who paid attention to the news, she might have reconsidered when she should be drinking her home-brewed potion. Perhaps, she might worry that launching her magic against the Trainer in the middle of a tournament could cause some complications.

But she was never one to think that far ahead.

For her part, Isabelle was busy with her own commitments. She’d found a quiet corner amidst the hubbub of fighters and diplomats to type a number of important emails and call a variety of important numbers. Among her messages was a daily email from Mr. Nook, linking a new safety article about the dangers of living in the city.

Checking through her calendar, she found a small fifteen minute chunk between her calls between charity organizers and her meeting with potential donors for Ganon’s relief effort. After charming the organizers and arranging Mr. Dorf’s next event, she quickly dialed up the shopkeep.

Of course, she was going to spend the time improving Mr. Dorf’s website. You couldn’t waste a perfectly good free 15 minutes.

“And the townsfolk have been plucking the weeds?” She flicked her mouse through a couple different font types, idly comparing how it looked against the current wallpaper. Comic Sans had a bad reputation, but it was so cute and easy to read!

“Infrequently- but that’s hardly the most important thing.” His voice was squeaky with concern. “You haven’t been making any dealings with strange businessmen, right? No suspicious deals? No foxes ?”

She huffed. “Mr. Nook, it's going fine! Everyone’s been really sweet!”

“That’s the problem. It starts sweet, sure. Then before you know it-” She could almost hear him shake his hand in a fluffy little fist. “It's no good. You shouldn’t be making any business deals with anyone .”

“I’m not! I’m just arranging charity work. Really Mr. Nook, I’m a grown woman. I’m a college graduate…”

“But these big cities, these higher stakes…” A little sigh. “It's not safe. I don’t like it. It all eats people up.”

Isabelle was really beginning to think Mr. Nook was a worrywart. The old tanuki had been a friendly face of her old town. And on some level, she could understand his concerns. Both the mayor and the mayor’s assistant getting shipped off to another country could put any town into a bit of a tizzy. But to her mind, it was really getting silly.

“Please, Mr. Nook. All of this will be worth it for the attention it’ll bring our town.” Her chest felt lighter just thinking about it. “This tournament will put us on the map for sure!”

“That’s what concerns me… I don’t want some corporate… banker settling down and putting our villagers in some sort of loan scam. They aren’t used to deadlines on loans. Our whole peaceful village life could completely change.”

“Change is good, Mr. Nook! You worry too much.”

He harrumphed grumpily. “Big cities… there’s too many negative interests. I don’t care for it.”

“Mr. Nook, really…”

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled to himself. “Just promise not to forget us out here with all that hustle and bustle.”

“Of course not!” She puffed up. “I can handle anything this world throws at me.”

Samus Aran was a mess of jitters. Samus was not someone who jittered. She stayed calm and focused throughout all endeavors. Much of it could be blamed on the horrific number of stimulants she had consumed over the past dozen or so hours. Beanbean Coffee would be dangerous enough on its own merits. The addition of several Diablos Energy Drinks certainly didn’t help matters.

But the central force that both shook her and ground her was the latest arrival in the coliseum. The cage was covered with a large dark sheet, but the contents were obvious to anyone who knew anything. The marketing from the Galactic Federation could hardly be missed. 

The fearsome space pirate Ridley awaited its opponent.

It wasn’t the fight she was afraid of. The fight was natural. The fight was when Samus was in her element. Social functions, political strife… the surrounding world and its messy complications melted away.

But the people, the unpredictable people… they weren’t supposed to be near the fight.

People milled about around her, taking seats here and there, gossiping and laughing. The sounds were annoying distractions, only adding to the shaking in her leg and the bitter pang in her stomach.

The pattern continued forth as it often did.

Innocent planet.

Innocent people.

The dragon is here to ruin them all.

If the Captain was aware of the bounty hunter’s stress, he didn’t vocalize it outright. He simply sidled up to Samus’ side, Joker following not far behind. The racer held a Strawberry Lemonada Vodka Malibu Sunset in one hand, a large mug of cider in the other.

He waggled the cider in the air. 

She took the glass with a careful movement, followed quickly by a significantly less careful swig of the liquid courage.

The two bounty hunters observed the field in silence. Their young teen associate did his best to not feel awkward in the overwhelming Words weren’t necessary for such devoted warriors. 

The arrival of the Federation Entity (otherwise referred to as Geoform 187, The Space Pirate King, The Cunning God of Death, or Sir Ridley Esquire) was a highly publicized event. Even if Ms. Aran had chosen not to observe the Federation Embassy for several days, it would be difficult to miss the marketing. 

The Federation had contracted out numerous production companies for the event. The Federation Ambassador himself bullied a call center worker from Tee-Ranitar Printing in a desperate attempt to get his merchandise slightly cheaper than the company originally offered. The resulting merchandise totaled in the thousands and a second order was necessary within the first day. Purple hues colored the stadium. Ridley hats rested on tourist heads, Ridley shirts stained by ketchup and buttery popcorn. Foam claws and plastic horns all designed to give each fan a dragon-like appearance. All of this merchandise was overcharged and diverted back to the Federation military funding.

After the infamous third Ridley match and the resulting Federation Crisis (or “Toadstool Tragedy,” depending on one’s place of origin), most of the merchandise would become a rarity. The majority had been burned or thrown aside by furious fans. All the resulting funds the Federation might have gained from their initial success was quickly used up in its subsequent damage control. 

But it was during this first Ridley match that the splatter of purple across the stadium seats was first notable. It would certainly rise in sales after the second Ridley match, but it was clear already that the propaganda had been successful. Federation fans screamed in delight, waving purple flags and foam claws in the air, as the cage was steadily lifted into the arena.

The prison beneath the diplomat’s offices was built around security. It wouldn’t do for any Federation diplomat to be put in serious danger. The soldiers or civil servants, certainly, but not a diplomat. Despite its notable security flaw regarding Miis, the system was otherwise airtight. The Ridley Entity had no chance of ever escaping its bonds.

The tournament cage, in comparison, focused on presentation.  The highly electrified invisible barrier was replaced with a dramatic light show with significantly more visual appeal and significantly less electric shock. Enough to hurt a human, certainly, but not a major hindrance to the legendary space pirate. The top of the cage was detailed with neon lights and unnecessary technological flourishes. Powering those flourishes took more power away from the security aspects. The entire project was structurally unsound, especially for containment.

The main thing these cages actually held in common was their lack of comfort for its subject.

Ridley gnashed and growled at the delighted crowds. He could only grow more annoyed as they wailed in delight. They found his imprisonment entertaining and rebellious. They lifted up their little phones, flashed their little cameras, and gossiped among one another at what a delight this match would be.

Well, they’d see soon enough, wouldn’t they?

He stretched his claws out, scraping the thick metal of the cage’s bottom, eager to finally show off some supremacy. Minute by minute, he thrilled himself by imagining all the ways he could toy with his prey. Taunt her, outrun her, tear her into little pieces...

His chest churned with wanting and longing and pure animal instinct.

One can only imagine the heights of his rage when his competitor didn’t even show up.

Waves splashed against the side of the motorboat. Mona had positioned herself to the ship’s rear, eyes closed, allowing the fine mist of the sea to pepper her flowing and free hair. Kapp’n kept to the wheel, whistling away and maintaining a steady course. Snake kept below deck, monitoring the surrounding waters and observing any dangerous signals. And crouched at his feet was the titular squid herself.  

In a way, it was a stroke of marketing brilliance. By vanishing without a trace, Inkling had sparked more interest than she ever could with any fight or display. Even amongst the comments accusing her of cowardice, it couldn’t be denied that people were talking about her.

“Hehehehehe…..” Inkling's giddy face was nearly plastered against her phone. Her fingers kept jamming on the refresh button in the corner of the screen. Right on the webpage was the word Inkling, accompanied with a handy tally of posts. “5… 5.3….. 5.6….. 6.1!!!”

She grinned up at Snake in utter delight. “That’s six million people talking about me!”

“Uh huh.”

“And that’s just on that site!”

“Hm.”

“Oh man- everyone’s gonna be asking about me!”

“Great.”

“My freshness is gonna be off the charts!”

Snake merely let her babble on as he silently leaned over and switched the signal jammer back on. This was exactly the sort of scenario he had hoped to avoid. This was public. This was attention-grabbing. This was not espionage. All the ways he’d have to explain the truth to those government stooges was already too exhausting to bear. 

It hardly phased Inkling much. It took nearly fifteen minutes for her to notice that new comments weren’t loading. The rush of thousands of strangers, people around the world, thinking about her was too powerful and too addictive.

The disappearance of the Inkling may have been forgotten in the long-term except for the realm of fun facts, but the misinformation campaign that would ensue would certainly hold its own measure of consequences. 

It took nearly half an hour to calm the incredulous crowd. Disappointment and frustration peppered around the stadium. The impotent Ridley slammed a furious claw against the cage walls. 

The only party that seemed to feel any form of relief were the two bounty hunters watching from the fighter suites. 

A new round of drinks were quickly chugged down as preparations for the next round began.

Within the locker rooms, the two competing fighters seemed to exist without conflict. The Wii Fit Trainer completed a series of careful stretches. Byleth tested the weight and balance of her sword. Neither saw the point in trash talk and merely existed within proximity to one another. Such mean-spirited remarks were entirely unnecessary. 

Placed carefully on a nearby table was a single slice of Muk Pie. 

A quick exchange between the two fighters played out.

Byleth gestured to the pie. 

Trainer shook her head. “No, I don’t eat that sort of food.” It was the sort of defense she’d invented for avoiding most foods she didn’t understand.

Byleth considered the risk of neglecting sustenance before her fight.

And thus, her first mistake was made.

The crowd was hungry for violence. The announcer listed off the achievements of Fódlan’s esteemed professor and mercenary. Professor K and Goombella debated on the proper accreditation Byleth may have received, followed by some intense interrogation of Professor K’s own qualifications. Wailing and howling and the passion of hundreds of thousands echoed across the stadium

The Wii Fit Trainer was understandably nervous before the events of her second fight. Now that she actually understood what she was engaging with, it was hard not to feel some trepidation with the concept. 

Still. When she reflected upon the confidence Ms. Aran seemed to hold in her abilities, the Trainer felt some determination to persist upon this dangerous path.

Byleth, for her part, felt little to no fear regarding how this battle would end. The results were preordained, as far as she was concerned.

It's hard to calculate the exact flow of the subsequent battle. Sports analysts and historians alike have struggled to fully describe the events of either Byleth or Shulk’s personal fights. Even if these experts had knowledge of the sheer time-based power these two competitors enjoyed, no one could have anticipated the exact cavalcade of events that would create such precise conditions for the match's results.

Deep within the recesses of the mercenary’s consciousness, a goddess cracked her knuckles.

“Another tournament brawl, huh? That Ylessian princess took quite a few retries. Don’t rely on me too much to save your hide.”

Byleth swung her sword idly as her answer.

The Trainer waved pleasantly.

The bell rang, the crowd wailed.

And Byleth immediately collapsed to the ground.

Thus ended the first loop.

It was three loops in before Sothis finally dragged Byleth deeper into the mental tomb of her mind. Perched on a stone throne, the green-haired goddess dragged an annoyed hand down her face.

“This is the legendary Ashen Wolf? You’re falling apart like it's your first time holding a sword!”

Byleth wiped away a bead of sweat, leaning down on the cold stone floor. “Mm. She’s… a tough foe. She’s knocking me out before I can take a single step…”

“Are you an idiot?” Sothis shook her head, waving off Byleth’s attempt to answer the rhetorical. “This isn’t working. We need to go farther back. There’s something you missed.”

“What could I have-”

But the stone floor already gave way to the polished rubber flooring of the locker room. Instantly, the pain and agony that had wracked Byleth’s stomach seemed to vanish.

“-don’t eat that kind of food.”

The Trainer was smiling pleasantly, without a care in the world.  The loop had begun again.

Byleth glanced down at the Muk Pie in her hands.

“Is that so?” Byleth tilted her head. Whatever her state emotionally, the animal instinct to force some new perspective upon ourselves when curious remained a natural reaction.

She lifted out the plate towards the Trainer.

“It's important to try new things. To expand our knowledge.”

Sothis smiled with self-satisfaction, kicking back her heels to rest on the flow of the subconscious stream. It was a perfect trap. The Trainer would have to come with some kind of defense, some excuse for why she couldn’t eat such a harmless slice of pie. Then they’d have her little poisoning scheme here locked down. They’d win without striking a single blow.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.” The Trainer tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Is it safe to eat before our fight?”

“I don’t see why not.” Byleth kept her voice measured and cool.

“I see.” The Trainer considered the desert with rapt attention and focus.

Then, gingerly, she picked up the plate and dug a plastic fork into the goo.

The goddess and the mercenary could only watch in abject confusion as their competitor heartily consumed the poison dish without an iota of hesitation.

“Mmmm…” The Trainer nodded softly, judging the quality and intent. The duo couldn’t help but lean forward in fascination as each crumb vanished into their opponent’s stomach. The plate returned to the table, cleaned dry.

 “Very interesting indeed. Thank you for the advice.”

And satisfied with her adventure, she returned to her exercises and stretches.

The tournament results at this juncture were seemingly inevitable.

In the timeline where events progressed from there, the match’s results were clear. The Trainer passed out after a single strike, Fódlan was declared victorious, and the natural state of the world would reassert itself. As the crowds cheered her name, Byleth could already foresee Rhea’s satisfaction. Enemy of Fódlan erased. Trainer’s popularity no longer existent. 

And further beyond Byleth’s view of things were the machinations of the other parties. With Trainer rushed to a medical tent, assassination no longer became a necessary factor in Hyrule’s plans. The US would call off their deal with Snake, as researching the Trainer no longer took priority. Ganondorf’s own political aspirations would rise with the assistance of Isabelle, albeit no longer backed by the Trainer’s popularity.

Samus would continue to distance herself from the recovering Trainer. If the woman couldn’t survive a match like this, it would only confirm Samus’ expectations. A fugitive and a bounty hunter had no business intruding on the life of someone so fragile.

And even further unbeknownst to Byleth, unknown to any political scheme or institutions, the Trainer’s failure in this moment meant that a murder would be averted this evening.

These are all the things that could have been. Not necessarily better or worse, but different.

Yet, Byleth looked down at the unconscious form of the Trainer, ignoring the wails of adoring fans. The woman didn’t stand a chance. The game here had been rigged against the both of them from the beginning.

This wasn’t a fair fight at all. It didn’t seem just.

“...Sothis.”

The goddess grimaced, preparing herself for the expected annoyance.“...I don’t have many left in me for today.”

“Just one more. It’s only right.”

The goddess sighed, shaking her head. This sentimentality would be the death of them.

Time was turned back once more.

And thus, the mercenary's sense of fairness set fate in stone. At 10:03 PM Mushroom Standard time, the Hylian knight would snuff out an innocent life.

The statistical odds of nearly every aspect of the final version fight was truly hard to quantify. The interference of so many unusual parties had created a labyrinth of improbability that layered over the match like a thick, multi-threaded blanket. None of this was particularly helped by the sheer scale of twisting forces in the timeline, influenced as they were by the supposed goddess Sothis.

The Trainer deftly danced around the mercenary’s blade. Whatever else could be said about the woman’s actual physical strength, her flexibility and stamina was the genuine article.

Yet, the disparity between the two was still a firm fact. Just one, maybe two swipes of a sword would be the final action necessary to end the fight. Under normal circumstances, the fight remained in Byleth’s favor. A win for Fódlan was supposed to remain a pre-ordained reality of fate. Perhaps, if not for the interference of Princess Zelda’s own Muk Pie, Sothis would not need to have drained her own power to such an extent. 

But perhaps Byleth would have earned an honest win had she paid slightly more attention to Trainer’s behavior during the previous versions of their fight. A moment of visible anger and annoyance that had, at this point, never been seen on the woman’s face prior.

Almost as if she was a different person entirely.

Byleth flipped over the Trainer, a mighty leap that resulted in a scream from the stadium that echoed across the land. With fiery speed, she pulled down on the woman’s ponytail, dragging her to the ground. The Trainer yelped in pain, scrambling fruitlessly to escape from her captor.

But there was no mercy or leeway allowed in the mercenary’s eyes.

So this was fate after all. The victor of this fight was inevitable from the tournament’s inception.

It may have heeded Ashley well to actually watch the tournament before completing the final steps of her magical elixir. Most witches, when plotting to dive into the brain of a particular enemy, tended to avoid doing so while their intended victim was in the middle of a violent struggle. The last thing any self-respecting witch would want is to get killed in someone’s subconscious. It was such an embarrassing way to go.

Ashley would, of course, never admit that she made such basic mistakes. Her pride and arrogance were too firmly entrenched to regard such personal failings internally or externally.

The spell, in her opinion, was simple. The potion would dispel the psyche from one host and allow the witch to direct themselves at the intended target. The spell cast prior to elixir consumption would act as a homing beacon, allowing the mental self to navigate the subconscious highway and transport themselves to the correct mental plane. No physical barrier, no length of distance, nothing could block a talented witch from smashing their way into an innocent victim’s skull.

It was just a matter of making sure their target was alone before the potion was ingested.

But as we’ve made apparent, Ashley was not always one to think things through.

Self-assured and confident, Ashley swigged down the potion in a single gulp.

Her cat only glanced up briefly when her owner’s body collapsed like a sack of potatoes.

Ashley's psyche no longer existed on the physical plane.

The mental plane, the psychic world, the collective subconscious, the Metaverse, whatever term one wanted to apply, was a particularly dangerous field to navigate. Intruding into someone’s mind was risky enough when jumping into a well-adjusted individual. A particularly distorted mind could see any intruder as a threat. A single poorly placed word could result in getting assaulted by all sorts of manifestations of trauma or personality deficits. 

Ashley had not bothered to take any particular precaution to entering this sphere of existence. She had understood the idea of the mental plane in theory, but experiencing the rush yourself was an entirely different thing altogether. Her mental self shot through the streets of the Mushroom Kingdom, maintaining a steady pace of 30 miles a thought. This was the speed of thought itself. Even she had to admit that the sights around her took significant focus and attention to absorb. She could barely make out the forms of passing civilians and tourists. Vague human-like shapes, their brains echoing and exploding and flashing in a visual explosion of senses and thought and senseless thought. All of them echoing a soulful cry, a desperate plea for some answer to their innermost desires. It took all of her cognitive willpower and emotional apathy to avoid diving into those brains instead.

Even to the uncaring witch, the constant barrage of mental anguish called to a long-stamped out instinct to help those asking for help.

Her mental form reached the stadium, wormed its way through the cracks and pipes and clay of the foundation. The bloodlust and passion of thousands scratched at what approximated for Ashley’s skin, clawing in the air, slamming each other in a cacophony of mob mentality. 

The effect was dizzying. She kept a firm grip on the spell’s navigation, letting it direct her blindly straight towards the Trainer.

She hadn’t noticed until it was too late exactly which brain she was fast approaching instead.

And Sothis herself didn’t have much time to fully grasp the implication of falling rocks in her stone tomb. She had mere seconds to glance up at the mental ceiling before the brain’s latest arrival crashed right into her.

Byleth’s sword halted mid-air.

To all onlooking observers, it might appear to be a display of power. Taunting the Trainer with her overwhelming strength and talent.

The Trainer herself felt a sudden sense of freedom. Byleth’s iron grip had gone slack. She tore herself out of Byleth’s grasp.

The mercenary blinked in confusion, grabbing vaguely at the air. Her eyes were glazed, bewilderment and incomprehension plastered all over her features. A thundering headache pounded at her forehead. A sensation not dissimilar to two pig-tailed brats yelling and fighting and clawing amongst themselves.

Much like Ashley and much like Sothis, there was no time left for Byleth to process the events around her.

In a panicked attempt to keep some measure of control, the Trainer was already swinging an arm in Byleth’s direction.

As three sturdy mental frameworks struggled to coexist at once, the physical body was launched back across the stadium, slamming into the dirt.

And the crowd roared in delight.

The hero of the universe could only stare, agape. Her face was practically pressed against the glass, staring down at the center of the stadium. Had she been in the stands with the locals, she might have toppled over into the arena itself.

“She… she took her out in one shot? ”

“Takes some guts.” Joker sipped his root beer with a loud slurp. He could only imagine the frothing night of sports fans. It had been too long since the ritual sacrifice of a police van. 

Falcon’s laugh was loud and bold. “Well! She can handle basically anything life throws at her then, huh?”

For the first time in days, Samus felt relief coursing through her veins.

In a nearby suite, Zelda’s piercing glare zeroed in on the victor. The Trainer was the image of a perplexed child, awkwardly waving at her delighted fans while unable to understand the intent behind their support.

This had hardly gone to Plan A. She liked Plan A. The best outcome for Plan Bs or Plan Cs was to feel satisfied when you never had to rely on Plan B or C.

She dragged herself away from the window, pinching her brow. Well, it was hardly a deal-breaker. The assassination would persist as planned.

“Goodness. I had no idea she was as tough as that…” Peach spoke with no small amount of awe.

Zelda had to force her royal mask back on. “Indeed. She’s got quite the admirable tenacity.”

“Oh, truly!” A bit of giddiness was infecting the princess’ demeanor. “I’ve never seen such fluid movements on the battlefield. It's not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

“You should see Hyrule’s knights. We’ve trained quite the collection of soldiers ourselves.” A bit of harmless bragging. Nothing really motivated behind it.

“Perhaps I should.” Peach rested a hand on her cheek demurely. “You know, Traynor’s visit has made me reflect quite a bit recently. Perhaps I’ve been lacking in generosity.”

Zelda had to restrain herself from barking a laugh. “Have you now?”

“Oh yes. This campaign with Sir Ganondorf…” Peach shook her head, missing the grimace overtaking Zelda’s features. “I had no idea Hyrule and the Gerudo were in such dire straits.”

“Ah… don’t trouble yourself. Hyrule is as prosperous as ever.”

“But haven’t you told me how you haven’t been able to afford to support the Gerudo’s presence?” Peach’s expression was the picture of innocence. She had completely failed to consider any malicious intent Zelda may have had in such statements.

The Hylian forced away a desire to squirm against such a generous interpretation. “Well, I hardly wish to impose on a friend…”

Peach lifted up a hand. “I insist. I think it's about time my Kingdom starts providing aid to Hyrule. We have plenty of Mushrooms and Stars to spare, after all…”

The world seemed to pause for a moment.

The Triforce hummed with Wisdom at the sheer possibility. Fódlan's resources were tempting enough to launch a manufactured war over. The Mushroom Kingdom's treasure trove was the stuff of dreams. Fire flowers. Doubling cherries. Invulnerable stars. Things beyond the wildest imagination of outside countries.

Things that could give Zelda the final advantage against Ganondorf.

“I’d have to consult with Traynor first. She has so much wisdom regarding these things.”

The Trifoce’s soft hum became an alarmed shock.

A strained smile. “With her? Are you sure?”

“Oh, certainly. She's been such a help, don't you agree?" The pleasantly pure expression on Peach's face was nigh-on oppressive in its princess-like perfection. "I think she's the centerpiece this kind of dialogue requires."

Years of trained political masking seemed to falter on the Hylian's face. "As... you wish, my friend."

Peach clasped her hands together. "Wonderful! I'll make the preparations immediately. Almost immediately. I would like that corner piece..."

Zelda forced out a giggle, even as her mind whirred. In the subconscious plane that was the royal's own mind, anthropomorphic personifications of plans were summarily defenestrated out the mental window, a single file line of disposed maneuvers and ploys.

She needed those resources.

And she had sent an assassin after the woman who could get them for her.

Chapter Text

Eyes met across the crowded suites of the private floor.

It was hard to miss the pride and support offered by all the competitors of the tournament. One after the other, fighters approached Trainer to give a pat on the back, numerous flattering compliments, and several cheers in support. She returned each kind word with a soft, appreciative smile. For all her conversational failings, she’d certainly picked up a few tricks to imitate from Peach.

No matter how sincere her social niceties may have been, it was clear to any outside observer just how more genuine her smile looked when Samus Aran finally stepped over.

“That was stunning.” Aran’s tone was rapturous. “Going against Ike was one thing but… you had her stuck following your cues the entire match!”

A warmth spread across her chest, a lightness the Trainer only seemed to feel around Aran’s presence. She wanted to hear more of these little praises and compliments, even if it seemed rude to be so prideful.

“Do you think Miss Byleth is alright? I don’t wish to hamper her overall flexibility…” Even now, her soul ached and gnawed at her brain for more external recognition. Less of Byleth, more sweet words from her dear friend.

Samus waved an idle hand. “A mercenary like her has a quick recovery rate. She’ll be on her feet in no time. But what about you? No hits, no cuts?”

Her breath hitched as Samus closed the distance, checking over Trainer’s arms and head for any trace of a scraped. A single drop of blood would be far too much blood to begin with, in the spacian’s opinion. For Trainer’s part, Samus’ concern just seemed even more pleasing than the compliments already were.

This was another new feeling. She was getting a lot of them in Samus’ presence.

“Nothing like that. I’m perfectly balanced.”

Samus couldn’t resist a smile. Even these crutch words seemed to charm her at this point.

“Then let’s get you something to eat. You must be starving.”

While Trainer protested against ingesting any food or liquid a few timelines ago, she remained curiously silent as Samus led her over to the various catering tables lined up on the floor’s connective lobby. Perhaps the strong grip of Samus’ arm was simply too muscular to even begin resisting. But far more likely was the fact that Trainer was already inclined to go anywhere that Samus tended to frequent.

Samus herself looked nothing like she had just a few hours ago. A tension in her back had seemingly vanished. The dark bags under her eyes didn’t look nearly as prominent as they once had. Her whole being was refreshed, even as her physical body was hours away from collapsing into an exhaustive mini-coma. For the first time in almost a week, Samus could think about something other than Ridley and the Federation.

For now, the two women seemed free of stress once they were within each other’s company.

Being miserable was starting to suit Ganondorf. It had been fairly typical behavior for the tyrant, but it had only become more pronounced in recent days.

Traitorous generals. Inept bodyguards. Overeager dogs.

And the Trainer. That accursed, infernal Trainer.

The Dark King couldn’t even begin to comprehend the idea that this creature was not the legendary Shiekah Warrior. Any hard, factual evidence of the Trainer’s true origins was dismissed out of hand. She had to be the Warrior. She simply had to be. The alternative reality, the world where the Trainer was simply an unforeseen factor within the wider chaos of any collective society. That possibility, that implication that the Trainer was something lesser than what he thought she was, also meant that Ganondorf had been wrong. Bamboozled Tricked. Fooled. Like a common jester instead of the Almighty King of Darkness.

If the Trainer was some common idiot, that meant he was some common idiot. And that wasn’t acceptable.

His fingers tugged at the tiny bracelet latched to his wrist. It had been easier to put the “friendship” bracelet out of mind before his last strategy meeting. Now it itched. A relentless little itch to his psyche, a constant reminder of those smirking generals. 

Keeping it itched. Removing it itched. Everything felt wrong and gross and itchy. 

He leaned his chair against the wall, observing quietly as Samus and the Trainer drifted to the bar stools with little plastic plates and large, frothing mugs. He huffed into his little drink, not unlike a child blowing bubbles into their bathtub.

Alcohol was not improving his mood.

Next to him, Isabelle enthusiastically typed away at her laptop. 

“And how far do these routes stretch? If we want to build proper trade routes, we need to set up checkpoints across the desert for traders to resupply their essentials.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t know the measurement in your terms. For us, the Gerudo Capital and the Hyrule Capital maintain a distance of several hundred thousand steps. At least a full day’s travel by horseback, depending on the weather.”

“I see, I see…” More information filed into Excel documents and personalized charts. “And what kind of resources do you think Hylians would want to trade for?”

“They don’t want to trade.” One could hear the disdain on every individual trace of spit that might emerge from his mouth. “And even if we did, they would have trade overwhelmingly benefit themselves. We’d get only scraps in return.”

“Hmmmm… we’ll have to manage a trade route outside of Hyrule then. Becoming a dependent country wouldn’t help your people’s interests at all.”

Ganondorf wasn’t entirely sure what a dependent country was, but it sounded like the sort of label he’d like to avoid.

A sharp movement crossed just within his field of vision. An inexperienced observer might have missed it.

But Ganondorf was all too familiar with Zelda’s talent towards discretion.

The noble princess of Hyrule, frazzled and disorientated, was darting down the fire escape.

He took one final chug of his beer, rotating the mug thoughtfully.

“Would you excuse me? I have an unexpected obligation.”

“Oh- go right ahead! I’ll CC you the details later.”

Ganondorf didn’t have time to question how the dog had acquired a non-existent email address. Nor did he particularly care.

For the moment, he wanted to chase the familiar high of chasing that pest of a princess and exposing her faults.

Democratic peace theory is a popular concept among particularly morally self-assured citizens of the world. The theory argues that democracies are less likely to engage in warfare than other regimes. Many moralists argue that a democracy is simply a more enlightened way to live. These people tended to believe in the monadic variant of democratic peace theory. Monadic democratic peace theorists argue that democracy is just inherently more peaceful. Democracy pacifies countries and helps ensure a global unity. 

Princess Zelda had a dim view of democratic peace theory. If pressed to deliver a positive opinion on the subject, she would call herself a supporter of dyadic democratic peace theory. This variant argued that democratic regimes are only peaceful in relationship towards each other. Entering warfare with democracies simply wasn’t strategically viable. Too many alliances and business routes and important resources were tangled up between mutual democracies. War simply wasn’t in the nation’s interest. Non-democracies, however, were fair game. Any believer in monadic democratic peace could claim to be enlightening any country they invaded, justifying the conflict before it even began.

And democratic countries certainly adored invading non-democratic countries.

There were several modern examples that could support this theory. Take, for example, the Galactic Federation. For all its power and encroaching authority, it never dared to trifle upon the democracies of Earth. Eagleland, Kanto, and Midgar governments maintained steadfast alliances with one another, coexisting in a relative peace.

Relationships with monarchies were significantly less pleasant. Federation and Midgar media frequently cast aspersions on these non-democratic countries. And of course, countries such as Fódlan and Hyrule were eager to point out the flaws of democracies as well. Each group was convinced in its own superiority and eager to find an excuse to “persuade” their enemies that their political philosophies were folly. 

It should be no surprise then that Zelda wasn’t impressed with the idea of democracy.

She adored her people, truly, but she believed they simply didn’t have the… expertise to handle such big international decisions. They lacked perspective. The glory and brilliance of the Triforce of Wisdom. They simply didn’t have the careful, strategic mind she possessed. 

This was the thought she comforted herself with as she hobbled through a dark alley. She had lost one of her shoes during her long sprint to Peach’s Castle. This was a scenario she had anticipated and deemed an acceptable sacrifice. Her strategic mind had not quite prepared for the broken glass in the dirty underbelly of the kingdom. At the moment, she was hobbling along the brick walls in excruciating pain. Her magic would heal her soon enough, but it was nonetheless an annoying obstacle to stopping the potential consequences from her own actions.

Princess Peach, to her credit, had attempted to install democracy in the Mushroom Kingdom upon several occasions. She had been looking to retire and pass on the role of governance to better political experts.

The people unanimously wrote in “Princess Peach'' every single election. After five elections following this pattern, Peach threw up her hands and decided to look into a constitutional monarchy for the time being.

Ironically, calling off the elections temporarily tanked her popularity among the media and the public. The subsequent fallout probably would have cost her the next election.

Even so, the public remained deliriously happy to keep giving up their rights as long as they could ignore political realities and live peaceful lives. The brief protest against Princess Peach vanished just as quickly. She never even had the time to reinstall elections before the public decided that it was a good idea to abolish the whole practice after all. Even Peach’s unshakeable, demure personality was briefly interrupted by a row of screaming into a pillow.

Despite Peach’s best efforts, the drug of authoritarianism had been happily consumed by her eager audience. Her attempts to offer real medicine were soundly rejected.

Zelda envied Peach in this regard. To be able to trust the people to make the right decision. To let the risk of corruption seep in for the sake of individual freedoms. There were days where she wanted to follow her example. Give up on that power. Put her faith in public interests. Maybe retire to the countryside, abandoning politics. Raise a farm. Travel the high seas. Become a pirate. Something easy.

But at the end of the day, Zelda couldn’t be convinced that a potentially corrupt democracy was better than a noble and just dictator. 

Conveniently for Zelda and the power she wanted to keep, she quite firmly believed she was a noble and just dictator.

It was similarly interesting how Zelda's understanding of democratic peace theory was limited through the lens of how democracies acted within the theory. She never considered how it implicated her own government. The theory was not inherently biased towards democracy or non-democracy. It merely observed facts and posited ideas to explain them.

For you see, the theory also suggested non-democracies such as Hyrule were far more likely to invade all other kinds of countries, even if it was against their own self-interest.

Perhaps, If she could make herself believe in the principles of democracy, she wouldn’t be climbing over a tall fence and falling into a brush of sharp thorns. 

Several months ago, Simon Belmont was raised from the dead.

It was overall a far less exciting development than one might expect.

One second, he had been an old man, surrounded by loved ones. Their tearful, heartfelt faces sent him into darkness with pure contentment in his heart.

The next, he was sitting on a cold slab in an empty cavern. Youth and vitality restored. His old clothes rewoven, his whip carefully stitched and twisted together.

In retrospect, he wondered if he should have remained in the cavern. Whatever beings revived him must have intended some specific purpose. Yet, all the same, he could already feel their purpose magically imbued into his entire being. The determination and focus of their magic compelled him to leave post-haste. It was only weeks later, drifting among these unfamiliar streets, joining random tournaments in a vain hope he could connect with more powerful sources of information, that he recognized his own folly. But the command was irresistible. Even without the presumed magical intent behind such an order, he would’ve followed through on the request without any hesitation.

For in his skull hammered one instruction.

Stop the rise of Dracula.

And so here he sat on the outskirts of Peach’s Castle, sprawled out in an alley, absolutely high off his gourd on shrooms offered by a complete stranger.

Taking hallucinogens is not necessarily a moral evil. Many cultures across thousands of years have utilized such medicinal practices to expand the mind. Religious visions, enlightening perspectives, self-actualization… if taken responsibly, the hallucinogen could be beneficial to one’s mental health.

In the Wallachia of Belmont’s past, the practice had been forbidden. While justifications of safety and addiction certainly held weight, one couldn’t help but imagine that the church disliked any enlightenment that emerged outside their purview. 

The physical tiles and pavement surrounding the vampire hunter vanished in favor of the dirt and grime of the mental landscape. Simon’s mind knew that he should be feeling the sturdy support of the future’s streets, but his heart allowed his body to truly feel the sensation of Wallachia’s dirt roads. He knew in his mind that he wasn’t truly waving at his old neighbors and friends. But his heart wanted it so desperately, he allowed himself to keep confusing the random tourists and strangers he encountered in the Kingdom streets.

While it's impossible to truly grasp how he perceived and engaged with the world in this state, this text will attempt a brief approximation.

“It was a strange place, the future,” Simon politely explained to a tree. “The people spoke in strange tongues. Strange dialects. They used little boxes to communicate with each other. Across the sea or the land, they could maintain contact across great distances.”

The tree spoke back to Simon in the voice of his favorite baker, Ruby. “Simon, you are a riot! Tiny rectangles that people talked to? Heck, if that’s the witchcraft of the future, maybe Satan’s got the right idea!”

“No, no, I do not believe it was demonic.” Simon waved a hand idly. He was briefly distracted watching his hand move back and forth before he returned to his point. “But… I didn’t understand it. I must admit, I felt foolish trying to understand it all. I felt like the town fool, being led around by smarter locals.”

“So, no different from now then?” The tree guffawed, the leaves shaking as a gust of wind blew through the branches. Simon merely rolled his eyes in annoyed amusement.

“There musta been something good about the arrangement. The future can’t be all doom and gloom, huh?”

He leaned against a streetlamp, convinced it was a hitching post. “I suppose… I admired the community of things. This friend of mind, Isabelle… She told me that her town didn’t follow any kind of monarchy. It was a collective group, united in building their village together. Work was finished early and time was dedicated to improving the lives of neighbors.”

He nodded, certainly falling into his voice. “Yes. That’s the kind of world I’d like to see.”

“Gosh…” The knothole on the tree’s center didn’t look dissimilar from a weepy smile to Simon’s current interpretation of events. “Well beans, we’re far enough away from the royal family… What's stopping us from just doing that? With your expertise, I’m sure we could make our own private, community paradise.”

Simon glanced away slightly, unable to bear the gaze of those sturdy roots. Even to the inexplicably Midwestern depiction of a lost friend, it was hard to face the brutal truth of the matter.

He was not a leader. He was a fighter. He was a man who could fight tyrants, deal deadly blows, dethrone the monsters from the thrones of blood. But he couldn’t build the world after it.

In terms of revolutionary action, he had little to offer when it came to healing.

As if she could hear his thoughts, one of Ruby’s branches wobbled again in the wind, brushing his shoulder with a soft pat. 

“You’re too hard on yourself, Simon.” She said without words. “Why are you always making yourself the one who has to bleed?”

An unasked question that remained unanswered.

Without another word to his imaginary companion, Simon could only retreat behind the gate of Peach’s castle.

His hallucinations kept him below a particular balcony window for much of the foreseeable future. 

While the Hylian and the Gerudo certainly held a substantial head start, Samus and the Trainer began their own journey to Peach Castle within the hour. The speed of their retreat to the private sanctum of the royal estate benefited from a little known invention. The taxi. With this mysterious  technology, the nearly two hour Hylian journey took a mere forty minutes.

Needless to say, the women made quick time unwittingly catching up to the Hylian.

Of course, both Zelda and Ganondorf hardly wanted to risk their presence to be known by a mere taxi driver. Trainer and Samus possessed more freedom in that regard. The reliance on public transportation was also necessary for the two women after the substantial amount of alcohol consumed.

Compared to her first experience with alcohol, the Trainer was significantly more sober. Most of this could be attributed to adding actual food and water into her previously non-existent diet. Her body had a far easier time digesting the drink into her blood. She certainly struggled to maintain her typical balance, but it was not the absolute trainwreck of the bar excursion.

Samus Aran, in comparison, was significantly less composed. Her last few days of constant surveillance on the Federation Embassy had contained very little health benefits. In fact, her suit’s support systems of essential fluids was probably the most water she had consumed in quite some time.

“That waz just incredible ,” Samus demurred. She was slouched over into Trainer’s shoulder, words slurred and contorted. “The way you… you zooooooooomed around her.”

“Was I?” Trainer struggled to recall the details of the fight through the haze. “It was a bit of a blur.”

“Fighter’s instincts…” Samus nodded affirmatively. “Itz a… a rare talent.”

In a more sober state, the Trainer might be inclined to quietly allow such praise. Now, in the intimacy of drunkenness, she fiddled with the torn fabric of the taxi seats.

“People say those things. I do not understand them. I do not feel as wise or strong as people insist.”

Samus’s brief boisterous faded a little, shifted further into Trainer’s shoulder. “They… assume things about you. Assume you must know everything.”

“You’re familiar with the feeling?”

The bounty hunter snorted. “All the time. It's all you hear after a while.”

She waved a hand aimlessly, gesturing to some invisible force. “They all need you to be some… some special, invincible hero. Because if you aren’t, it's like… you failed them. If you aren’t perfect, that means… you can lose. And if you lose, they aren’t as safe as they think.”

“Mm. That is an unideal balance of affairs.”

“That’s what it's all about. The whoooole tournament. Masscots.”

She reached over to squeeze Trainer’s nose playfully. “Can’t let them see past the mask, y’know? It's the only way they can still feel strong.”

The Trainer flinched back for a moment, before a small, pleased smile rose up her face. “You are very unbalanced, Samus.”

“Don’t tell… nobody…” Samus mumbled.

“My lips are sealed.” She reached out, gently, to place a hand on Samus’s head. And with careful movement, she brushed her hair with a soft motion. 

Neither of them would be able to recollect who decided to spend the night together in Trainer’s guest room.

It just seemed like the natural course of action. 

Climbing through one of the library windows of Peach’s Castle, Zelda scurried up the stairs to the guest rooms proper. Her breath was ragged and pained. Her dress was stained with dirt, ripped from the fences and bushes she had carelessly raced through.

Link could only blink as her royal highness crashed into the guest room. His outfit had been perfectly maintained. Not a single thread out of place. His posture was casual, leaning back into a chair. His sword wrapped in a soft handkerchief, as he gently polished every inch of the legendary blade.

If she was in the state of mind to notice such things, Zelda might reflect just how relaxed Link was while preparing for a murder.

The knight slowly sheathed the Master Sword as he stood from his seat. His feet moved into proper position and his hands drifted to respectful, proper formation. He waited patiently as the princess recovered her senses. She had to lean on her knees, choking out breath, desperately grasping towards that sweet mana of oxygen.

The Hero of Hyrule was unphased. His position never wavered or hesitated.

“T-the Trainer…” The princess barely managed to cough out the words. “Can’t… kill her. It's off.”

And once again, the Hylian obeyed without question. He scoured the room quickly, double-checking for any trace of evidence. A small mark on the floor from his brief training regiment. A few strands of hair that needed to be removed. He was methodical, deliberate, without fear or hesitation.

The only change in his expression occurred when he returned his focus to the doorway. An unmistakable, unrelenting hatred filled his vision. 

Seeing such a look, panic filled Zelda’s heart. For a second, she could only believe it was directed at herself. How could it not be? How could anyone who possessed such intimate details of her life not despise her?

It was the low chuckle behind her that forced her to realize the truth.

Miles away, several young women were enjoying a variety of drinks. Min Min had invited several of the competitors to her hotel room, where she could easily prepare a large meal in her hotel room’s fully stocked bar and kitchen. The ramen was perfectly cooked and flavored, the snacks were crunchy and fulfilling, and the drinks were a downright decadent experience.

Princess Daisy was a margarita gal. Mythra enjoyed ciders, with mugs big enough for two. Bayonetta exclusively drank classy white wines. When she wasn’t cooking, Min Min delighted in the occasional baekseju. While Peach generally abstained from alcohol, she allowed a brief indulgence for this evening’s celebrations. Tomorrow, she’d have to respond to some frustration from Fódlan’s representatives, as well as some new zoning requests and tax acts to quietly fulfill. The sixth guest, hardly worth mentioning, was enjoying a particularly sour cosmopolitan.

As Bayonetta regaled the fellow contestants with tales of battles and success, Peach suddenly paused mid-sip, glancing out the window. Then, in a short, graceful movement, she stepped up from her chair.

“Excuse me for a moment. I need to contact the castle and ask about an unexpected visit from Sir Ganondorf.”

And with a final nod, she drifted off towards the telephone.

Mythra stared at the princess’ departure in complete confusion. “What in the goddamn…?”

Min Min had paused in the middle of her cooking process to observe in similar bafflement. “That’s a legitimate superpower.”

Only Daisy reacted with a grin, lightly drinking her margarita. Her tone was wistful and nostalgic. “I’ve seen her do that from a continent away…”

There were plenty of things one could cite for Ganondorf’s relatively uninterrupted constitution, compared to the exhausted princess. Gerudo training. The harsh conditions of the desert. The protection of the Triforce of Power, coursing through his veins. 

The health potion he kept on hand for such emergencies.

Whatever the case, he strolled into the guest room with relative ease. He closed the door behind himself, locking the door with a quick flick of magical wrists. Link moved quickly to place himself between the tyrant and the warlord.

The King of Darkness paid it little mind. He was too amused to be annoyed.

“My, my, my. What a fascinating scene we have before us.” He paced around the two Hylians, dragged a finger along the carefully painted walls of the Mushroom residence. “Two noble, honest, heroes of heart, snooping within the private room of a private civilian. Tut, tut. How irresponsible.”

Link’s glare of disgust paled before Zeda’s unrelenting, unrestrained hate. 

“What… are you doing here?”

The king grinned, utterly pleased with himself. “Isn’t that the question I should be asking you? It's hardly becoming for a princess and a prince to indulge in such passions in someone else’s room. That is your intention, isn’t it?”

Link’s hand tightened on his sword.

“Because surely, our heroes of Hyrule would only have pure intentions when trespassing into someone else’s private room.”

Zelda’s back straightened, stepping out in front of her knight’s defensive position. “I ask again. What are you doing here?”

He spread his arms out, like a playful little shrug between friends. “Is it really so unlike me to visit a neighbor? You wound me.”

Her brow furrowed deeper. “No, I suppose it's very in character for you to show up uninvited.”

“Ah, there’s the moralizing,” he waved a broad hand idly. “Yet here you are, in the tomb of that accursed creature, with a sword in hand. The evidence speaks for itself.”

“So you admit your guilt?”

“ My guilt? No, I think yours is far more obvious in this case.”

Rage bubbled. Words escaped before she could stop herself. “Don’t be coy with me! What you’ve done to the Sheikah Warrior will be answered for .”

So eager was Ganondorf to feed off the princess’ anger, he retaliated without thought. “Whine all you want. Before long, that warrior will be under my control, and your kingdom will fall under it.”

And in that instant, both statements were processed in their minds. The truth that had slipped into the open could not be retracted.

Zelda did not control the Trainer. And neither did Ganondorf. The Shiekah Warrior was still unaccounted for.

And none of them had any context for the Trainer.

All three Hyrule guests gaped at each other in abject, uncomprehending, confusion.

In the machine of destiny, the gears turned and spun within its perfect, polished design. The screech of the wheels, to those that could hear it, might sound similar to a laughing hyena. It guffawed and giggled and mocked those foolish little beings on the ground floor that had convinced themselves they possessed power over the world around them.

And the machine of destiny conspired once again to cultivate the worst possible scenario for all possible parties.

The door to the guest room rattled. The trespassers all spun to stare at the door.

“Oh, the door’s joints are particularly stiff today. It hasn’t stretched enough.”

“Its locked , Traynor…” Samus’ voice was light and giggly, thoroughly entertained by her companion. “Here- I got a hairpin we can use…”

Panic is one of the greatest inventions of humanity. Nothing can be quite so difficult to predict as blind panic. For example, panic can give sword-wielding heroes the ability to make a split-second decision that turns the tide in the climactic battle.

Or, in events quite similar to this particular scene of panic, they can cause people to do the exact opposite thing they aimed to do.

Upon hearing the click of the lock on the Trainer’s door, Zelda wanted to escape this room through the window, as quickly as possible.

Instead, she dove under the bed.

And Ganondorf, upon hearing that same tell-tale sign of the Trainer’s arrival, also wished nothing more than to relight his magical fire and make a hasty retreat.

Instead, he found himself hiding in the large, Bowser-sized dresser up against the wall.

Link, however, felt no fear. He failed to see the issue of simply walking over and killing Trainer right now. It was only through Zelda’s insistent hissing that he trudged over to a curtain to camouflage himself behind.

Just as his visage vanished beneath fabric, the final click of the lock resounded outward.

The door swung open with a loud thump, slamming into the wall. 

The wheels of destiny turned towards its inevitable design.

A moment of clarity, as we outline the night once more.

While Peach instinctively knew Zelda had visited her castle, witnesses at Min Min’s hotel room could only attest that Peach stated Ganondorf had entered her castle. This account was to be accepted as fact. As Peach never thought to mention what she interpreted as a friend visiting the “sickly” Link, Zelda’s presence at Peach’s Castle never became a subject of public conversation.

Before the end of the day’s matches, Simon Belmont had been spotted touring the streets in something of a haze. Tourist photos provided a general account of his location, only to drop off near Peach’s castle in the evening.

Isabelle was last seen meeting with Ganondorf. She would attest that she returned to her hotel room to resume her work. No one could account for her presence for the remainder of the day. She possessed no alibi. 

The Inkling had mysteriously vanished, as had Solid Snake.

It was observed, by particularly useless parties, that these last few subjects seemed to hold a particular association with each other. The only common factor between such disparate individuals was a fixation on the Trainer, or “Traynor” to the uninformed. This testimony would be considered as well.

The Trainer and Samus Aran also visited the castle, although their version of events was not publicly disclosed. Only in memoirs published posthumously were such private details revealed.

While there were certainly other parties and factions who weaved in and out of the numerous coinciding events of the mysterious crisis at Peach Castle, these were the central figures that the public discourse recognized.

It was these fragments of information that would persist in the future investigation of the evening.

Samus stumbled forward, each step lumbering and belabored. If any of the present subjects were familiar with lost alien cultures, they might recognize her movements as an approximation of how the Chozo were trained to test planets of undetermined gravity.

“Very unique form.” Trainer’s tone was pleasant and warm, even as she wobbled in her own movement across the room.

“Iz that sarcasm? Did you learn sarcasm? ”

“I suppose I’ve been learning some things.” Even the best historical scholars have struggled to interpret how much unwitting sincerity versus deliberate humor was present in such a remark. 

There was a loud creaking noise as the wooden doors to the veranda were ripped open. Link shuffled deeper into the recesses of the curtain.

As Samus stepped onto the balcony, the old stone creaked slightly from the new weight. Dust and light stone sprinkled onto the garden below.

Simon Belmont blinked in confusion. His tough, scarred hand reached up to brush the streak of gray from his face. It took several moments for his long-suffering brain to recognize his surroundings. 

As the voice of the Trainer echoed beneath the window, carrying down to the vampire hunter below. His hand moved automatically to his blade, mind still processing the precise words above him.

“Is the fresh air treating you well?”

“Mm. It's a beautiful night.” She leaned on the railing, gazing out at the city. She glanced back at the Trainer, a lopsided grin rolling up her face. Trainer’s breath caught in her throat, gazing upon such a woman.

The wind gently drifted through Samus’s blonde hair. Her golden locks glistened in the moonlight and her lazy smile was not unlike looking at the stars themselves. And that sincere, honest smile.

Compared to such beauty, the Trainer felt… fraudulent. Her own straight hair lacked any nuance or curl. Her pale skin did a better job reflecting light from cars than sparkle on a moonlit evening. She had never even attempted to untie her ponytail. It was doubtful she even knew that was an option.

She should say as much to Ms. Aran, she thought. She should know how beautiful she is.

Her mouth began to open to do so.

“I really didn’t think you would make it…” The bounty hunter’s words may have slurred, but they were concise enough that even the Trainer could understand them.

The Trainer blinked. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I had no idea you were such a good fighter…”

“I do not know if I would go that far.”

“It's true though. With Ridley out on that field…” Samus shook her head, wobbling a little on her feet. “I couldn’t relax for a second. All I could think about was… the end of it all.”

“The end?”

“Mm. He’s… he’s won too many times. I couldn’t stand to think… anyone else could fall to him…” 

It was a tone of voice Trainer had never heard before, much less in Samus Aran. The pain and loss and agony in such a few simple words were incalculable to quantify. 

And then, her cheer returned. A grin was unrestrained and joyous. “But you can handle anything life throws at you, huh?”

The Trainer’s face was far more unreadable. “The results made you feel that much stronger, then?”

“Unbel- unimagin- un…” Samus fumbled with the exact word for a few moments, before settling on a straightforward: “ yeah .”

The Trainer observed how truly, absurdly happy Samus was at this moment. The lack of fear. The lack of restraint. The pressures of the world no longer embedded into the hunter’s shoulders. The woman was truly, finally, briefly, free. 

All because she believed the Trainer was a peer of strength.

And the mask of a mascot placed itself perfectly onto Trainer’s face.

“Perhaps you should get some rest. You don’t need to worry anymore.”

Samus groaned in annoyance, but the Trainer would hear no protests. She gently led the bounty hunter towards the queen-sized bed. She tucked the woman into the sheets, checked her over for any ignored injuries or bruises. And the Trainer settled into the bed next to her, ensuring a respectful gap between the two of them.

It's difficult to say what Simon Belmont must have been thinking, lying in Peach’s garden. It would have been easy to read nefarious intent through Trainer’s actions here. Her indistinct tone, her vague language. For the biased mind, this observed conversation could have confirmed previously assumed facts.

Yet, he performed only one singular, notable action in the face of such a conversation.

His hand gently dropped from his sword. He stared up at the stars.

And he closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself to leave the garden behind.

Hard to blame the man for needing some time to recover.

It was over an hour of silence.

All the intervening parties had done their best to hold their breath. Whether powerful, wise, or simply obeying orders, the loud exhale of oxygen was the last sensation they wanted to be heard. They all waited in the quiet, listening for any sign of rest and unconsciousness.

Eventually, a quiet rhythmic breathing could be overheard from the mattress. The sort of soothing, comfortable sound that only trusted nighttime companions should be allowed to hear. A private, intimate exhalation that was not meant for the ears of the presently trapped parties.

Even the fearless hero of Courage felt some guilt for his presence.

A soft click bounced from the dresser, as Ganondorf peaked out from the pink clothing chest. Zelda rolled herself down the floor, glancing out from beneath the bed. Link’s head poked out of the curtains with a casual air.

The three figures regarded each other with significant consideration.

The conversation, such as one might call it that, began with a look.

Zelda fixed a glare at the peaking Ganondorf. He knew that glare. It was a glare that meant How dare you snoop on their private affairs, you sickening, demonic villain.

He retaliated with a raised eyebrow, which could only mean That's a bold insult to send from a woman hiding beneath the bed of a heartfelt, romantic encounter.

Her brows furrowed with a That's different.

His lips curled upward in that Oh, do explain the moral superiority of your behavior compared to mine, because from my position, the sin seems to balance out sort of way.

Her cheeks puffed in an indignant I'm only here to stop you from getting the information, you're here for perversion most likely.

His mouth formed a silent what? Translating this bit was trickier. To the inexperienced, his silent what could mean Hold on, I don't follow. But here, his silent what actually meant That's absurd. I followed you. Besides, if you were truly here to stop me from getting information, then obviously I'm here for information. I can't be here for perversion if I already have a reason to be here.

She rolled her eyes. You're a multitasker.

Link was a master of this sort of conversation. It only took a slight wave to bring their attention to him from the curtain. A simple blink argued We do not have time for this. We cannot be caught here. Unless you want me to be caught here. Do you want me caught here?

She rubbed her forehead. Link, obviously I don't want you caught here.

Ganon raised a hand. I would.

Link blinked again. We all need an exit strategy. I’ll leave through the window. If they come to check on it, you will have the opportunity to make your own escape. If they fail to notice, that means you’re free to escape regardless.

Zelda and Ganon glanced at each other. Silent agreement.

Then we’re set.

And maybe you’ll even stop trying to kill innocent women. Ganondorf’s gaze was insufferably smug.

Are you actually trying to take a moral high ground?

It’s a good ground. I like it so far . Maybe I’ll stay here .

I don’t want to hear moralism from the likes of you, Gerudo scum.

You dare to-

There was a shuffling of sheets. The bounty hunter mumbled in her sleep.

This was a conversation for later.

The three figures gave each other a final nod of confirmation.

Then the hero of Hyrule opened up the balcony door and vanished into the night.

The King of Darkness and the Princess of Light were forced to cooperate in their escape through the front door proper.

Very few of the remaining tournament contestants held opinions on democratic peace theory. Shocking as it may be to hear, political academia was not a subject many found gripping. Out of the non-royals familiar with the concept, only Isabelle and Snake might be able to hold an interesting conversation about it. Captain Olimar was primarily a STEM major, but years of corporate culture had diminished his greater analytical skills in favor of applying it to business sense. Joker held his own opinions about dictatorships and democracies, although he never put those opinions on paper. 

If he had the words to define such things, Simon Belmont would be in favor of democracy. He had seen the tyranny of Dracula, the oppression of the church. The world didn’t need more attractive, charming leaders. It needed community. 

Link, meanwhile, was not a person who thought about political theory. The only political lesson he found particularly useful was Zelda’s explanation of preventative war. Ending the conflict while the enemy was weak was a worldview he could ascribe to without hesitation. 

Every institution has their attack dogs.

As he dropped down into the garden, a soft buzzing plagued Link’s wrist. His head ached with a strange sort of pain. The sort of pain he hadn’t felt in ages.

And the pain spoke words. Words that echoed into his skull.

That wasn’t very courageous.

As he stumbled into the street, he did his best to chase such thoughts away. The situation couldn’t be helped. Orders were orders. If his body didn’t like how “unheroic” it felt, it would simply have to accept the uncomfortable nature of the work. He had an empire to defend. Squeamish feelings were a distraction.

“Sir Link?”

The hero of Hyrule froze.

Simon Belmont stepped into the view of the streetlamp. Confusion plastered on his features.

“What… were you doing?”

Link regarded Belmont with a short, stoic gaze. A long, deliberate silence hung in the air before Link shook his head in a firm denial.

“I saw you myself.”

He shook his head again, as if to say “you’re seeing things.”

Simon tilted his head. Disappointment was as plain as the nose on his face. “...I think perhaps both of us are seeing things we should not be.”

Link looked up at the castle. There were no lights on in the rooms above them.

The vampire hunter sighed. “Sir Link, I apologize. And I certainly cannot claim a moral high ground. But this sort of behavior? Peeping on our competitors? That cannot be ignored.”

Link glanced down the street. There was no one else here.

“I am afraid I will have to inform the commission about what the two of us have done t-”

A blade moved through the air like butter.

A body fell to the ground.

The Hero of Hyrule regarded the glint of his blade. The Master Sword. A weapon of pure, righteous, heroism. Unstained by eons of conflict and battle. Just as polished and sharp as the day it was forged. Not a single nick or dent in the weapon after all this time.

Perhaps, it should be discomforting to see the pattern of red splashed across the blade and hilt.

But the Hero of Hyrule felt no fear.

He reached into his pocket, cleaning off the weapon with his spare cloth. Satisfied, he sheathed the sword. He knelt down and began to work on the issue of evidence.

And the body of Simon Belmont vanished into the dark, never to be seen again.

Chapter Text

The half-vampire Alucard was anxious.

His footsteps echoed across the long, quiet halls of his manor. It was a sound he found familiar during his more stressful nights alone. Pacing was a distraction from the cobwebs, specters, and existential ennui. His only real companion in this estate was loneliness. He’d indulged in a few other toxic kinships. Moodiness, depression, self-loathing. Out of all his long-term friends, he had never gotten around to properly deleting loneliness from his contact list. 

Hiring a witch to revive Simon Belmont had always been a risky gambit. Necromancy was a dark, unreliable art. He had seen his father become a victim of this sort of wizardry far too many times.

But Alucard was old and tired. He no longer believed in his own strength. If he did not have an ally such as Belmont, there would be no doubt that Dracula would be revived once again. He could not complete this fight alone.

If Simon Belmont did not arrive in Transylvania by tonight, many humans would die.

Months prior, deep within a Romanian cave (formerly of the region of Wallachia), the witch named Ashley began her work.

As with all her work, it was something Ashley had put off. Most people would be impressed by a silver-haired vampire appearing in a fog with a pile of gold and a sacred request. Ashley just thought it was another irritating freelance gig.

Finding the body itself wasn’t difficult. Removing it from the Belmont Museum required a bit more flexibility, but nothing the prodigy witch couldn’t accomplish.

Regrowing the skin and the muscle was hardly a challenge either. During her brief attempt at entering the public education system, Ashley had grown an entire body over one of the plastic skeletons of the science room.

The true difficulty was rebuilding the consciousness. A single misstep could result in a corrupted, broken husk of a man. Hardly the heroic individual Alucard sought out. The process required intense, concentrated focus. The young girl focused her energies on Simon’s mental framework for approximately eighteen uninterrupted hours. It spoke to the sheer tenacity of the young witch that it didn’t take her an entire week. Retrieving all the different fragments from the collective subconscious was not a task to leave to amateurs.

Finally satisfied with her resurrection, Ashley giddily removed her hands from Belmont’s skull, snapping off her medical gloves. This was undoubtedly her finest work yet. A triumph of magic and witchcraft. The sort of thing that could get one interviewed by Witches Monthly.

Not that she cared about such things. It would just be fun to spook the journalists that might approach her home.

It was during the clean-up that Ashley’s mobile started to vibrate. A quick glance confirmed Ashley’s worst fears. The old hag lecturing again, rambling about some chore she was late for.

There was a particular ultimatum in the text that Ashley found particularly aggravating.

“If you aren’t here within the hour, don’t expect your paycheck for this one.”

With more than a few curses uttered under her breath, the witch disposed of her protective cloak and began her teleportation spell towards the docks of the Mushroom Kingdom. With an almost off-hand motion, she dropped a simple magical command into Simon’s consciousness. 

A straightforward “Stop the rise of Dracula.” 

A simple instruction. That would surely be enough to fulfill the terms of her contract. The old geezers could handle the rest of this vampire crisis on their own.

Thus, Ashley began her journey to Wuhu Island. And Simon Belmont was abandoned for the time being.

It wouldn’t be until after the tournament’s end that Ashley even remembered her obligation to the half-vampire. The presence of the Wii Fit Trainer had proven to be a distracting factor to all parties.

By then, it was far too late to change the tide of history.

The digital era is an era of globalization. The advance of technology has provided new forms of communication and connection for people across the world. The impact of one individual holds a much greater weight than it might in centuries prior.

This was the world that one Soma Cruz would grow up in. It would be hard for Mr. Cruz to find his place in such a vast, interconnected world. It’s a problem that many disenfranchised youths would experience in the decades to follow.

Of course, Soma Cruz’s life would have perhaps gone much smoother if he wasn’t housing the reincarnated soul of the infamous King of the Vampires, Dracula. Even under normal circumstances, Soma’s life was ensured to be filled with mystical dangers and malevolent forces.

Still, he might have been able to enjoy a relatively normal childhood had someone managed to fight off some dangerous cultists that had managed to capture the young toddler. If some dashing vampire hunter had managed to reach Transylvania, he might have saved Soma Cruz’s soul. He might have allowed the toddler to reach adulthood. Soma Cruz might have grown to find his own strength and defied the fate of reviving the evils of Dracula. Simon Belmont could have fulfilled his purpose as a revived warrior. The world would be safer for a few more decades.

The timeline where Soma Cruz was saved exists. Across the strands of the multiverse, there are worlds where he maintains his purity of heart. Worlds where he finds love. Worlds where he becomes a hero.

Unfortunately, no such intervention occurred in this world. Soma Cruz’s heart was lost when he was just a child. The spirit of Dracula would unleash several spats of violence against the world before his final defeat from the hero known as Alucard.

Incidentally, the Cruz Conflict of ‘41 (not to be confused with the Cruz Conflicts of ‘33 or ‘37) would result in the deaths of nearly two hundred Hyrule citizens. It was a devastating loss, but nearly everyone agreed that the Hylian monarchy couldn’t have done anything to prevent such a tragedy.

Princess Zelda could not be reached for a comment during this period of mourning. A statement was released by the Hyrule government, yet she herself was curiously silent. It was presumed that grief had overcome that fair leader.

Zelda had become quite the isolationist following that infamous tournament. 

The exact rise of Soma Cruz was simple on paper. The man appeared on the political scene in ‘33, gained international acclaim, despite warnings of populist language and more insidious undertones, and he was soon voted into office. As leader of his country, he continued to stoke global tensions until a war was launched between bordering countries. Unusual reports emerged of demonic beasts roaming the battlefields. Vampires, zombies, grim reapers, etc. But this was eventually dismissed as a sign of mental distress rather than anything serious. Cruz reportedly died on the battlefield and the warfare increased dramatically, before eventually slowing to a halt.

But a curious quasi-Mandela effect resulted between the two warring nations. Once the dust settled and peace talks were discussed, both countries were stunned to learn the motives behind their rival. The western country fully recalled fighting under the banner of Soma Cruz, their dutifully elected president. And the eastern country genuinely believed they themselves had fought under the flag of Prime Minister Soma Cruz. Both sides were fighting for the same man.

Then, in ‘37, Soma Cruz appeared in an entirely different corner of the world and repeated the process all over again. It was initially believed to be some kind of imposter, but his appearance attracted loyalists and former soldiers across the globe. The rising voice of protestors were summarily ignored. And before long, two bordering countries once again went to war. Different nations, same actions, same result.

Professor Russ T. of Toad Town University cited the Cruz Conflicts as one of the most complicated subjects of history to ever approach.

“It is so profoundly difficult to study the history of the Cruz Conflicts because there is no collectively agreed upon history. Soma Cruz so thoroughly weaponized the public consciousness, so completely altered public thought, that every single eyewitness account seems to contradict each other. Neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend… every region touched by Soma Cruz created a gap between individual civilians. One person’s account of life under Cruz is fundamentally, philosophically, and emotionally different from every other account. People claimed there was an election, yet no one can attest to voting for Cruz. People claim there was a war, but no one can recall why they were fighting and for what side. It's unprecedented. It's horrifying. I see no path forward towards recovery, barring this entire generation forgetting the entire experience. I never thought I would hope for such a thing.”

Tokyo-to artist and media critic Yusuke Kitagawa, while no historian, spoke vocally on how the Cruz Conflicts impacted the public consciousness within the impacted territories.

“I hesitate to think of any recent tragedy that has left a bigger impact on the art scene. The Sarasaland New Wave used minimalism and realist art to refocus themselves after the reign of the hypnotic Taranga. In direct comparison, the Post-Cruz New Wave centers more on unreality. On feeling and abstraction. And the fact that it's so relatable to so many nations, speaks to how widespread Cruz’s impact has been. It speaks to a cultural strain the public has been under. All these periods of brainwashing, subjugation, rampant violence… if true support is not given to this bereaved public, conditions will only worsen. As much as I will promote the artists of this wave, we cannot keep denying real aid to these nations.”

It would likely be to Russ T.’s relief that most children of the following century would only regard the Cruz Conflicts as a minor series of incidents, found only in documentaries or tragic period pieces.

But no matter how much history hoped to forget it, the damage was real.

Who is to blame for the Cruz Conflicts, precisely?

Most historians, for good reason, place the central fault at the feet of Soma Cruz himself. When it comes to mass murderers, sometimes simplicity is best when assigning blame.

Perhaps some of the blame could be placed on the Trainer. Her appearance had thrown a number of wrenches into a number of political gears. The Hylians would not have been driven to such extreme actions if they had not feared her rampant rise in public stature. The US Embassy would not have hired Snake, who would not have hired Belmont, without the need to investigate such a strange woman.

But that speaks far more to their own paranoia than any real mistake on the Trainer’s part.

Perhaps you could blame Wario for how he had influenced Ashley’s behavior instead. She had intended to retrieve Mr. Belmont from her private cavern, but her responsibilities to WarioWare Inc ended up taking precedence. Belmont was abandoned without direction or guidance in this new world.

But if Ashley had actually paid attention to the world around her, it would have been hard to miss Belmont’s appearance in the Tournament, a distinctly non-Romanian place. It speaks far more to Ashley’s unwillingness to commit to her workload than anything else.

Even so, one must give credit where credit is due. Many scholars point to the intervention of Ms. Ashley in ‘41 as why Soma Cruz’s reign of terror was far more subdued during his later appearances. In fact, her history of isolation would briefly break during this period to offer some words of condolence for the lives lost. In the decades after the ‘41 crisis, she would provide significant aid to Sir Alucard. When Soma Cruz appeared the 5th time, Alucard had gained the necessary power to defeat Soma Cruz once and for all. This marked a significant moment of change for Ashley the Witch, both in personality and public perception. Previously a figure of mystery, she would soon be regarded as a prominent activist.

As an adult, Ashley had finally gained some semblance of responsibility.

This newfound maturity did not come without a degree of guilt. Abandoning Simon Belmont to his own devices was a mistake she never truly felt she atoned for.

Perhaps one could blame Belmont’s killer for the Cruz Conflicts. It would certainly be the path of least resistance. Belmont’s intervention could have saved Soma Cruz’s soul and ensured an era of peace across the land. But this was not to come.

Incidentally, Link could not be approached for comment either.

Perhaps you could blame the people that did not intervene, despite all the signs of disaster. There were people at the tournament who had seen the increasingly reckless behaviors of the Hyrule groups, yet chose to ignore it out of politeness or disinterest.  Ashley counted herself among such subjects. Princess Peach gave herself plenty of blame.

For a time, I will admit I counted myself among the guilty parties.

In the end, placing blame on one specific individual is ultimately foolish, particularly when these figures had no way of anticipating all the tragedy that would appear all these decades after the tournament. 

Besides, it was far easier to blame self-interested parties who could predict the terror Soma Cruz would unleash.

Soma Cruz’s rise to power could not succeed without people that were willing to purposefully aid him for the sake of short-term gain. The financial support from Pokey Minch’s enterprises. Black Shadow’s sabotage and assassination of opposing political candidates. Senator Armstrong’s blockade against international intervention. Hocotate Freight’s trade partnership with Cruz’s administration.

Dictators and tyrants tend to benefit from self-interested parties.

If we attempted to cover all of the galaxy’s history following the tournament, it would be easy to assume it was all doom and gloom. The abovementioned Cruz Conflicts of the following decades. The fall of Hyrule in the subsequent centuries. Pokey Minch’s role in the end of the Earth, at the end of time.

But these tragedies neglect the humanity of the in-between. The successful overthrow of the Patriots. The cultural upheaval of Gerudo society. Tom Nook’s Island Development Plan. Exchanged glances and tiny smiles during a romantic evening. A sweet tutor helping a struggling child ace their test. A friend, pulling another out of the brinks of despair. Love. Life. Kinship.

No matter what the fate of humanity may have been, ignoring the love and care that persisted between every individual of the universe would be a sign of disrespect that should not be abided.

For every time the universe has ended in unfair tragedy, there have been infinite examples of joy and passion that counteract it.

Which brings our attention, again, to the Rosetta Stone that shaped the path towards that future of peace and tragedy and everything in-between.

That fascinating fifth Smash Tournament.

Hate.

Hate.

How to properly quantify the hate Zelda felt for Ganondorf?

Since the moment she was born, hate for that man was infused within her being. Truly born, that is, existing not as whoever she was before her fusion with the Triforce of Wisdom, but as the singular entity of Princess Zelda that has been recreated dozens of times before. When she was informed of the sheer extent of violence his various incarnations had unleashed across the centuries, hate was imprinted onto Zelda’s heart. If the word hate was carefully scribed onto every street tile in the town square, on every blade of grass in the Hyrule Fields, it would not equal one-billionth of the hate she felt for the King of Darkness that coursed through every blood vessel of her tiny frame.

Hate.

Hate. 

It was a hate that defined Ganondorf as well. If Zelda’s hate was engraved into every element of her kingdom, his hatred for her was engraved into every kingdom he had ever dreamed to ever conquer in every lifetime. If Zelda’s hate could only be realized from her union with the Triforce, Ganondorf would proclaim his hate far superior. Every gust of wind across the valleys of Hyrule represented the lack of such things for the Gerudo nation. It represented all the things Zelda could have that he could not. And that reality, enacted by the whims of geography centuries prior, had carved a profound hate within every Ganondorf that had ever existed. For every drop of water in the timelines of flooded worlds, for every bone of every skeleton that could be attributed to any of his reigns, for every flame that burned every tree of every nation, hate for Zelda could be found within every iota of his lofty being.

Hate!

Hate!

The sheer scale of this hatred directed at one another, as these two political powerhouses shared a table together, defied all human understanding of emotion and pain. Bled from eons of war and sacrifice. Forged from the corpses of friends and enemies that darted in and out of these quasi-immortal souls.

One might dare to say that without this hatred of the other, both Zelda and Ganondorf might have little other measures to define themselves.

They had hardly escaped from Peach Castle when the initial sprinkle of an upcoming rainfall began to splatter across their faces. As with before, any attempts to hail public transportation would allow an unacceptable number of witnesses to see that the Hylian Royal and the Gerudo Tyrant were lurking so close to Peach Castle.

A retreat from the rain became essential.

In the small 24 hour cafe, hidden from the world, Ganondorf indulged himself in a pumpkin flavored drink. Isabelle had bought one for him at some prior event. While he would never admit it forthright, he could not deny that the elixir brought him some measure of joy.

He also thought buying such a drink would annoy the princess in its sheer mundanity.

He was correct.

Stirring her own coffee, black as the moonless night, Zelda’s singular focus was on her political rival. Her dress was still stained and ripped from her various marathons across the city, covered only by a large trench coat she had picked up to camouflage her royal attire. The only thing that nurtured the sting of embarrassment was considering how despicable Ganondorf looked walking around with such an obviously bereaved woman.

“I’m sure you’re aware of how the news will look on our situation here.” This was the first full sentence either party had uttered since their escape from Peach’s Castle. Vague grunts or brief drink orders had been the extent of their interaction. Zelda only began the conversation proper because Wisdom recognized that silence was doing little to advance the pieces on the board.

Ganondorf’s nose was hovering over the edge of his plastic cup, eyes closed as he smelled the soft autumn-themed fragrance. If his eyes were open, he would have treated Zelda with a dismissive eye roll. “Yes, yes, your excuses would be well-tailored. You came to visit your knight, you both overheard strange noises in that woman’s room, you found me snooping around. The public would take your side of the story as fact, while I would be the villain once more. I am well aware of how you can spin things.”

“Excellent.” Zelda allowed herself a sip of her own drink, certain it had cooled enough to avoid a serious burn. “Then we need not reflect on any misunderstandings.”

“In the public sphere, certainly.” His eyelids gently opened as his spicy elixir was set down on a wooden table. “But our private matters are certainly open for private discussion.”

“What is there to discuss?” It was her turn to close her eyes to the crisis. “I think the decided upon terms are sufficient.”

The king leaned forward, anger growling beneath his attempts at civil conversation. “The terms are sufficient. It's the outside factors that I find perplexing.”

“Outside factors are outside business. It is of no concern to us.”

He scoffed with a haughty “Bah,” throwing a dismissive hand in the air. “It's no use talking to you like this. You stubborn Hylians can hardly see the past your own inflated sense of self.”

“Oh, a rich claim from the seething pot.”

“That still makes you an insufferable kettle, my dear.”

“I’m surprised you even have boiling pots out in the wastes. Perhaps you even use them to cook.”

Power screamed beneath Ganondorf’s implacable face. It howled in agony at such an insult, wailed for a fight, insistent that this miserable little worm be destroyed this very instant.

On the surface, Ganondorf merely tugged on a fragile piece of string.

“...This is getting us nowhere, princess.” He kept his tone precise and careful. “And things are spiraling far too out of control for us to manage under current conditions.”

“I hardly see any concerns on my end.”

“Enough.” With a bit more force than was entirely necessary, the Dark King dropped a hand onto the table. His fingers unclenched, open, and outstretched. “I am willing to invoke the will of Nayru and the Golden Power. Honesty and truth are the only tools allowed between us at this table.”

Zelda’s pristine mask shattered in the face of such an unprecedented act.

Nayru, the Goddess of Wisdom, was revered for establishing both the physical and meta-physical laws of the Hyrule realm. To invoke her name in such a manner ensured only light and justice could exist within her shields. 

As one powered by the goddess Din, Ganondorf placed himself under significant risk even making such an offer.

Zelda’s eyes darted to Ganondorf’s hand. The mark of the Triforce was curiously silent. The magic of power was not hidden in these words. And even if they were, calling upon Nayru gave the advantage only to Zelda.

Any betrayal on Ganondorf’s part would cost him.

With more than a little amount of hesitation, she finally took his hand in hers.

“I invoke the will of Nayru and the Golden Power. Honesty and truth are the only tools allowed between us at this table.”

With a handshake, the terms were set. Zelda’s wrist glowed briefly. Wisdom worked overtime to debate strategy and consideration.

Ganondorf once again ignored the wailing of Power on the etches of his brain. 

The two leaned back into their chairs, wariness evident on their features.

“Who is the Trainer?” Ganondorf was the first to speak.

“I have no idea. I assumed she was the Shiekah Warrior.”

“As did I.”

“Then you have no idea who she is either?”

“I assumed that was obvious.”

“An evasive response. Answers nothing. Give me the truth, or we’re done.”

Ganondorf grimaced. He reached up to rub his forehead. Power ached at the admittance of failure.

“I have no idea who the Trainer is. If I knew, I wouldn’t have felt the need to enter such a contract.”

Zelda frowned. The answer did little to please the princess. It just meant more baffling variables. More strange nuances she hadn’t yet deciphered.

“Where is the Sheikah Warrior then? I thought you cast some spell that corrupted it.”

“The spell has worked perfectly. But wherever the warrior may be, it is nowhere here.”

Zelda bit her lip. Her fingers tapped on the table, typing up invisible plans for internal problems. “She must be a third party then. She simply must be.”

“A third party who has ingratiated herself into our lives on an unprecedented scale.”

Zelda sniffed, dangerously close to a derisive snort. “Our lives? This situation has no bearing upon my own-”

Her throat began to close. Instinctively, almost without realizing, Zelda gasped in shock, desperately reaching to neck.

Ganondorf indulged in a slurping of pumpkin spice, fixing Zelda with a pointed smugness.

With the dishonesty acknowledged, verbally or not, Zelda’s throat began to open once more. She gasped, eager to let her airways fill up as quickly as possible.

“Y-you’ve made your point,” she choked on the words. “That thing is impacting my work too…”

“I’ve done nothing. Only Nayru makes the rules here.” Still, he probably didn’t have to sound so satisfied about it.

The princess forced composure back onto her face, respectability and certainty acting as the necessary mask. “Nonetheless. Knowingly or not, my own political goals are starting to rely on her. And it's clear she’s gained a stronghold on your… campaign as well.”

“Indeed.” Ganondorf rotated the cup in his hand. “She’s brought me donations, followers, prestige… but it's all reliant on her and the dog. I’m only popular by association. I presume that’s why you wanted her dead?”

“I didn’t-” She stopped herself, seconds before her throat could close again. She glanced around the empty booths anxiously.  She couldn’t risk saying too much in public. “She’s become too much of a wild card. Removing her from the board just makes sense.”

“Mm. It's a reasonable precaution. It's what I would do under normal circumstances.”

Zelda scowled. “Don’t compare me to you.”

“I was hardly doing anything of the kind. It's mere strategy.”

“Was it strategy then, killing my father?”

The outside rain peppered a dangerous drumbeat onto the window. An overworked barista, cleaning tables, quickly positioned herself much farther away from the customers.

“...Is this really the time and place for old grievances?”

“You’ve done it dozens of times by now.”

“I can hardly hold responsibility for each of his deaths. Some of them were servants.”

“All possessed by you.”

“We’ve been doing this for eons, Zelda. You can’t expect me to keep track of each father I’ve killed in each kingdom.”

The disgust spilled out of Zelda’s features. “You’re… despicable .”

His raised eyebrows spoke to the amusement in his heart. “The only one who’s conspired a murder tonight is you, princess. All I’ve done is observe the facts.”

“If you were ever interested in raising a real nation, you would be able to make these kinds of decisions with purpose. All you have is aimless violence.”

“A real nation?” Ganon leaned forward, hand once again slamming into the table. “Don’t talk to me about real nations. You’ve made it pretty clear my people can’t afford to live anywhere else. Unless you need reminding that it's the Mushroom Kingdom that Gerudo refugees flee towards, not Hyrule.”

This was not a fact Ganondorf carried in his mind prior to the past few weeks. Yet it was one that came quickly at this moment. One might admire his newfound recognition of others, if he wasn’t primarily using it to win an argument.

Zelda’s reaction time was its own form of speedy. “That’s your defense? You run the country that people are fleeing from. That’s the definition of refugee. You can’t take a moral high ground on failure.”

Power sputtered again. The tugging on the string was the only thing soothing him. “And how, pray tell, can I improve a country with such blockades? With such strict trade routes? When my people are forbidden from entering Hylian towns?”

“Don’t pretend you care about your ‘people.’ You never have before. And if you did, you should have thought of that before murdering the king.”

“That fault lies with me. Not my people. If you truly cared about justice, the Gerudo outside my lands would be welcome anywhere.”

“A kingkiller like you can hardly-”

“When I eliminated that pest, that should not have resulted in-”

The choking began again.

This time it caught both parties off guard. They glanced at each other, confusion and alarm spread across their features, both struggling for air.

It took a few moments for either of them to even recognize the lie.

But of course. Ganondorf had nothing to do with the King’s death in this incarnation. The king’s death was peaceful and pleasant. Surrounded by loved ones.

How had they forgotten that?

The lie acknowledged, the two collapsed back into their seats, gasping and begging for oxygen once more. They kept their eyes to the ground, unwilling to meet the other in the eye. An unspoken acknowledgement to ignore such cracks in their mutual masks.

For as much as Russ T. bemoaned the lack of clarity in the Cruz Conflicts, it was simply inevitable that the direct witnesses of any historical events could lose track of who committed what and when.

The Hero of Hyrule felt no fear. He felt no hate. He felt no doubt. There was only the job and how well one might accomplish it. Any other feeling was an interference to the work.

As the rain dripped down over the city, Link required shelter as well. Breaking open the lock of a nearby tea shop, he placed Simon's body gently into a chair. Satisfied, he took off his personal boots and began the job of cleaning off the mud. Gentle, but firm movements. Polishing the leather, checking the sole to ensure its integrity, noting any areas that required patching up.

Every now and then, he glanced up at his associate.

Simon Belmont, deceased, simply stared back.

Link felt nothing.

He allowed, just for a moment, a trace amount of doubt to creep into his thoughts. A consideration of the facts before him.

The fact was that he was a murderer.

He had murdered before. Moblins. Gerudo warriors. American soldiers. People that, most Hylians would argue, it was morally responsible to fight.

But Simon Belmont was a hero. A knight. A shield against evil.

Decaying before his eyes.

It felt different, somehow. Wrong.

Or perhaps, the truly scary thought, was the possibility that it wasn't different at all. That it was exactly the same.

If it was exactly the same, and he still felt nothing....

Courage whispered sweet comforts in his ear.

The fear passed.

He returned to his boot cleaning.

The rain would wash away any remaining doubts.

As with any coliseum or sports building, the stadium of Toad Town maintained a dedicated treatment room and medical center for its athletes. Taking cues found in the centers of the Koopaseum and the Spring Stadium, the room catered to the variety of needs of a variety of species. Unlike the Spring Stadium’s facilities, the treatment room maintained a significant size, boasting enough room for nearly half of the tournament’s approximate fifty fighters. And unlike the Koopaseum, the treatment room wasn’t cursed.

Dr. Mario was always reluctant to take up a significant workload at the Mushroom Stadium for a variety of reasons. For one thing, as he was keen to remind people, he was a virologist . Sports medicine was hardly his forte.

The other crucial aspect was how little patience he had for Dr. Toadley. He already considered Toadley Clinic to be a bit of a sham in terms of real medicine. Crystal balls, hypnosis, and magic spells had no place in the scientific field.

Still, the pay was significant. Mushroom Kingdom Hospital could always benefit from that prestige. 

He’d managed relatively well keeping his temper under control for the initial few weeks of the tournament, merely rolling his eyes at Dr. Toadley’s eccentricities. It was during a routine examination of Joker when his rage bubbled to the surface. One choice comment about “spirits beneath the mental sphere” sparked a fifteen minute tirade about Toadley’s snake oil treatments, lack of professionalism, suspicious accreditation, and general buffoonery. The lecture was so complete in its emotional totality, Toadley immediately retreated to his clinic for the tournament’s remainder, citing “negative energy within the stadium walls.”

Dr. Mario felt it best to ask a friendly colleague to take on his duties in the meantime, for the sake of easing athlete comfort.

As a result, it was Dr. Goomba Tower who observed Byleth’s recovery. While the Goomba that usually sat on the top of the stack was a virologist, the second Goomba actually did specialize in sports medicine. As such, the stack shuffled around slightly to reorganize who stood where on their collective tower.

Looking over Byleth’s chart, Dr. Goomba Tower had to marvel at the number of untreated fractures. While Byleth’s physical form appeared to be in top condition, x-rays demonstrated severe internal damage across her entire body. While over-reliance on potions, vulneraries, or other quick cures could act as a contributing factor, it read more clearly to the doctor as an emotional assault. It was as though Byleth’s body had experienced hundreds of fatal blows, yet all physical damage had been erased. Contacting Fódlan for medical information or any personal history had only resulted in bizarrely defensive verbal assaults from the Seiros clergymen. The third Goomba, the one who held doctorates in philosophy and art history, had to use their own speaking experiences to soothe the nerves of the Fódlan and maintain some measure of diplomatic peace.

The doctor had little time to note any other medical concerns. The sound of Byleth stirring forced the collective to set their pens aside and shift into bedside manner.

“There’s our early bird.” A cheery, pleasant statement to calm patient nerves. Even if the patient found it annoying, it established a sense of calm. If your doctor was not seriously concerned, then the patient could expend energy towards irritation instead of fear.

The patient’s eyes blinked, raising herself up off the pillow. She rubbed her forehead, squinting out at the surrounding room.

“Where… am I?”

“You’re in the treatment room.” The Goomba Tower Head did her best to maintain her breezy tone. “You took quite a tumble there on the field.”

“The… field?”

“Yes, during your fight. Do you remember?”

The patient glanced down. Goomba Tower could see her eyes dart across her body. Checking over herself for bruises, turning over her own hands in confusion.

“...Right. The pale freak.”

The doctor laughed amenably. “Well, if you’re awake enough to be bitter, that’s a good sign for your health.”

The patient glanced over at the doctor with the typical annoyance she had come to expect from athletes. Yet the patient paused, eyes glued to the mirror hanging on the opposing wall.

The edges of her lips struggled to suppress the traces of alarm crawling up her face. Her eyes dashed over everything, as if double checking an entire cabinet of unfamiliar groceries.

The Dr. Goomba Tower head leaned over from the top of her stack, peering at Byleth curiously. “Unless there is something that feels different. Any aches, pains, anything you can think of.”

Byleth’s gray eyes glanced over at the doctor dismissively, before quickly returning her gaze to her reflection.

“...Nope.” Ashley lied through Byleth’s lips. “Everything feels normal.”

The Church of Seiros denounced modern technology and outside communication. Possessing knowledge of the Tournament to begin with was a rarity in Fódlan. Only highly trusted members of the Church were allowed to receive updates on the going-ons of these diplomatic cycles. 

Several communications were exchanged between different parties, eventually reaching the gates of the Church itself. A knight raced through the Church with the speed of a man who was being chased by a horde of furious wasps. A report was given to the Archbishop. She read it in solitude. 

Someone as righteous and devout as the Saint would never treat her enemies with nothing less than respect and care. She would never lose her temper.

Nonetheless, after hearing the subsequent howls of rage, the knight who delivered the message briefly wondered if perhaps he had been racing straight toward a furious batch of hornets this entire time.

With a quick tip for the cashier, the two royals stepped out into the wet streets of Toad Town. The rain had finally relented and the smell of wet grass and dew wafted in the air.

Zelda recoiled slightly at the cold pavement. In all the excitement, she had forgotten that she had lost her heels. She debated the risks of finally calling a cab versus trudging through the streets again shoeless. Once had been difficult enough, and that had been with the Triforce’s protection. Nayru’s shield was significantly weakened from all the healing and truth telling the past several hours had required.

A pair of boots suddenly shoved their way into her view. Ganondorf’s fingers dangled them idly in the air.

“...What are you doing?”

“Must everything have a purpose behind it?”

For how boisterous a tone he maintained, the Gerudo’s eyes still instinctively drifted to Zelda’s wrist. Nayru’s invocation still persisted. It would not break until a proper separation ensued.

He could still feel the pain of a shield closing in on his esophagus.

He shrugged, seemingly without care. “If you died of the common cold, I would be upset. Your death should be by my hand and my hand alone.”

Zelda rolled her eyes, but she took the boots without protest. She was forced to lean against the wall as she shoved the bulky boots onto her feet. “And what about you?”

“You think the cold could harm me? I’m insulted.”

“Oh? Then you’re shivering from fear?”

Ganondorf groused. It was true, a small shaking had overtaken his posture. His attempts to diminish the act only made his muscles tighten and relax more acutely.

And still, he was unable to lie.

“I am merely… unused to the cold. Nights in the desert are spent within the warm Gerudo temples and halls. We do not allow any of our best to freeze alone.”

In his youth, before he was awakened to his own connection with the Triforce crest, Ganondorf was transferred between a variety of Gerudo homes. Families largely slept in one bed. He never considered it a “small” way of living at the time. It was cozy and comfortable. That was all the young boy needed.

Once he came of age, the Generals removed him from such abodes. Now he slept alone in his personal palace.

It was better this way, for a king.

His mind turned to Deltan, alone on the desert roads.

A trench coat dangled before his eyes now, breaking him from his reverie.

He blinked at Zelda before a smug smile sprawled across his face.

“Eager for battle as I am?”

She scoffed. “Hardly. My life would be a lot easier if you dropped dead here. But I won’t let you haunt me with nonsensical debts past the grave.”

Ganondorf laughed in amusement, taking the jacket without hesitation. “This honesty is refreshing. We should make more deals with Nayru.”

Zelda huffed, straightening out her dress. “Let’s not make a habit of things. We got our information. That’s the end of it.”

“Must it be?”

The question hovered in the air much like how sofas don’t. Zelda allowed herself to truly look over the King of Thieves. He straightened the trench coat idly, struggling to extend the edges further along his massive frame.

“...What does that mean?”

“It seems to me we have a common cause.” Ganondorf grimaced, failing to fit the coat’s arm length in a satisfactory fashion over his biceps. He would have to settle for its current length until he returned to his private quarters. “This Trainer has befuddled and threatened both of our efforts. Disposing of her is politically inconvenient. Killing you in this foreign land only brings more attention to my own affairs. Killing me brings more attention to yourself. We’re at an impasse.”

He stretched his arms out casually. “Why not an alliance then? Pool resources. Build power. Just until we gain control over this interloper.”

Zelda’s brow furrowed. His body language was confident, sincere. His words were logical, deliberate. Everything was outstretched towards partnership instead of betrayal.

And more than anything, he was physically incapable of being dishonest as long as he kept within the radius of Nayru’s invocation.

And somehow, that fact made it worse than anything.

“With you? ” The derision was so thick, it could be cut with a knife. “I think I’d have better luck forming a partnership with a Yoshi.”

“I’m sure the dinosaur holds more than a few tricks we couldn’t predict.” If he was upset with her rejection, the Dark Lord didn’t let it show. Perhaps he only offered out of social function. “If there’s anything this tournament has taught me, the people here aren’t quite what they seem.”

Zelda crossed her arms, a solitary eyebrow raised. “Is that so? And is that piece of string something special then?”

Every muscle tensed. The already cold atmosphere turned frigid. His hand moved without thinking to cover up Teake’s friendship bracelet.

“It is no concern of yours.” He was presenting himself at a disadvantage. His head pierced from the lack of power. But he could see no other alternative to avoiding this line of discussion.

“Oh?” Zelda took a step forward, confidence returning to her poise. She advanced physically and mentally. “You’ve been fiddling with it all night. It must be present in your mind for a reason.”

“I wasn’t-” His step backward wobbled slightly as his throat started to close again. “It’s a Gerudo artifact. You wouldn’t understand.”

Another step forward. “An artifact? Now that’s interesting. Something that could interfere with Nayru’s Will?”

A step back. “It's nothing of the kind. It’s unimportant to our discussion.”

“If it's unimportant, then there’s no harm telling me. What is it?”

His back was pressed to the brick wall of the street. “I told you. It’s personal.”

“If it's personal, then it can’t be unimportant. You ramble about alliances, but you’ve had a way to avoid an honest conversation from the beginning, haven’t you?”

His hand clenched, desperate to find some method of honorable escape. “You’re delusional. Paranoid. And you’re prying into affairs you have no business in.”

“All of your business is my business. Why is this thing so important to you?”

His teeth gnashed. “It means nothing to m-”

And the spell weaved once more.

His stiff posture collapsed instantly, his fingers aimlessly tugging at forces he couldn’t control. He leaned against the wall for support as he curled into a sort of standing ball. He coughed and hacked and fought to find any trace of air and hope.

Zelda stepped back. She watched impartially. Unsympathetically. Emotionlessly. 

Finally, against the will of the goddess herself, Ganondorf managed to hiss out one word into the street.

“ Din…! ”

And the King exploded into flames.

The invocation of Nayru burned away into the mystical sphere, but Din’s wrath was far less kind and far more unyielding. It screamed its way through Ganon’s blood, his skin, his bones. Pain and agony wrapped itself outside and within every part of the Gerudo’s soul.

Ganon did not allow himself to scream or howl, even when faced with the all-consuming might of a Hylian goddess. But his behavior betrayed the fear and suffering of his current state.

The only salvation left to him was to drop himself into a large puddle on the street.

Recognizing the rejection of the invoker, Din reluctantly abandoned its host and vanished back onto the mystical sphere. The fire extinguished and the Dark Lord’s throat clear, the great tyrant coughed and breathed desperately on the ground.

Power was distinctly silent. Even it recognized the pointlessness of seeking out a more impressive reputation in this instant.

Soaked, burned, and breathless, Ganondorf felt something drop from his wrist into the water.

He already knew the result. But he dipped his hand into the muck anyway.

The bracelet was singed. It's gray fabric, now pure black from the flames. No longer properly tied, half of the beads had vanished into the mud. The small baubles that remained now darkened and unreadable. 

It was ruined.

A familiar boot splashed next to him.

“Oh, Ganondorf.” Zelda tutted a sarcastic tut. “Another magic workaround failed you?”

He didn’t have the energy to protest. He could only breathe and ache and stare at the fragment of string that remained.

Zelda shook her head, sighing. “You never change, old King of Thieves.”

And she stepped away, beginning her final trip back to her suite.

The Great King sat in the muck and the dirt and the mud for much longer than his standard physical recovery may require.

As the sun broke over the Mushroom Kingdom, the factions across the land settled into their routine.

Zelda returned to her room eager to replace her clothes and finally indulge in a few hours rest. She wouldn’t be able to revel in her victory for long before the vanishing of Belmont would become an upsetting presence within her wider social affairs.

Burned and bruised, Ganondorf crawled into the personal bathtub of his embassy quarters. No water was necessary for the moment. He would be satisfied with simply sleeping in this dry, porcelain contraption, the scraps of the bracelet delicately resting next to his tired head.

At the construction site of the upcoming Pasta Pit (formerly the Cranky Kong Memorial Garage (formerly Club 64)), Link wiped himself clean of grime. The body of Simon Belmont and every weapon he had acquired vanished into the mixture of concrete that would make up the foundation of the enterprise. He would have to explain further details to the Princess later. But he couldn’t see any particular failing on his part here.

At a local hotel, the staff debated when it would be appropriate to contact the authorities on a missing contestant. 

Ashley the witch remained focused on her reflection, running through an internal checklist, trying to recall exactly how one escaped someone else’s mental consciousness.

The Federation Embassy did their best to calm the furious Ridley, that irritable and deadly creature. Outside, the Mii Gunner playfully kicked a rock up and down the street, waiting for the opportunity to visit her friend alone.

The Wii Fit Trainer, refreshed from a pleasant night’s sleep, observed as the light danced on Samus Aran’s hair. She reflected upon the many strange weeks prior and the purpose behind such events. She reflected upon the crowds of people screaming her name, or the sincere desperation for hope in Aran’s features.

And all the while, a small ship bounced across choppy waves, sailing towards forgotten islands and forgotten tools.

Chapter Text

The Trainer’s first match generally became how academics would measure her rise to fame. The Trainer’s second match, by comparison, had been largely overshadowed by the increasingly alarming disappearances plaguing the tournament. The Inkling’s (alleged) vanishing act had already sparked intrigue and alarm. The (factual) disappearance of Simon Belmont added alcohol right to the flame’s center piece. 

As such, that second Trainer’s victory over “Byleth” was forgotten by the majority of the media cycle.

Yet, one could argue it was that second match that ensured the most interesting instigator of change within the Trainer’s behavior. Her stiff, robotic movements enjoyed a more natural flow. Her words, which people had already projected intelligence onto, gained confidence and purpose.

This advancement in public speaking and performance would be retroactively presumed in the entire public consciousness. The image of the competent, suave Trainer was further ingrained into a public that so desperately wanted to believe in such a figure.

The witch was not a person who lied often. 

It wasn’t for lack of trying. As any pre-teen, Ashley was particularly keen on avoiding trouble whenever possible. But, considering herself above most people, Ashley simply chose to mock or berate people that asked for honesty. Bitterness made up for obfuscation any day.

This was not a tactic she could use against a doctor.

She did her best to rattle off general affirmative facts. She squirmed when the Goomba Tower tested out her feet and arms for any numbness. 

And eventually, that left her alone.

In this body.

It wasn’t that Ashley cared about appearances. She derided the kind of girls at school who were into girly things such as, in her opinion, combing hair or personal hygiene. 

But. She was a pre-teen. She had fantasized about what kind of cool looking witch she could grow into. Becoming an old crone in a forest, snarling at strangers, cursing children to become frogs? That was the peak female performance she was craving.

She had never really considered the in-between part of her future much. The attractive twenty-something that came before the middle-aged hag, much less the old crone.

She placed her hands–Byleth’s hands–on her hips–Byleth’s hips? The ownership of it all was… it was hard to grapple with. She didn’t want to think about it much.

Still. Gazing at her reflection, it was hard not to admire her new looks. With a sinister cloak, a proper hat, maybe dye the hair… it’d be a hell of an imposing presence she could cast over the land.

Good lord, this figure was something you’d see on billboards though. How did someone get a body to look like this without magic? She rubbed her neck, turning around to view more of the ensemble.

Her hand paused mid-stream.

She felt around more carefully.

That… seemed odd. Where was this woman’s heartbeat…?

“Enjoying the show, little thief?”

The sound echoed around her. A tone of derision and disgust. She spun around, hands at the ready to cast whatever spell she might have at her disposal.

“Oh, please, don’t try to strike me down.” The sarcasm was thicker than dirt. The voice still lay hidden somewhere just out of sight. “It isn’t as if I’ve suffered enough indignity today.”

Ashley pressed her back against the wall, eyes darting around. “L-look, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just doing a job.”

“Ahhh, a job. Some assassin placed against the Church, then? We’ve seen plenty of those already.”

“Assass-” She shook her head. “Look, you’re that fighter then? Byleth? I’m not even supposed to be here. Whatever your beef is, you’re not my problem.”

“My beef?”

And with that, the specter made her appearance. Clad in royal garb, the goddess Sothis peered down at the girl. Her scowl filled with the deepest regrets of the deepest pits, her furious glint filled with eons of war and conflict and agony. 

This was the anger of an ancient so far above this petulant child, it was laughable.

Ashley’s mouth fumbled blankly, just as the sensation of warmth pressed down on her shoulder.

For to her right, the spectral form of Byleth was in a similar mode of distaste. The mercenary’s inhuman, blank expression now gave way to a determined glare. The glare of a singularly focused individual, an entity whose sole target rested in front of her.

“Dearie, you’ve meddled with something much deeper than you could possibly imagine.”

Faced with two mental ghosts, Ashley made the only logical course of action.

She fell backwards into the mirror.

Zelda stared at the handkerchief. It was an unremarkable cloth. No identifying sigils or imprints or any particular label.

It did, however, hold the distinction of being covered in Simon Belmont’s blood.

Running on approximately three hours of sleep, Zelda glanced up at the man holding the handkerchief.

Link, running on zero hours of sleep, blinked back.

Zelda slumped into her bed, the weight of authority pressing down on her soul.

“I could have planted it directly if you told me last night…” She rubbed her forehead wearily. “Well, perhaps it's for the best. He’ll have less reason to suspect us if I have an alibi for the time. Plan 4C. Gerudo Embassy is the drop point. Some sort of pocket in one of his clothes should do. Get some sleep, give it… six hours. Then enact Plan 15A.”

Link’s nod was dutiful and precise.

They had done this sort of thing before.

“Be happy! Not cranky!”

The space pirate groaned and hissed. The weaseling tone of that Mii Gunner was the last thing he wanted right now.

The Gunner’s seemingly permanent smile didn’t waver, placing a hand on her hips. “Cranky people don’t get apples!”

Ridley snapped in the Mii’s direction. He didn’t want appeasement. He didn’t want apples. He wanted battle. He wanted death. He wanted to see tears fall from the bounty hunter’s eyes as she realized he was unstoppable once more.

“Fighting less is good!”

Another snap, another grumbling hiss. The dragon leaned against the back of his cage. She didn’t understand. He was made for conflict. For victory. For domination. It was the only pleasure he had left in this miserable half-existence.

Now the Chozo were a good fight. A beautiful, violent brawl for the ages. Even losing to Samus was almost pleasurable for the feeling of clashing against one of those birds of war once more.

“You need more hobbies!” That grating, screeching cry of this diminutive woman. “So, I brought you things to play with!”

She spread out her arms, dropping a bag to the steel floor. A variety of toys spilled out. Coloring books and crayons and rubix cubes and puzzles and other goofy little playthings.

Ridley could only glare in annoyance. He wasn’t a child.

“Don’t glare! It's fun! Here- try this one!” She picked up a particularly colorful little gizmo, presenting it proudly. “You have to press the top!”

He stared, suspiciously, at this messily constructed contraption. He could not imagine such a purpose for a device. It seemed to defy all conventional method of design.

With a hesitant claw, he idly nudged the button on the top.

“Bop it!” squealed the device.

He squinted. Some kind of… order?

He pressed the top again.

“Twist it!”

Twist… ah, a simple puzzle.

His claws attempted to turn the twirly-looking appendage. His massive nails struggled with the toy. Each careful attempt at movement only seemed to shove the toy dangerously close to falling from the Gunner’s hands.

He spent several minutes failing at such a movement when he finally realized he had genuinely indulged the girl’s pathetic drivel.

The Gunner merely giggled and laughed as the dragon attempted to strike her through once more.

Ganondorf was jolted to consciousness by the sound of pounding on the door. The cacophony was not dissimilar to the aching sensation in his skull. 

Eyes blinking blearily, he gazed upon his current situation.

His legs rested over the edges of the porcelain tub. His head leaned against the wall. His feet were covered only by long dark socks, his boots having been lost to Zelda. A brown trench coat, nowhere near suited towards his large frame, hung on his shoulders, soaked in mud.

And a pathetic scrap of string had fallen onto his chest.

With the gentlest motion he could manage, Ganondorf moved the string to the neighboring side table.

The knocking persisted. Now it was joined by petty squabbling.

With a weary groan, he pulled himself from the tub. He tossed the coat to the ground as he approached his sink. A quick splash would hide any exhaustion or failure off his dreary features.

It wouldn’t, but it was important to him that he tried to believe it.

Confidence. Project confidence.

With a practiced swagger, Ganondorf approached the entrance to his quarters and swung open the door. 

The tiny Isabelle dangled in the air, held aloft by Calyban’s mighty grip.

“Oh, good morning Mr. Dorf!” She swung back and forth, as Pasha desperately tried to restrain the dog. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

Exhaustion. Depression. Futility. With these weaknesses applied, the legendary Gerudo Lord could be toppled by a mere pup such as this. He closed his eyes, dragging a drained hand down his face.

Behind him, unseen, a window opened. A green-hued shape climbed into the room.

“Isabelle. May I ask why you’re here?”

“Well, for your upcoming Town Hall, of course!”

“Ah, of course. And I presume this was another event you’ve arranged for us.”

“It's been on the docket for a while. You have been reading the calendars, right?”

His eyes flashed open into a grimace. “Yes, these calendars of yours. You certainly have a number of them.”

“It always pays to be prepared!”

“Hm. Set her down.”

A wary glance was exchanged, before the shih tzu hopped down from their grasp, jingling her way into the Emperor of the Dark Realm’s private chambers. Ganondorf trudged behind her, his chainmail echoing its own light jangling.

The sounds sufficiently covered up the noise of a window closing as the green knight made his escape.

Draping himself over his polished chair, the king let himself slump down into his chair.

Calyban and Pasha stood guard, but their entire posture was different from before. No longer stiff and controlled. Allowing years of strict military regiment to be dashed aside to be tossed aside.

Even that sweet mistress Power couldn’t be bothered to whisper in his ear anymore.

He was losing their respect.

He was losing everything.

While Byleth’s defeat was hardly a matter of import to the people of the Mushroom Kingdom, it was a significant matter to the Church of Seiros.

Princess Peach had extended several invitations to Emperor Ionius von Hresvelg IX of Fódlan. While the monarch was old, she still felt it was crucial to extend an effort towards the other world leaders.

She was significantly surprised when a letter from the Church arrived instead. Lady Rhea’s words were kind and pleasant, thanking Peach for reaching out, and promising to visit if Rhea ever felt the urge to leave the bounds of Fódlan. 

Contact with the Emperor was never addressed in such a letter.

During one of her tours across the globe, Peach decided it might be beneficial to visit Fódlan in person as a social visit. She sent a message ahead of her arrival and apologized for any intrusion on her part.

When she arrived on the borders of the country, Lady Rhea was there to greet her.

The discussion was… serviceable. Unremarkable. There were no threats, no insults. Merely pleasant conversation.

Still, the infinitely forgiving Princess was noticeably reticent to continue such a relationship. While Peach never disclosed her reasoning, she made significant efforts to avoid meeting Rhea ever again. It was a largely attainable goal. Lady Rhea had never left the borders of Fódlan. With some polite rejections or careful schedule planning, Peach would have plenty of opportunities to avoid further association with the religious leader. And on the rare occasion that Peach was forced to converse with the archbishop, Zelda had generously joined Peach as a charming buffer between the two. It was one of very few acts on Zelda’s part that was completely lacking in subterfuge or hidden motive.

The lack of time to prepare such buffers is one of many reasons why it was so startling when Lady Rhea arrived unannounced in the Mushroom Kingdom.

A Fódlan Embassy didn’t technically exist in any country, much less the Mushroom Kingdom. The strong borders and isolationist policies of the Empire had prevented most, if not all, Fódlan civilians from venturing beyond their own lands. With the archbishop’s sudden appearance, a series of offices were quickly redecorated to suit Rhea’s needs.

The archbishop paced around the office of the approximate embassy with an erratic speed. Peach, unperturbed, maintained an easy going smile as she gently sipped her tea.

“You’ve lied to us. You’ve threatened us with such acts.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, my lady. I’m certain we were clear of the purpose and risks of the tournament.”

Rhea’s fist slammed into the wall, shaking the hanging frames of stock medieval photos. “My dear professor was assaulted by your… associate.”

Peach tilted her head thoughtfully. “That does tend to happen in a fight, my lady.”

“A fight under your watch. A fight you promised would end with no harm done to my precious disciple.”

“And she is recovering quickly within the treatment center. Our doctors have confirmed that she’s received no serious damage in the fight. Miss Byleth fought well. I had imagined such news would please you.”

The snarl out of Rhea’s lips could be heard from the Toad guard standing just outside. “She lost. You’ve hurt my professor to bandy about your own strength.”

Peach blinked in surprise, setting down her teacup. “My lady. This tournament is not about winners or losers. It's about countries engaging with one another. Enjoying the sport. It's about ultimate peace, not melees and brawls.”

Rhea’s scowl would have pierced the skin of any weaker verbal opponent. “I knew accepting your submission was a mistake. My professor will be returning to Fódlan immediately. I won’t have her associating with this… disgusting place another second.”

“Mm. I’m sorry to hear you say that.” Brushing any trace wrinkles off her dress, Peach stood to attention. “Byleth’s presence has been a wonderful addition to our festivities. But I can see that Fódlan’s Church cares deeply about its people if you’re willing to be so vocal about your distaste for my people.”

She delivered a measured knock on the door, a kind smile resolute beneath Rhea’s seething glare.

“Cadet Toad, please fetch Ms. Byleth. Lady Rhea wishes to see her.”

“Ah… I-I can try to find her…”

“Try?” The Toad shrunk beneath Rhea’s icy tone. “What do you mean try?”

“Lady Rhea, please. I’m sure he meant he wasn’t sure which part of the treatment area she was in. Isn’t that right?” Nothing could break Peach’s sincere smile.

“Ah… not… exactly…”

Something broke Peach’s sincere smile.

“...Byleth… is accounted for, yes?”

The day was not a fruitful one for the Toadstool monarch.

Thus far, there was a major benefit and a major downgrade to this body.

The failing was that Byleth was distinctly untrained in dark magic. Teleporting between mirrors and reflections, a skill found easy in Ashley’s normal body, now felt strained. Like her body was barely squeezing into a form functional enough for the immaterial plane.

As such, the best she could manage when escaping the realm of reflection was tumbling out of a puddle in her front lawn.

All three women, even the ones lacking physical form at the moment, collapsed to the ground with considerable heft. Byleth and Sothis felt compelled to gasp for air upon collapsing onto dry land. Their heads rested on a variety of snapping weeds and annoyingly gossipy bellflowers.

Ashley’s manor, a dark towering building, contrasted deeply with the suburban normality around it. The front gate was broken, but few dared to tread further into any private sanctum of that dread witch. Sentient flowers, all horrible company, hissed and mocked passerby. Property values were low in the area and local mothers had briefly attempted to petition the city to intervene on such a sickening place.

But no bureaucrat dared interfere in such witchly affairs.

The two ghostly women could only glance up as Ashley rose to her feet.

“What… in the world are you doing now?” Sothis’ call to Ashley was significantly more pathetic than her earlier threat. 

“Getting rid of you, for starters.” Ashley climbed up the front of the manor, cleaning off any grim from Byleth’s armor. “I’m not sticking with you yokels any longer than I need to. I’m getting my body back, pronto.

It was only when Ashley went searching through non-existent pockets that she realized she might be lacking a key.

One benefit Ashley could credit to this new body was the physical power it possessed. In her normal body, she often got tired walking more than a few feet without floating.

In Byleth’s body, she’d kicked her mansion’s door eight times now, with more kicking energy to spare.

“Red! You stupid ingrate!” Another round of kicks peppered the door. “Let me in!”

The spectral form of Sothis floated lazily through the air. “What an honorable form of combat you’ve entered. The wailing will truly win him over.”

Ashley didn’t spare the immortal ghost a second glance. “I don’t want to hear it, hag. It's your fault I’m in this mess.”

“My fault?” The goddess leaned into Ashley’s face, teeth bared. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for the witch shopping around for better bodies?”

Ashley pointed at what she wished was a clawed hand at the pig-tailed greenie. “If you and the merc hadn’t gotten in my way, the spell would’ve gone perfectly!”

“Your track record with magic so far leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Is this a fishing pond?” Byleth, new to being intangible, was peering over a black, muddy pool of sludge that sat in Ashley’s front yard. “It's a little dirty.”

“And another unwanted suggestion from the walking corpse!” A nearby jogger quickened his pace at the sight of a sword-bound woman screaming at nothing. “Listen lady, if you can’t even answer why you’ve got the resting heart rate of a block of cheese, I’m not interested in what you’ve got to offer here!”

Byleth shrugged without a care, returning to her examination of the yard.

“At least she handles our discussions in private.” Sothis rubbed her temple in frustration. “You look deranged.”

“No, the merc looks deranged. No one even knows I’m here.”

Ashley’s voice hitched a smidge towards the end of the sentence. No one knew she was down there. Her body, unconscious, soulless, potentially wasting away the longer she left it alone. She couldn’t remember if she had eaten a proper meal before casting this damnable spell. She didn’t know what was going to happen to her real body, lying in the basement alone. And it was all because of that stupid, annoying-

“Trainer.” Ashley-Byleth’s eyes lit up, turning back from the haunted mansion. She leaped down the creaking steps, moving past the snapping weeds and crying daisies. If the flowerbeds didn’t recognize Ashley before, the sheer menace she conveyed into each step was enough to send the arrogant bell-flowers back into a proper whimper.

Sothis and Byleth glanced at each other in quiet alarm.

“Pardon. Aren’t you going the wrong way?”

“This is all that stupid pale freak’s fault. She… planned this somehow.” Not even looking back, she waggled one of Byleth’s fingers into the air. “I’m not letting her get away from me again. I’m getting in her head, I’m learning what she’s up to, and I’m getting goddamn paid what I’m goddamn worth by that bimbo.”

“Hold on-” Sothis quickly zoomed over to Ashley’s position, attempting some sort of blockade. “All of that is your dilemma. You need to be focusing on the bigger issue. The issue that features you outside of the professor’s bod-”

Ashley woofed at her.

Sothis felt compelled to float back as Ashley dropped to all fours and barked like a dog. Passerby gawked in utter confusion and alarm as this grown woman woofed into the bright suburbs of the town. A mother tugged her curious child away from that horrible haunted house, eager to place the green-haired woman out of sight.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I told you.” Ashley rose back to her feet, easy and casual.“Not my body. What people think of her doesn’t matter to me.”

The witch’s eyes had a dangerous glint. Her teeth were bared, lips curled up in the grin of a girl who’s last sensible thought had left the station some hours prior. “So you’re gonna sit down, shut up, and let me wring that stupid freak’s neck. Or I can do a whole lot worse to your reputation here.”

Sothis glanced over at Byleth. The mercenary wasn’t one to care about reputation, but an approximation of embarrassment had formed on her face. The mere glance was proof enough of weakness. Ashley stormed past the goddess and began preparing her plan of attack.

In all the centuries of her existence, Sothis had never faced a foe such as this.

The irrefutable truth of the universe was that nothing was more terrifying than a prepubescent girl.

“Another rally? You just had a match yesterday.” Without any spare clothes for the new day, and her ship a bit too lengthy a walking distance, Samus had been forced to rely on some of the Trainer’s spares while the Toads did the laundry. She normally didn’t bother with changing clothes that frequently, but spending the night with a close companion tended to rile up one’s focus on appearances.

Her leg bounced idly, as she polished the Varia suit into a fine sheen. Even in Peach’s castle, it was hard to forget the presence of the space pirate in this city.

“That’s what Ms. Isabelle said.” The Trainer was practicing making the bed. She had seen the Toads do the action themselves. Repeating the exercise seemed to be a beneficial method of organization and self-care. “She said Mr. Ganondorf might need the assistance.”

Samus leaned on the helmet, pressing a hand to her chin. “But you can’t keep burning the night at both ends. Wait-” She raised a hand before Trainer could respond. “-let me rephrase that with less metaphor.” 

She spun her polishing rag through her fingers, nodding thoughtfully. “If you add stressful activities to every night, you’re gonna keep costing yourself energy in the long run. It's not good for endurance.”

Oh that made more sense. Trainer stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Is that where you were the past week? Resting?”

Samus blanched. “That’s… not important.”

“Then this is a perfect night for you to get a proper rest.”

“Ugh. Don’t turn it back on me.”

The Trainer smiled warmly, straightening out the sheets. “I’ve built a strong foundation. I know how much I can handle.”

The statement wasn’t entirely true, but it was something she would keep reverberating. Easing Samus’ nerves had risen quickly to one of her biggest priorities.

Despite Peach’s best efforts, the monarchy was absurdly popular within the Mushroom Kingdom.

Part of this could be attributed to the hyper competence of the princess. The economy, diplomatic relations, and general pleasant disposition did wonders to ingratiate the public towards her rule. But an even larger aspect was the sheer unwavering belief and massive respect Peach granted to her public. She knew every street corner, every shop, every landmark in every part of every city. It was a common story that if you met the princess as a child, even if it was only for a few seconds, she would still recognize you as a full-grown Toad.

Peach’s legendary sixth sense when it came to her castle could also be attributed to this. The princess knew every tile and every carpet and every building block of the castle, as well as who was responsible for its implementation into the wider castle. She couldn’t precisely define the experience, but someone unexpected standing on one of those tiles felt like a small itch in her brain. Feeling out the weight of the itch determined the general weight and size of whoever had entered her castle. From there, all she had to do was remember the body shape of any visitor to her castle. 

It was a strange ability. But it spoke to Peach’s adoration of the Mushroom Kingdom and her fierce loyalty to defending it. She loved every single brick of every single street and dedicated her entire life to supporting every fragment she had the pleasure of ruling over. She knew how many buildings in the capital had clocks and which of those clocks rang on time. She knew the exact temperature at which the baker baked his bread. She knew... the kingdom.

Unfortunately, there were aspects of the Mushroom Kingdom’s political culture that Peach was unwittingly blind to.

The country prided itself on its diversity. Refugees from across the universe were welcomed with open arms. Pamphlets and billboards featured smiling Humans and Toads and Koopas and Yoshis and Gerudo and Octomen and Octolings, and Robots and so on and so forth.

But in the wider social system, there were some interesting cultural patterns.

When it came to public performance, there was a general pressure to avoid any particular individuality. Dress codes for workers were strict, with unique fashions discouraged. Conservative outlets, in not so many words, tittered about outsiders who didn’t assimilate properly enough.

Future Professor Goombella of the University of Goom remarked to one newspaper: 

“I kinda got the sense they wanted me to dump the hat and shave my hair? They didn’t say that, but I got so many grody comments about it. And Professor Kooper- you’d be shocked how much sass he still gets about the blue shell. It's exhausting. They wanted everyone to blend in with each other.”

Peach herself found certain behaviors curious. When a public individual entered one of the highest tiers of sport (such as Go-Karting, Tennis, Golf, etc), those individuals would often refuse to identify themselves by name. During several notable soccer matches, a Goomba and a Shy Guy gently rejected any kind of identification except their species. That was how they wanted to be recognized by the public. Peach was confused, but brushed her concerns aside.

One Dry Bones who participated in a baseball tournament reported some significant social pressure for daring to wear colored contacts and decorate his shell with Bowser-inspired spikes. This was another incident Peach found concerning, but ultimately ignored.

As a corollary of this pressure, a sort of unintentional separation emerged in the wider geographic layout of the nation. Toads kept to Toad Town. Koopas generally kept to Koopa Village. Yoshis kept to Yoshi Island. While there was no strict enforcement, and certainly there were exceptions, this was the way the Mushroom Kingdom maps persisted.

As with the Cruz Conflicts, it would not cover the issue properly to place single blame on one person. Banking, the property market, the tourism industry, all of these organizations played their own roles in such an environment. Nonetheless, it was hard to deny that Peach’s rule may have contributed to such a quietly suffocating status quo.

Because Princess Peach was so competent, the public fully embraced the imagery of their noble, wonderful leader. Because she strove to make life peaceful for her people, democracy and freedom appeared unappealing. Because she was such a bright individual, they often felt no one else should dare try to stand out.

Because Peach was such a kind monarch, the Mushroom Kingdom was particularly inclined to project onto the words of any politician they wanted to imagine in an executive role.

The Mushroom Kingdom loved to bring in people across the world. However, consciously or not, they were opposed to any “unapproved” original people. Only mainstays such as Mario or the princess were acceptable long-term.

And, occasionally, a personality such as Trainer that some might project onto.

The Trainer noticed a variety of unusual flags as she arrived at the Toad Town Hall. A variety of colorful flags she had seen outside tournaments as well. But what really stuck out was an increasing number of gray flags. It was something a growing number of Trainer-style fans had been waving, now that she considered it. And the fabric was bizarrely transfixing, hypnotic even.

But she put the thought aside. The imagery of the Happy Happyists, despite their fixation on her, was temporarily placed out of mind.

Sunglasses weren’t something they kept in the desert. Covering up one’s eyes, refusing to look an enemy in their soul? That spoke to a special kind of cowardice. The Gerudo relied primarily on hand-woven visors or caps to provide relief from the sun. 

Not particularly fixated on honor for the moment, Ganondorf had acquired bifocals with a sufficient tint, and slumped down into a metal chair. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the bright overhead lights of the green room.

The other guests of the Town Hall had found their own spots to prepare. The Trainer, in her own fashion, had taken to stretching her muscles. Calyban maintained a strict watch over all entrances and exits. Isabelle had plopped down in the corner, typing away on her laptop.

Pasha poked her head inside the room. A distinctly un-regimented movement. “The crowd… is settling into their seats.”

“Oh, wonderful!” Isabelle beamed with delight. “How big is it looking?”

“Nearly every seat has been filled.”

Isabelle quickly began a personal applause. “Great work, Pasha! It takes a lot of effort to organize that many people!”

Pasha wilted beneath Calyban’s glare, a light blush crossing her face. “Its not- its nothing.”

Ganondorf grumbled from his chair. “I presume you’ve prepared a speech for me again to drivel on about?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be in the spirit of a Town Hall per se.”

He peered down from his glasses. “Per se?”

“Well, sure, you need to have some words to start with, but…” Her tail wagged, bright smile firmly plastered. “A Town Hall’s all about answering questions.”

“Answering… questions?” Something felt wrong in his chest.

“Yeah! It's a perfect time for locals to get one on one conversations with a political figure. Directly engage with people. Show that you care!”

“I… will be talking on equal terms?” A voice filled with utter confusion and incredulity. “With them?”

“Yeah!”

Talking. Honestly. Laying yourself bare. Vulnerable. Flames. Burning.

He tried to stand up, but he stumbled briefly on the attempt. The Gerudos’ eyebrows shot up in alarm.

“Y-You cannot possibly mean to put me on the same level as the average… the average…”

Peasant. There was Power, once again hissing in his skull. Filthy, unworthy, unpowerful. Placing yourself weaker than them.

“Of course!” Even now, her bright smile was blinding. “Letting people know you’re just like them is a huge part of campaigning. They should walk away thinking ‘I could have a beer with him!’ Although really, a strong glass of milk would be good enough. Unless they’re lactose intolerant…”

The lights seemed to get brighter with every word. Her chirps grew fainter by the second. The ground shifted and spun beneath his feet. His hand, shaking with an unusual tremble, pathetically fumbled for a wall to lean on.

Isabelle’s smile dropped.

“My… lord?” An edge of fear was climbing into Calyban’s voice.

“Something’s… something’s wrong…” Sweat was pouring down his face. He gripped onto his chest, futilely hoping to pull out this sudden aching. “Wh- you monitored the building? Placed the proper magical protections?”

“O-of course, sir,” Pasha struggled to maintain composure.

“C-check them again!” His breath was ragged, harried. He tore off that pathetic trenchcoat, tossing it aside. “S-she must have found a way past our defenses…!”

The Gerudo nodded firmly, darting out of the room. They had to check for any weaknesses in magical integrity.

The Nayru invocation. It must be that. Zelda must have found some way to reinstate it. She was going to kill him and there would be no evidence connecting her to it.

“What’s…” An edge of fear was climbing into that accursed Trainer’s voice. “What’s happening to him?”

“Mr. Dorf…” Only Isabelle’s voice maintained a sense of calm. “I think you need to take some deep breaths now.

B-breathe? Was she blind? He couldn’t breathe like this!

“Yes, a deep breath exercise seems… ideal here.” The Trainer positioned herself into a sturdy, firm yoga position. “Please. Inhale for three seconds.”

This stupid woman. These stupid, moronic women. He was going to die here, surrounded by utter incompetents, humiliated in front of a crowd.

“Mr. Dorf, please.” An edge of sincere concern in Isabelle’s unflappable nature. If he could make out her face in the blur of adrenaline, he might see some tears riling up in her eyes. “Traynor can go out and take care of the crowd for us. Can you breathe?”

The Trainer… going out instead.

That was appeasing.

Slowly, surely, he began an attempt to repeat the Trainer’s example.

Inhale.

One.

Two.

Three.

Exhale.

One.

Two.

Three.

The Gerudo returned to the sight of a small dog pressing a paw next to Ganondorf’s chest.

“What… are you doing? ” Calyban stared, appalled at this small creature daring to touch the great lord’s person.

“He’s having a panic attack.” Isabelle’s voice was firm and sturdy. “He needs time to recover.”

“The King does not-”

“Traynor, could you answer questions for now? It’ll keep the crowd from thinking anything is off.”

The Trainer nodded and stepped out of the green room.

Ganondorf sputtered. “Y-you are deluded. I have never-”

“Keep breathing. The event isn’t dependent on you anymore. We can still cancel the whole thing.”

The Gerudo King was so startled, he couldn’t even remember what kind of protest he could muster.

The two sat in the green room in silence, soaking in the circulated oxygen.

The crowd, naturally, lost their absolute minds when the Trainer stepped out on the stage. The cheers and wailing, peppered with gray flags waving along the public, was only suppressed by the specialized Eric and Tim soundtrack Isabelle had automated to play for the Trainer’s unveiling to the crowd. The energetic music further riled up the existing atmosphere, until the entire crowd was on their feet and bopping to the music.

When she had spoken at other events, the Trainer had generally attended wide-open spaces. She had stood above the audience, looking down from the stage. Here, the room was more distinctly identified as a “theater-in-the-round” layout. Trainer was somewhat familiar with crowds looking down at her. She had seen as much at the arena. But the theater-in-the-round was more intimate, less open. She could meet audience members in the eyes as she passed them by.

Uncomfortably walking along the edges of the stage, she smiled kindly at the crowd. Security nervously shuffled as a few fans reached out towards the woman, but the audience was largely well-behaved enough to remain in their seats. When she reached the microphone, she held it almost protectively. Like a shield, protecting her from the wailing of the audience.

It was strange, she suddenly thought. For all the things she was still unfamiliar with, she’d had so many experiences that involved cameras and microphones. Observing a particularly frothing Yoshi made her wonder how unusual this kind of position might be. If everyone was placed in front of a camera and given this kind of attention, no one would get anything done.

Her stomach felt heavy.

Eventually, as the cheers died down, Trainer felt confident enough to speak.

“Hello there.”

Another round of cheers and applause started up. She had to wait a few moments for it to die down once again.

“Mr. Dorf is preoccupied. So in the meantime, I can answer any questions you may have.”

A Hammer Bro in a security uniform pointed to a second microphone at the end of the stage, waving for her attention.

“Over there is where you can ask questions.” 

The Hammer Bro lifted up a single finger. 

“Please, approach one at a time.” 

A thumbs up.

“The roof is up.”

The Hammer Bro panicked, but the crowd laughed in delight. What a charming sense of humor she had!

She exhaled a little, imitating a shorter Deep Breathe Exercise.

“Shall we begin?”

Ganondorf had leaned forward by now, resting his head in his hands.

Isabelle, twiddling a little, remained next to him. The sound of her natural breathing provided stability and structure to the Dark King. Grounded back to the Earth.

The quiet stretched out between them. 

“...You don’t need to hover over me.” Ganondorf’s voice was muffled beneath his hands. “I am… perfectly fine.”

“...Then there’s no harm in me just sitting here, yeah?” Her voice was careful, gentle. Like she was tiptoeing through an unstable cliffside. That just made him feel worse. Like he was fragile. Breakable. Weak .

But he didn’t have the energy to push. He just sighed again, exhaling into the air.

In the various studies Isabelle read on mental health and recovery, she knew that the important thing to be was a listener. It wasn’t right to push anyone in a particular direction. Just providing stability and comfort was the best thing someone could provide in such a situation.

But in this moment, new thoughts preyed on her psyche. Fears of piling on pressures. Of how she herself may have contributed to this moment of crisis. How in her attempts to provide help, she provided pain. Her fur felt odd. Not shaky, but not grounded in reality either. 

All she wanted was to make the situation better, if partly just to make this sense of unease leave her body.

So instead, Isabelle began to speak very fast.

“W-we’ll scrap your upcoming events. Give you a full, clear schedule.”

A sharp hiss escaped his throat. “Don’t you- don’t look down at me.”

“I-I’m not! But- if its too much-”

His piercing glare shot at Isabelle, cutting off a full protest.

“I am not some… invalid . I am a monarch. A leader.” He rose to his feet to illustrate his point, but wobbled unsteadily in the process. 

“That just means it's more important to take care of yourself!”

“I am in peak form .” 

The pup shook her head. “We can’t risk your health like this if you’re feeling strained…”

He couldn’t let her stop the work. She had that money. He needed that money. Without money, there would be no power. Without power, he would be nothing. No better than the drooling hordes outside. Leaving the Gerudo in just a precarious position as they were before.

“It was a momentary lapse. It is not worth concerning yourself over.”

“Then you should get checked out.” Her brain naturally struck upon various bureaucratic minutia as a support structure for her argument. “It’s not legal for the government to allow any festivity or political event to provide less than adequate support for its workers.”

“You can hardly expect such a law to to apply to-”

“I do!” Her little voice chirped at an insufferably high tone. “I-If one of us doesn’t take care of ourselves, the whole system won’t take care of themselves!”

Ah. Now it all made sense. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. An excuse to slack off. An excuse should this pathetic campaign fail. Find a way to blame others instead of herself. How positively Hyrulian of her

“You’re overreacting. Everything is proceeding to plan. It was merely-”

“I’m getting you a doctor’s appointment.” She crossed her arms. “And no more campaigning until after that.”

Flames darted across his expression. “You go too far .”

“I don’t!” Her little fur jingled, angry in spite of her fear and concern. Or perhaps because of it.

It was something she couldn’t understand. If you pushed yourself too hard, every rule of every union book said that it was crucial to give yourself recovery time for the betterment of the greater whole. If Ganondorf wouldn’t listen to her fear… maybe the fear of disappointing his people?

“How will your people look if you collapse on stage?”

The mere idea of it cut Power down several sizes. It simmered angrily, struggling to process the very idea of such a humiliation. Was this child threatening him with exposure? Threatening his authority? 

“That won’t-”

“It won’t happen once you get checked out.” She nodded firmly. “And that’s final. Right?”

It took him a second to realize Isabelle wasn’t nodding to him. He turned to see the two observing figures.

Calyban. Disgust plastered on her face. Her king, caught in an argument with a dog.

Pasha. Pitying. Reluctant. Lacking the confidence of a soldier, somehow in agreement to this mutt.

He slumped back into his chair, exhaustion consuming his entire frame.

He was losing their respect.

He was losing.

The questions were, broadly speaking, unchallenging.

While the Trainer had made a habit of honesty, it was notable how much more careful her phrasing became. Before, she had kept to her various familiar phrases and teachings. Later, she had attempted to be open about feelings. Now, her language was more focused. Precise. 

Certainly, she fell back on familiar ground at times. One audience member asked how she “got so toned”. Responding with a series of strength and yoga exercises just made sense.

But then there were other questions. Someone asked about the strongest fighter. “Strength is measured in so many possible ways. It would be impossible to pick just one. Everyone deserves credit for their own skill set.”

A balanced answer.

Then, there was a question about her business history.

“I’ve worked long hours before now. 24 hour days. It was busy work, but fulfilling work.”

And, of course, people asked about her favorite fighter.

“Samus Aran.”

Most of the answers were careful, anyway.

In the news cycles of subsequent days, networks extrapolated meaning from such statements.

Conservative pundits on the Kingdom News Network cited her answers on business and strength as a sign of support for increased work hours.

“Our nation is far too lazy, content to let our royals work for us!” one Lakitu hammered on his desk. “Letting the princess suffer alone is no longer acceptable. The work week needs to be expanded! Through strong businesses and a stronger work ethnic, we can bring further prosperity to our land!”

More liberal pundits, while not as inflammatory as their conservative counterparts, tended towards similar themes. “If more Toads aid the economy, the Mushroom Kingdom can gain a greater foothold in the global rankings.” 

Ranking highest in national schooling and overall happiness wasn’t enough. Achieving military or economic strength was a far too tempting success to avoid.

Praise from leftist circles focused on her support for Samus Aran, although detractors centered on her support towards a known dictator such as Ganondorf. 

Criticism from right-wing groups focused animosity on any perceived support of “terrorists” such as Aran or the Gerudo. At the same time, they would echo the general conservative support of big business, as well as point to a few choice statements as some kind of personal message to their own ilk.

Overall, the public continued to read whatever they pleased onto her statements.

Among her careful answers, there were several notable questions among the pack.

A nervous mumbler approached the microphone, decked out in gray, muttering something about happiness and confidence.

Even if the question was confusing, the answer seemed straightforward. The Trainer felt confident when she was happy, and she was happy when she was confident. Chasing happiness helped bring balance to the self.

Saying as much brought a chorus of cheers among the gray-garbed crowd members.

The other question was from a familiar looking boy with dark hair and glasses. While she had not met Joker properly, Trainer vaguely recalled his presence around tournament events.

“What kind of world do you want to see?”

It was a strange question, but she answered as best she was able.

“I want a world where everyone can be as fit as they can be.”

The teenager hummed, but made no further questions or comments.

It was one particular question that caught everyone off guard.

“Yo. Shouldn’t fighters shake hands after a fighters?”

Byleth, arms crossed, leaning to her side. It was an unusual posture for the merc. 

There was a chorus of “ooooooohs” from the crowd, many glancing back and forth in excitement. Another fight so soon? What a feast for the senses.

For her part, the Trainer was all smiles. “It's only polite.”

Security stepped aside as Byleth paced down the steps. As she met the Trainer head on, she outstretched a hand towards her assigned foe. Unguarded and unfiltered, the Trainer accepted the shake with a firm grip.

The crowd applauded, delight and adoration echoing through the hall. Another wonderful way the Trainer had won the hearts of her most hated rivals!

Electric magic sparked through fingers, only barely piercing into the Trainer’s hands. It jolted back at its caster, sputtering back into Byleth’s own hands. The attempt to retrieve specific goals or intent only resulted in memories.

And the Trainer’s past memories were full of repetition. 

In official accounts, reporters made casual references to how dazed the mercenary appeared on that stage. Even she, the feared Ashen Wolf, must have been overwhelmed by the sheer charm of Traynor.

As Byleth was shuffled away from the stage, the actual weight of her failed magical exercise was a story for herself alone.

Ganondorf never did speak at the Town Hall as promised. Conservative and liberal pundits both pointed to this failure as a sign of the Gerudo’s untrustworthy nature and lack of accountability. Donation rates, which had been frequent after previous events, began to falter.

The double-edged sword of being in the public eye.

During accounts about her experiences within the tournament, Ashley the Witch remained evasive. The girl was already inclined towards an isolated lifestyle. She benefited somewhat from how few people were aware of her possession of the Ashen Wolf. Whatever few people successfully discovered her association with the wider crisis, as well as took enough interest in interviewing her, generally found themselves ignored or outright assaulted.

My own conversation with the witch was brief and early, before she had hidden herself back in her abode. Among the many others sitting in the aftermath of the third match, she had found a spot on the pavement. Dirt covered her dress and her stance was the picture of exhaustion.

I had gathered an approximation of information at this point. While I had not yet uncovered the history of Wuhu Island, the legacy of Andross, or the wider investigation of Snake’s personal team, I was certain in my estimation of the Trainer. And I knew from examining the streams of the mental and magical planes that Ashley had experienced a variety of complicated endeavors relating to the Trainer and Byleth. I was determined to get an eye-witness account.

At my assistant’s insistence, I shall describe this encounter.

I asked her what she saw, having peered into the Trainer’s mind at that Town Hall. 

She replied, annoyed. “Nothing.”

There must have been something, I said. Some way she planned this.

She fixed me with utter disgust. “Planned that? Planned her own- What is wrong with you?”

But surely-

She rose to her feet. A cold fury sprawled over all her features. “There was nothing. She knows nothing. She is nothing. Four blank walls, that’s her whole brain. Everyone just- stop projecting! ”

With a swift swing, her foot rammed into my shin. As I stumbled back onto the steps, she stormed off, vanishing into the crowds. 

It would be a long time before I saw her again. It would be a long time before I understood the full import of what she was trying to communicate.

Whatever her opinions, Ashley left that Toad Town hall with an uncertain stumble. Byleth’s strong, stable body felt heavy. Unbalanced. She stumbled onto the sidewalk, struggling to maintain a strong, consistent stride..

Follow my movements as we do this pose together.

In identical movements, Ashley and Sothis and Byleth gripped onto their heads in reactive pain. Trying to block out the remaining traces of the Trainer’s memorized thoughts. For such words to echo in their skulls, even when crowded with three minds, even after removing themselves from the Trainer’s mental sphere… Ashley could not imagine how many times that Trainer must have repeated these phrases.

There were trace thoughts she had managed to uncover. An unbridled affection for Samus Aran. A few base fears of performance anxiety and its wider implications.

But the overwhelming memory, the overwhelming repetition, the repeated image hammering in Trainer’s skull was that empty room on Wuhu Island. A place that still consumed the Trainer’s thoughts. The perfect home for perfect lessons for perfect balance.

Push firmly with your heels and toes. Put 60% of your weight on your front legs.

She almost felt compelled to listen to such instructions, they were so loud and commanding.

The witch leaned against the glass window of a clothing store. Bright, colorful tops and skirts reflected back at her. 

Put enough weight on your front foot so that you stay within the blue area.

Her body shifted automatically, lining up her reflection with the long blue dress displayed before her.

“What the hell…” Sothis groaned. “Is wrong with that thing…?”

Ashley didn’t have the time to retort, either sincerely or sarcastically. She barely had the time to squint at the window’s reflection, much less process the figures reflected within it.

A wooden staff waved in the air.

Her eyes suddenly felt so incredibly heavy. Her stiff, agonized posture relaxed, as her body began to slump down to the cement.

Just before cratering into the ground, her free-fall was caught by the towering new arrival.

Lady Rhea gently stroked the hair of her precious professor. Her personal guard, satisfied with the application of their sleep spell, returned the staff into the inner sanctum of their cloak. The archbishop sighed in relief.

Finally, her young professor could return home.

Finally, Rhea could feel safe again.

As the crowds finally diminished and the Town Hall reached its conclusion, the Trainer remained backstage to aid in clean-up. Ganondorf and his entourage had retreated back to their embassy, leaving the Trainer and Isabelle

There was a word for it.

It hadn’t occurred to her at first, but Trainer recognized the way Ganondorf moved in that moment of terror. It was nearly identical to how she saw herself in the reflection of a window, looking on at that 24 Hour Fitness Center. That moment of realization that she was obsolete. Unnecessarily. Lacking in purpose.

There was a word for that feeling, that sensation of panic. And it was something normal people experienced too. And there was a way to recover from such an experience quicker.

The Trainer observed the dog with quiet contemplation. She was packing up supplies. Papers and files and various tools into various slots of her backpack.

“You organize things well.”

Isabelle’s tail wagged, basking in the approval. “Well, I do my best! It's just all about preparation and flexibility.”

“Flexibility.” Trainer’s tone rose slightly at the word. “Yes, that is essential. I’m glad you understand that.”

Isabelle hummed happily, gaze returning to her organizational boxes.

“I was curious if… you could help me in the same way as you have Mr. Ganondorf.”

This caught the dog off-guard. “Help you?”

“Yes. Mr. Ganondorf is… certainly a mascot to these people. Respected. Soothing. Provides balance.” She wrung her hands a little, nervously. “And I have begun to suspect I am one as well.”

A mascot…? 

“And… you want help with that?”

“Yes. Balance is important. Thus, I need to know how to create the most balance possible.”

It was at this moment that Isabelle remembered the fact she was supposed to be investigating Ms. Traynor. In all the excitement of campaigning and organization, she had completely forgotten her mission from Mr. Snake. This woman could be tied up in… all sorts of nefarious manipulations.

But… seeing her now, it was hard to believe Traynor capable of such things. All Isabelle could see was a woman who seemed to have too much responsibility and no idea how to do it.

Isabelle beamed. “I’d be happy to help!”

“Really? You seem severely occupied to start with…”

“It's no trouble at all! In fact…” Isabelle considered with care. “You can come with me on one of my work days! I’ve got a ton of tasks to complete for the town and Mr. Ganondorf. It’d be a great learning exercise.”

“Yes. An exercise of learning. That would be ideal.”

The two women smiled at one another, one with confidence and one with barely hidden anxiety.

In the confusion of the night’s end, some items had gotten shuffled around between various parties. An exercise headband found on the end of Calyban’s sword. One of Isabelle’s stray books on political theory dropped into Pasha’s bag. That sort of thing.

Ganondorf’s trench coat, “loaned” from Zelda, somehow ended up in Isabelle’s personal box of essentials. Returning to her hotel room, Isabelle folded it gently. A strange little number, with slightly burned edges. With a good clean and a little sewing to make it fit better, she was sure Mr. Dorf would find the coat much more suitable to his style.

Inside the jacket pocket, a Belmont-stained handkerchief sat perfectly folded.

Link was grateful that his own matches had been postponed. While sports victories were no major concern, he had orders to sleep. It was important to follow orders to precision.

Having satisfied the agreed upon eight hours, Link allowed himself a few moments to clean his uniform and gear. 

Once he was sufficiently presentable, he began the crucial step of sending an anonymous tip to the authorities. 

Chapter Text

While the Smash rounds generally ran throughout the month, delays were fairly expected. For such a prestigious event, it was organized with a relaxed attitude. Any number of matches might be postponed depending on the availability of the fighters or diplomats surrounding the events. While it was annoying for tourists who could not afford the entire month’s stay in the Mushroom Kingdom, it also allowed the fighters the ability to visit home or attend various political duties. 

Still, these delays were typically preceded by an advance warning. A few days or so in advance, to reschedule. The last minute announcement was potentially alarming, even enraging to people who woke up early to enter the stadium. But there was nothing to be done. The foreign news cycle gossiped around “irresponsible” behavior on Peach’s part. In retaliation, the Mushroom Kingdom networks defensively huddled around their esteemed leader and her intent. 

In any case, it left the fighters with a collective 24 hours of free time.

While most of their escapades are without note, there was one trip worth examining.

The Trainer, hands held behind her back, stepped through the gunship with curiosity. She listened to the echo of her footsteps clank through the ship.

The ship’s AI, ADAM, charted the movements automatically. The words exchanged between Samus and Trainer were logged and compiled into a wider document. 

“The floor and walls are unique.”

“It's a rare metal.” Samus tapped the wall with her knuckles. “Protects the inner chambers from most radioactive damage. Even if the ship itself is blasted down, it's safe internally.”

“I see. You have a strong outer shell protecting what’s inside.”

Samus rubbed her neck awkwardly. Little on the nose. If the Trainer noticed such discomfort, she made no comment.

“This machine travels the skies?”

“All across the cosmos.”

These were terms the Trainer was still vague on. She vaguely understood that the sky was some kind of enormous ceiling that surrounded the entire land. She understood that the sun was a giant lamp that kept the land warm and bright. But the wider details beyond that eluded her.

“You know, we have some free time today.” Samus gestured to the controls, forcing her tone to sound casual and carefree. “Wanna take a joyride?”

In his controversial but highly influential text The Automaton: The Nefarious Infiltration of the Wii Fit Trainer, conservative writer Haugh T. noticeably ignored several personal logs between Samus and Trainer. His thesis was that the Trainer was an intentional spy from Corneria and the Galactic Federation, programmed to follow specific patterns and behaviors, all to subvert the glory of the Mushroom Kingdom. All of her words were robotic and emotionless. She held no affection for anyone. Such personal conversations between these women did not suit his wider political thesis. It was more convenient for him to ignore the evidence than reframe his own views.

Liberal pundit and occasional CIA operative Holly White instead prescribed far too much to the conversation. To build her own argument that Trainer was a political genius, she insisted that any affection present in these conversations was part of a long-term gambit on Trainer’s part. By determining Aran’s intentions, Trainer could ensure that this political outsider was no threat to newfound friends and allies. The pale woman adored the United States, the Galactic Federation, and all these democratic societies. The Trainer, White’s text subtly implied, adored the status quo and wanted it to continue and prosper. Holly White insisted upon intent and she encouraged readings where the Mushroom Kingdom was portrayed as a negative presence that the Trainer fought against.

Several years after Holly White’s publication, a whistleblower exposed that the CIA had provided considerable funding to Happy Happyism, explicitly to continue subverting Mushroom Kingdom and Eageland interests. As such, it is suspected that White maintained significant bias to ensure that the Trainer’s image remained tied to that of an ingenious messiah liberating a foreign land. Even so, it would do White a discourtesy to presume all of her words were insincere.

Especially since neither of these texts assumed sincerity on the Trainer’s part.

Zoness was one of the two primary oceanic planets of the Lylat system. Home to a variety of unique aquatic animals, the locals were renowned for their expert preparation of seafood. It was once the premier holiday planet for anyone who could afford it. This, unfortunately, forced numerous locals to immigrate elsewhere, shoved out by the burgeoning vacation industry. While Star Fox pilot Falco Lombardi was vague about his reasons for leaving Zoness, he would often derail interviews to sing the praises of the soft, cozy beach life he was raised on.

His descriptions became more mournful after the Lylat Wars. 

As part of his experimentation and industrial arm, Andross and his followers transformed the planet into a toxic dumping ground. The fresh ocean became a sickly poisonous muck. The sea creatures mutated and transformed into unrecognized, inedible forms. It was a dreadful stain onto the galactic memory of such a dangerous time period.

So many years after the Lylat Wars, the environmental reparations process was still underway. The initial rebuilding period began fruitfully, with major strides done to diminish the damage of pollution. The oceans, while not yet their natural blue, were shifting away from their ugly stain of green. 

But time passed. Interest waned. Corneria was still recovering, and those not involved in either planet began to focus on their own affairs. The efforts continued, but progress had slowed to a crawl.

Samus Aran, not the vacationing type, had never visited Zoness in its prime. In fact, it hadn’t even occurred to her until her arrival that a former vacation spot might not be as pleasant an experience as a current vacation spot.

A back-up plan was required.

The gunship positioned itself in an automatic hover position above the Zoness waves. Samus Aran scooped up a vial of saltwater, inserting the concoction into a scanner. 

“This area should be fine. The sound of the ship should keep anything dangerous from getting close.”

The Trainer blanched a little at the water below them. She still recalled the sensation of nearly drowning beneath those miserable waves, all those weeks ago.

It was also hard not to feel a little stupid looking at it now. It was distinctly not a “shifting blue carpet” upon a more informed reflection. The shame of such ignorance only felt more pronounced the more information she had at her disposal.

Samus misunderstood Trainer’s expression, pulling out her fishing line from an overhead shelf. “It's taken a lot of pollution. If we catch anything, we’ll have to test if it's safe to eat too.”

“You can eat things from there?”

“That’s the joy of fishing.” She sat down on the edge of the gunship’s opening, letting her feet dangle just above the water. “Letting the time pass by and catching some food for your trouble.”

She paused, untangling her line. “And it doesn’t hurt to have something to sell in a pinch.”

Goodness knows she needed the money with the bounty jobs drying up.

The Trainer sat down next to her, peering into dark waters below. “It is hard to imagine anything could be down there.”

“It's harder to imagine what kind of anythings are there.” Samus handed over the pole, letting the line drop into the waves. “Hold this for a bit. We should do another scan to see if fish this mutated will even come this way.”

Humming in terms of acknowledgment, the Trainer circled her hands around the thin rod. A firm grip. Best to be careful with something Samus owned.

The bounty hunter crossed her arms as her ship’s screen sputtered out a batch of data from one of its echolocation probes. A slow whistle escaped her lips. “There’s some big ones alright. We might be better off hunting in waters with smaller hauls.”

She was answered with a short splash behind her.

The bounty hunter turned around to the upsetting confirmation of a missing Trainer.

“Shit.” A short hiss as she tossed off her boots, jumping into the muck below.

Retrieving one another from the jaws of a mighty Todora was not exactly a romantic exercise.

Peach was primarily preoccupied with the aftermath of Rhea’s visit. While Byleth was welcome to return at any time, Rhea seemed certain that Byleth was to remain in Fódlan for the foreseeable future.

Coupled with the disappearances of Mr. Belmont, Mr. Snake, and Ms. Inkling, managing all the different bells and whistles of the tournament was becoming a stressful exercise.

Thus, once she was certain there was a relative peace among her daily duties, the royal quickly sequestered off some time to indulge in a picnic.

Resting on a towering mushroom above Sunbeam Plains, Peach settled into a beach chair with an old book she never got around to finishing. A large hat shielded her from the glare of the sun, but a responsible amount of sunscreen should prevent any large risk of skin decay.

The Ice Rose, a series of poems from King Croacus III of the Flora Kingdom, were an entertaining enough diversion. She could feel the passion and pain he must have felt from his young, sickly life. His skill with a pen was undeniable. At the same time, the constraints of royal life were never a topic of interest to the Mushroom royal. She found it difficult to maintain much sympathy for any text that couldn’t see the advantages they possessed as a social elite.

Large shadows stepped over the thinly pressed pages of poems.

“Good afternoon, Roy. Good afternoon, Wendy.” Peach didn’t even look up from her book.

Roy waved politely, while Wendy huffed irritably.

“You know the deal, blondie. Up and at ‘em.”

“It's such a nice day out, Wendy. Wouldn’t it be best to call off the kidnappings today?”

The Koopaling scowled. Even if no one else took the kidnappings seriously anymore, she certainly wasn’t about to falter here. “This isn’t a pleasure cruise. You’re a hostage.”

Peach looked at her watch idly. “I suppose I have an opening… But I really must be home by tomorrow.”

“Shouldn’t take long,” Roy grunted. “We’re low on guards with everyone visiting the tournament.”

With a sharp thwack, Wendy slapped her brother upside the head. “Don’t go telling her that, you moron!”

Peach closed her book gently. “Now Wendy, I believe we discussed this sort of behavior before. What did we agree on?”

Wendy blanched, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. “...if we’re upset with someone, use our words before our fists…”

“Exactly. Now, what do you say to Roy?”

“....It makes me mad when you tell the hostage about our personal life. The kingdom is supposed to be our place, so…” She waved a hand helplessly. “It just… feels less safe when you give away details.”

Resting her hands on her lap, Peach nodded pleasantly. “Roy, what do you think of that?”

Roy tilted his head, considering. “...doesn’t hurt my head when you hit me. Hurts heart.”

“It sounds like the two of you haven’t been keeping up with our exercises. Maybe we can work on that tonight, alright?”

The two Koopalings grumbled some vague affirmations, trying not to seem too enthused or too disgusted by the idea.

“Very good.” Peach rose to her feet, allowing her hands to be restrained by the sheepish children. “But let’s catch up on the way, hm? How is Iggy’s art coming along?”

An average day in the Mushroom Kingdom.

A rogue planet is defined as a free-floating interstellar body, not bound by any gravitational pull. Aether was among such planets and one of the few that could support life.

Since rogue planets are not bound to any star, maintaining warmth and heat on the planet was often a difficult exercise. This could be one of the main reasons the local Luminoth fixated so deeply on light within their spiritual practices. Luminoth legends state that they were “born of stars” and spent untold eons searching for a home planet to rest their wings. With its unusual internal light source, Aether provided an oasis to the travel-weary Luminoth.

After the Ing invasion, the Galactic Federation provided significant support to Aether’s reconstruction efforts. Federation politicians paraded along news networks, hammering home the importance of building new institutions and support structures for this struggling planet. It was hard not to wonder where such enthusiasm was during the Ing’s rampage against the Luminoth people. 

One shouldn’t be too harsh, however. The Federation support was crucial and intervening in a foreign conflict could hardly have gone well for any Federation soldier. The Luminoth never formally entered the Galactic Federation, but their appreciation was clear.

Even so, the Luminoth's loyalty and praise firstly went to their savior, Samus Aran.

The Trainer was forced to borrow one of Aran’s more casual outfits as they walked through the metal streets. A casual blue jacket draped over military fatigues and a white tank top. She observed in fascination as the moth-like beings parted ways for their glorious hero. Samus, hoping to keep a low profile, was presented in one of her more recognizable blue outfits. She awkwardly smiled and issued words of thanks to the various deferential locals. A group of little moth children scurried behind them with a gleeful, giggly chittering.

“Sorry about all the attention,” she apologized, ducking between a number of stalls in the market. She has assumed, sans power armor, they’d be able to navigate the planet with relative ease.

“You’re certainly popular everywhere you go.” The Trainer easily imitated the movement, edging her way between different marketplace buyers and sellers. 

The bounty hunter’s vague hum in response could not be heard over the sound of bartering and selling.

A Luminoth gestured to a variety of home-made cloaks and clothes that surrounded her stall. The outfits were primarily designed for winged creatures, but the stunning fabrics and designs made it tempting to purchase for one’s own use.

Samus found herself wondering if any of them would fit a Chozo.

She hurried Trainer along, even as her companion attempted to observe the cloaks a little longer.

The main priority of the trip, of course, was food. As an interstellar traveler across the stars, particularly one often short on cash, Samus maintained a personal log detailing the most ideal locations for sustenance. When you’ve been stranded on the surface of an abandoned planet enough times, you learn a lot about edibility, taste, and food safety. It wasn’t precisely the sort of thing to brag about, but Samus let herself indulge slightly to prep her guest for the upcoming meal.

It was only once the meals were placed before the two customers that Samus recognized how different her own tastes might be from the average layman. 

The Chozo encouraged efficiency in food consumption. While there was certainly a younger movement experimenting with different flavorings and spices, worms were hailed as an excellent source of nutrients. With all the variety of insects one could encounter in the universe, it was good to teach children to cook with the materials they could find.

With the unique light conditions on Aether, most of the food options in the anthropod regard burrowed underground. Closer to the light of Aether, they could warm and cool themselves as necessary in the dirt.

Thus, Samus originally thought nothing of ordering such a squirming delicacy. It was juicy, refreshing, and full of protein.

It was strange though. Samus had not been on a planet with an artificial heat source in quite some time. Not since before her trip to SR388, in any case. Not since taking that vaccine.

She felt... Cold. Colder than she had been since her last visit to Aether. She was sure of it. And with the cold came an odd... hunger.

Was this... normal? None of the Luminoths seemed particularly bothered, but this was the only environment they understood.

She looked warily at her companion.

The Trainer was already eating a particularly delicious jewel bug.

She hummed thoughtfully as she chewed. “Crunchy. Not too dry.”

In the examination room, Ganondorf’s leg was shaking impatiently.

Dr. Stewart took note of that.

After achieving greater renown as an F-Zero racer, Dr. Robert Stewart largely abandoned medical practice. He raced for honor, thrills, and in memory of his late father. While he still took on a few instances of medical work, racing had become a much larger aspect of his life.

He did, on occasion, work in a walk-in clinic. It provided a good opportunity to build the reputation of a local medical facility, as well as provide aid to people who might be lacking in efficient medical care.

He was displeased to be caring for someone who could afford his more expensive sessions.

The general check-up went about as he expected. The Gerudo Lord was in immaculate physical form. None of his senses had dulled. His weight and height were well within the proper parameters. His blood pressure… well, that was a complicated matter.

Nonetheless, the diagnosis to Dr. Stewart was obvious.

“Anxiety.” Ganondorf spat the word. “I think not.”

“Is that so?” The doctor barely glanced up from his paperwork. “Glad to hear your expertise outweighs mine.”

“I am a ruler to thousands. I am a king . Ingrained with the power to rule . A ruler does not feel anxiety .”

“That sounds like a lot of motive for anxiety.”

The king grumbled, rising to his feet. “This is ridiculous. I should have known coming to this paltry clinic would result in more pathetic, feel-goody drivel.”

“Then you should have checked in with the tournament physician.” Again, Dr. Stewart did not bother looking at his patient. “Which I presume you did not.”

Ganon sputtered. “I see no need to waste my time with-”

“Yes, yes.” Stewart rolled along the floor, turning towards his computer. He had data to submit. “You did not want embarrassing details placed in the hands of someone who could leak it. The shame would be immeasurable, I’m sure.”

His grimace devolved into a scowl.

“Is that a threat, doctor?”

He received a scoff. “Please. I have more important patients to consider. The risk of some petty retaliation would get in the way of their recovery.”

The remark was devastating. He would have preferred open blackmail. The idea that he wasn’t important enough to harass was worse for his ego. He brain spun around in a merry-go-round of rationalization and desperation. Seeking out something to justify a trip that seemed increasingly wasted for someone as important as himself.

“Suppose I believed your nonsense. What would you recommend then?”

“For most people? I would recommend a therapist. Perhaps a psychologist. Someone to talk things out over long stretches of time. Understand the whys and hows behind your mind. Provide them with the tools they need for everyday life.”

“And for myself?”

Dr. Stewart finally looked up. His eyes were the picture of annoyance. Pure, withering irritation displayed on every bit of peach fuzz.

“I would show you the door.”

His fist clenched. “I see. I suppose the presence of a Gerudo is too much for your precious practice to bear.”

“I have no problem treating Gerudo. I have a problem treating dictators .”

“Is that so?” He repeated the doctor’s tone, mockingly. “So fearful of staining yourself by association, are we?”

“Absolutely.” Stewart rotated his chair, facing Ganondorf properly. “I fail to see how therapy would improve a situation such as yours.”

“Implying?”

“It's rather simple.” He tilted out his hand, elegantly gesturing to an invisible point. “Suppose a criminal like Zoda or some monarch like King Garon of Nohr begins attending sessions. Suppose they learn to address some inner trauma. Suppose they learn to address some panic attacks or depression or something like that.”

The doctor leaned forward, pressing his hands together. “What do you suppose would happen then?”

Ganondorf crossed his arms. “I fail to see the point.”

“They would be healthier individuals. They would be happier individuals. They would live a longer life. And truth be told…” He straightened his collar. “If they keep their current occupations, I do not think these are individuals that should be that content.”

“Ah.” Ganondorf smirked. “Petty jealousy, then?”

“Is that what you think of all your enemies? Just jealous they aren’t in your position?”

“My position certainly sparks that sort of behavior.”

Stewart sighed, rising to his feet. “Then I stand by my observation. If you are going to continue to rule over people, with the intent to create conflict and inflict wars, I don’t believe therapy would do the world any good. In fact, it might make it easier to justify your crimes to yourself. From my position, anyone who commands others deserves a little anxiety if they’re going to continue down a terrible path.”

That little voice of power had never felt this way. It had entered this meeting railing against the mere idea of showing weakness to some nampy-pampy healer.

Now that healer was telling him he wasn’t even worth healing.

Stewart opened the examination room door, eager to put the patient out of mind. Ganondorf desperately sought for any kind of snapback. Something to get the final word. Something to maintain a sense of superiority.

“You’re satisfied then? The renowned doctor abandoning a patient?”

The doctor waved a hand idly. “Fix your heart or live in misery. That’s my advice.”

And the door slammed shut.

Something was off the second the Trainer stepped out onto the next planet. 

She gazed along the purple sands, trying to place what was unusual. Not a tree nor blade of grass was in sight. No alien creature, no familiar face. Only different hues of purple and blue reflected back at her.

“Did you notice it?” Even Samus’ voice sounded odd. It reverberated oddly in the air.

The Trainer furrowed her brow. So there was something different. But what?

Kneeling down, she scooped a hand into the dirt. She bundled it all into a make-shift rock, testing out its girth.

And then she tossed it out onto the world.

The dirt pile unceremoniously dropped into the ground without a sound.

It was off. It was strange. It was…

“Silent.” She looked around the world. “The whole world… there’s no noise.”

Samus smiled. “That’s right. Welcome to Silence. The only thing that seems to make noise here is visitors. And even then, no echo.”

Trainer stomped on the ground experimentally. Not a single crunch of dirt. “It’s… a little disconcerting.”

She laughed. “Most people feel that way. The F-Zero League set up a racetrack on the other side. They usually set up an artificial hum every now and then, to keep people from going nuts.”

She jutted out a thumb. “But if you get there at the right time, there’s a gorgeous view of parts of Boulder Bowl Galaxy.”

“Boulder Bowl?”

“It's covered in these… rolling balls. Too dangerous to approach up close, but from a distance… it's something special.”

The bounty hunter began her walk towards a distant plain. The Trainer followed, still experimenting with the ground here and there.

“Even my training room wasn’t this quiet.”

“Back on Wuhu?”

“Yes. It had a tranquility to it. This is similar. But different.”

“Different bad or different good?”

“...hard to say.” Perhaps without thinking, the Trainer reached out towards Samus Aran’s hand.

“Well, if there’s a place you need to think or time alone… it's the place to do it.” Aran accepted the hand. Her thumb lightly rubbed along the back of Trainer’s hand.

It was around here that the ship’s AI could no longer definitively track the words of the two women. Everything else was too muffled or obfuscated to make out.

The ship’s cameras watched as Samus and Trainer walked out towards the horizon. After ten minutes, the little dots sat down, placing themselves out of sight.

They remained out of sight for approximately an hour.

Scholars have no way of knowing exactly what ensued between those two women, sitting on that planet. The ship’s AI had no method of recording the data for later records. No audio logs, no memoirs, no letters refer to that moment on the planet.

Nonetheless, in personal letters, both the Trainer or Samus Aran would cite “the trip to Silence” as a trip they still reflected upon.

Maybe nothing happened. Maybe they merely sat in silence, on Silence, sharing each other’s company. But the beauty of such companionship was enough.

But maybe everything happened. Maybe they bared their souls to each other, revealing personal feelings and pains and agonies and strife.

Maybe it was a mixture of both.

I certainly possess my own theories of this moment. Other scholars do as well.

But it was not a moment for us to see. It was their personal moment in the cosmos. For once, no matter how desperately we wish to know more, history can never intrude into their privacy.

The two returned to the gunship in high spirits.

There’s an idea in psychology known as “schema.” There are certain broad, general ideas that each conscious mind holds onto. When we absorb new information, our brains react in two ways:

1. Assimilation - in which new ideas are incorporated into our existing schema
2. Accommodation - in which new ideas are so jarring, our brains must create new schema and ways of thinking to consciously absorb this information.

Both Ganondorf and the Trainer had subjected themselves to significant instances of accommodation within the tournament. In particular, Ganondorf would return to his hotel room wrestling over various actions committed across various timelines. He wrestled with how his behavior was or was not successful in maintaining some measure of peace for the Gerudo. He wrestled with how this was one of the first times he actually bothered to care about the Gerudo.

The Trainer’s own efforts at accommodation were far more elaborate. The sheer scale of information she had to absorb and understand within every single day boggled the senses. Yet despite her confusion, she remained confident and assured that she was progressing at a suitable pace.

Tomorrow, during what should have been a simple observation of Isabelle’s political dealings, the Trainer would have to accommodate her understanding of the world with the idea that someone could be a threat to her safety.

But tomorrow was another matter. Today, while the Trainer and Samus enjoyed their trip into the wider galaxies, while Peach organized more group discussions among the Koopalings, and while Ganondorf managed medical advice, several investigative officers began their interrogations of several tournament fighters. Captain Onishima and Officer Susie Haltmann of the Toadstool Tournament Task Force were particularly skilled at assimilating new information into a general distaste for everyone they came across.

And they certainly possessed the ability to act on that distaste. 

Chapter Text

The Mushroom Kingdom had never possessed a police force.

It had guards, although the position was more ceremonial than anything. It had dedicated social services, which generally filled out the needs of most emergency services. Proper damage or private security had never become a significant concern among the public, instead benefiting the robust construction industry. Overall, a police squadron had never been necessary to the kingdom’s culture.

Princess Peach initially held little to no opinion on the subject of policing. She enjoyed a few detective shows exported from America and Tokyo-to. She indulged in a few fangirl-esque binging sprees. She had grown so passionate about some of these mystery shows, she had dressed as Herlock Sholmes for one of the kingdom’s yearly costumed holidays. Still, when it came to enacting actual policy work, Peach was much more reticent. She was intrigued, but she wanted to ensure she fully understood the actual services of such an institution before she formed something definitive. 

After her trip to Isle Defino, and witnessing Mario’s subsequent false imprisonment, Peach’s opinion of an established police force was promptly torpedoed into the ocean. No police force would ever be allowed within her government, ever.

Nonetheless, this presented a distinct problem for visiting nations. Whatever Peach’s explanations, the other countries could not abide this lack of centralized security force. Diplomats feared for their safety with the influx of tourists and attention. And the Toads, admittedly, had a limited track record of success. 

As such, the princess was forced to acquiesce to the presence of an international investigative and disciplinary unit whenever dignitaries were concerned.

Enter the Toadstool Tournament Task Force.

Despite the title, Peach herself possessed little to no authority over the unit. While she did possess the power to dismantle the task force at any time, the risk of upsetting her diplomatic allies was too great to truly enforce such authority. And while she would not admit it publicly, the threat of heavily armed officers learning they no longer had a job made her more personally reluctant to disband the force.

Besides, when they were only present in her country once a tournament, maybe she would be lucky enough that they would never be necessary for anything beyond breaking up off-arena squabbles.

In the city of Tokyo-to, Captain Onishima was placed on suspension with unpaid leave.

He could have tolerated the suspension if it was attached with a paycheck. He could rationalize the act readily under those conditions. Unpaid was different. Unpaid meant he lacked the support of his superiors. Unpaid meant the public had exerted enough pressure to weaken even the great Tokyo-to Police. Unpaid meant people thought he did something wrong .

Honestly, you open fire on rollerbladers a couple dozen times, and people got all sensitive .

Under significant questioning, Onishima might reluctantly admit, bringing in the tank was a slight overkill. The damage to city streets had placed significant strain on the city’s construction budget. But when kids got away with putting graffiti everywhere, weren’t the streets ruined already? When you thought about it, he was doing a service knocking down walls early.

Personally, he blamed DJ Professor K. If kids today weren’t tuning into such drivel, they might be respectable members of society. If the media wasn’t cracking down on good honest cops like himself, they could get real work done. No delinquents would pepper the streets. His wife wouldn’t have left with the kids. Everything would be perfect.

But the top brass was clear. The strain on the city budget was too much. And with the ongoing Phantom Thief crisis, they simply didn’t have time for another media circus.

Still, the Superintendent was sympathetic. Onishima was a good officer, he would argue. The world just couldn’t handle the force preventing delinquency required.

It was to that end that a summer position in the Toadstool Tournament Task Force was recommended to the Captain. 

While a role at the TTTF was a promotion for Onishima, it was a considerable demotion for Susie Haltmann. 

Not long ago, she could boast the full might of the Haltmann Works Company. Planets would bend and mechanize and relent beneath every bureaucratic stamp and printed ink. The universe belonged to her and the company, wrapped in beautiful lines of red tape.

But once a small pink puffball has destroyed your entire corporate structure, you learn to start shopping around for new options.

She had briefly hoped to gain a position within Dr. Robotnik’s organization, but the mad scientist had casually shredded her application without a second thought. The collapse of Shinra Inc presented a considerable obstacle on that front. And Umbrella Pharmaceuticals had become a political nightmare to navigate in recent years.

Thus, the Toadstool Task Force. It wasn’t her first, second, or eighth choice, but it allowed a certain mingling with the upper echelons of society. All she had to do was fail the IQ test. A score too high would risk getting a rejected application. Yes, under these parameters, it could be a suitable place to network for a few years.

Simon Belmont’s hotel room was largely sparse. The man possessed little in the way of material wants or vices. He kept his weapons locked in the hotel safe, his chainmail carefully hung on a suitably sturdy coat hanger, and the complimentary Wi-Fi had never been touched.

“What a dull man.” Susie floated from room to room, derisively looking down at the room. She had already noted a negative first impression of Belmont in her report, but she felt the need to verbalize her superiority whenever possible. “What sort of dolt lives to see his far future and never explores the possibilities around him?”

Onishima grunted vaguely, feeling around the bottom of the room’s desk. He’d recently watched a tenuously reliable documentary on how drug dealers drilled holes into wooden furniture to stash their wares in wooden furniture. Ever since, fantasies of breaking open a table and revealing a mountain of hidden opioids had danced through his mind.

The former Haltmann heir imperiously gazed at a small portrait on the wall. A standard landscape painting, a depiction of a bright sunflower field, sun smiling down on the colorful plain.

“That’s what Belmont is. A hotel room painting.” She nodded with self-satisfaction. “He’s no Da Vinci. Certainly no Michelangelo. He doesn’t inspire. He doesn’t move people.” 

Her hand idly reached up to straighten her hairband. She felt between the edges of the golden H-shaped piece, privately marveling in its perfect, efficient pattern. A piece of her own perfection. Her own genius. Her own legacy. “He just covers up dirty wallpaper.”

There was a sharp cracking sound from just outside Susie’s field of vision.

The cost of replacing a broken desk: $268, American currency.

The Inkling’s room was considerably more informative. Empty plastic snack bags and abandoned soda cans peppered the carpeted floors. A mercifully empty dish from room service sat precariously on the bed’s edge. The Inkling had placed a large idol poster into the standard painting frame above her bed, apparently unable to tolerate the mediocrity for a minute. 

But most beneficial was the mobile data. The Inkling, Susie was pleased to discover, had taken approximately zero precautions in her phone security. With a quick warrant, the entire data history was within the TTTF’s hands. 

“Not a lot of visits to the city…” Susie perched herself on the room’s couch, flicking through charts and graphs and data on her tablet. “Brief visit to the docks a few days ago, but she dropped off the radar after that… Frequent visits to room 1411. That’s Solid Snake’s room. Why would those two have a connection..?” 

Onishima’s muscles were tense. Each step within this pathetic little space filled him with another jolt of anxiety and frustration.

“Little delinquent was probably looking to steal something. That’s what they do.” He kicked a stray candy wrapper into the wall. “They’re parasites. Worms festering off- off of our hard work. Our sacrifices.”

If Susie possessed an eyebrow, she might raise it slightly. Onishima’s frantic pace was only getting more pronounced the longer they spent within the presence of a teenager’s living space. He reached into his pocket, quickly swigging down the contents of his flask.

“I-I mean…” He gestured to the room pointedly. “H-how can you negotiate with this? They won’t work, they won’t obey. All they want is to-to tear down what we’ve built! Leaving us to clean up the mess. It was perfect before. People knew how to behave.”

He picked up the abandoned dinner plate, holding it like some kind of shield against the dangerous onslaught of the youths today. “We should be rounding up every single one of these gremlins and just…”

His hands trembled, face gleeful at all the imagery it could manifest within his peanut sized brain. Without the words to properly describe such beautiful sights, he decided a physical example would have to suffice.

With a quick, violent motion, he threw the plate against the wall. It shattered into pieces, collapsing onto the scattered clothes and gift shop merchandise.

Onishima breathed and heaved and grinned his awful grin, still lost in the reverie of everything he wanted to unleash.

Susie allowed him a minute to recover.

“Perhaps we should get moving.”

The cost of a broken plate: $15 for a full pack. American currency. Toadstool Tournament Task Force cited that the plate was broken on arrival. The Inkling was to be fined for the cost of replacement. Item of concern removed from TTTF reimbursement report.

If Simon’s room was sparse, Snake’s room was a wasteland. Not a single trace of clothing, travel gifts, or personal items sat on the desks, couches, or end tables.

“Someone who actually uses the housekeeping.” Susie was pleased. “Finally, someone with healthy habits.”

Onishima scratched a grizzled face, wandering around the room. “You smell that?”

“I had that burden removed. You savages are filthy enough without taking the stench into account.”

His hand automatically drifted towards his pistol, caressing the grooves with an alarming level of intimacy. It was personal, not the licensed firearm that was standard among officers.

“If you weren’t enjoying irony tower, you’d be doing real police work.” He flashed a thumb to the ceiling. “Smells like cigarettes in here.”

“You could be smelling yourself.”

His permanent stubbled chin dropped to expose the sharp sheen of his sneering teeth. “Snake smokes. Boxes of ‘em, I bet. But there’s no pack anywhere.”

It was an observation Susie reluctantly had to grant. None of her evidence indicated Snake had ever been a hygienic man. In fact, she was inclined to assume the opposite. The clean image this room presented clashed with this analysis.

“What does that mean for us, then?”

Onishima glared around at the room once more. And with a quick movement, he pulled out his pistol and fired upon the small fire alarm on the ceiling. It dropped to the floor, cracking open to reveal its internal organs.

If the meticulously cut wires weren’t enough evidence, the lack of wailing alarm bells from the hotel exposed just how deliberately Snake had interfered with the room’s security system.

“Someone’s cleaned house.”

The cost of the shattered fire alarm: $156. American currency. Toadstool Tournament Task Force cited Snake as the perpetrator of the damage. Snake was to be fined the replacement costs. Item of concern removed from TTTF reimbursement report.

Susie and Onishima were not an ideal partnership for casual acquaintances, much less an investigative team. As such, when it came to the more delicate personal interviews, Inspector Cabanela was often assigned to intercede.

Detailing the appearance and personality of Cabanela required a certain imagination. Any trait, visual or otherwise, that one could be ascribed to the man often paled before the physical product. Dressed in his pure white coat, red scarf dangling in the wind, the inspector moonwalked across crime scenes and sang his way through the deductive process. Formally hired as a supervisor and informally hired as a mediator, the flamboyant dancer possessed several skills that his compatriots lacked. His ease in conversation allowed witnesses to relax and provide more concrete details. Onishima and Susie, no conversational savants, could absorb the facts of the interrogation without spiraling into their more argumentative instincts.

To say Onishima and Susie appreciated this intervening party would be a disingenuous interpretation of events. The inspector’s presence did little to prevent their tendency towards condescending bias. But it was a noble attempt on Cabanela’s part.

In each interview, Cabanela found a specific perch to converse with the witness in question. For the docks, he found an appropriately delightful chair to sit in backwards, not unlike a youth pastor attempting to appear relatable.

Ike of the Greil Mercenaries did his best to maintain composure in front of such a sight. He was here to fish. He was going to fish.

“Mr Belmont…” He cast out the line, watching the hook plop into the water. “Yes, I believe he and Inkling shared an acquaintance. At Club 64, they shared a table together.”

“Faaaaaaaaascinating.” Cabanela drew out his words into a pleasant drawl. That certainly lined up with the mobile data. “And Mr. Snake, he was at this table too?”

“No, he wasn’t there that night. I wasn’t aware they shared any kinship.”

“Hm. You wouldn’t think so.” He drummed his fingers on the chair. “Anyone else?”

“Oh, I suppose I saw Isabelle enjoy their company as well. But that was before her campaign work with Ganondorf began.”

“Isabelle, you say…?”

During this discussion with Ike, Inspector Cabanela comforted himself with the belief that Susie and Onishima were investigating any missing boats or vessels from the shipyard. Even if they didn’t turn up anything, it would be good to cross off any risk of overseas escape. And even better, it would keep them from doing anything particularly violent outside of his supervision.

If his officers had investigated that lead, it was doubtful they would discover much. The US government had already flexed its considerable influence to erase any record of Kapp'n's vanishing act. An investigator like Cabanela might have double checked such records, but that was an effort the two TTTF agents couldn't be bothered with.

The duo was largely preoccupied with interrogating another young man at the docks.

Joker was offered no time to prepare when his chair was tugged out from under him. He crumpled to the wooden planks, his fishing line dropped into the murky depths below the docks. As he turned up to scowl at his attackers, Onishima’s foot quickly made a point of stomping on the teen’s chest.

“Well, well, well, look what I’ve caught?” The growl in his voice vibrated with malicious glee.

“It seems to be some sort of loose weed. It should have been torn out a few gardens ago.” Susie tutted. “These sorts of things do have a habit of springing up in the most awful places.”

Joker’s heart raced faster than it had in any of his own matches. He forced on the mask of confidence and apathy. “If you’re looking for a good bouquet, I’m a wizard with color coordination.”

Another swift kick from Onishima knocked the wind out of Joker’s chest. “Smart ass, aren’t ya? Big shot Phantom Thief, feeling all invincible.”

“You know Onishima, I thought I noticed him holding some kind of weapon.” Her tone was cruel in its faux-innocence. “It must be how the Thieves brainwash people.”

“You know Susie, ya must be right.” Each word dripped with smugness.

“Always wanted to say I have diplomatic immunity.” Joker’s words maintained its playfulness, even as his heart betrayed his fear. “I have diplomatic immunity.”

Never one to avoid escalation, Onishima advanced to the reasonable step of pulling out his gun.

“Ya immune from this?”

Joker wondered if someone had cast bufula on him. It would explain the icy terror that echoed through his veins.

“Oh, don’t worry, he already fired…” Susie took a quick tally on her fingers. “No, I suppose he does have some bullets left. Surprising restraint today. Until now, anyway.”

Onishima grabbed Joker’s collar, tugging him close. Spit splashed onto Joker’s cheek, as each frantic, furious hiss spat onto his ear. “It was you, wasn’t it? The reason my bosses put me on leave. They wouldn’t betray me without someone pulling their strings.”

“It would be a shame to lose such a bright mind.” Susie leaned on her compatriot casually. “All we want to know is how the Phantom Thieves do it. Making people confess to their crimes would be better in police hands, don’t you think? It’d certainly be easier on yourself.”

Joker had been through this sort of interrogation before. He knew the pattern. No matter what answer, no matter how he explained the power to jump into one’s mind, how he explained that one couldn’t actually control anyone in such a real fashion… it fell on deaf ears. These sorts of people just wanted to watch him flop around in a panic.

He could certainly provide that.

With a quick spit in the agent’s eyes, Joker kicked off from Onishima’s grasp, diving into the watery underbelly of the docks. The cop fired blindly into the air as water splashed up at their feet.

But hidden below the wooden walkways, Joker was already swimming far, far away from this particular threat of danger.

Onishima and Susie were forced to fruitlessly curse to themselves until Cabanela returned.

The cost of replacing a high-end fishing rod: 10,000 yen, Tokyo-to currency. Joker’s complaint to the department went unanswered. Item of concern never entered in the reimbursement report.

The other interviews were significantly more peaceful. 

“Now, daaaaaaaarling, I gotta know what’s in this dish.” Cabanela had slurped up his plate of noodles with a profound gusto. Onishima’s usual bluster failed in the face of such a sturdy meal. Even Susie, who held a negative opinion on taste, couldn’t help but admire the craft.

Min Min grinned at Cabanela, wagging a finger. “Nuh uh uh. It's a chef’s specialty to keep some part of the process secret.”

“Ack, you’re killing me! You’re killing me!” He dramatically slumped back into his chair, hand on his chest, reveling in Min Min’s giggling. “Who else has had this- I would be bragging about my cooking skills 24/7 if I had your talent.”

“Oh, I had a couple guests over the other night. Bayonetta, Mythra, Peach, Daisy, R-”

“Peach! You know, I’ve always hoped to get her autograph.” He tapped his notepad idly with a pen. “I heard she’s got a hell of a party trick.”

“The Castle thing?” Min Min laughed. “Yeah, that was weird. She knew instantly that there was an intruder on her estate.”

“Even by name?”

“Especially by name.”

“Some sort of spy network, then?” Susie interjected here, doubt encroaching in her tone.

“No way. She didn’t have any earpiece, any cell phone, nothing. She just… knew.”

Cabanela whistled, awe clear on his face. “Now that’s a skill I could use whenever I head out of town.”

“Tell me about it. I wouldn’t need to spend so much on a house sitter.”

“And who was it dancing their way into her place again?”

“Oh, uh, I think it was Ganondorf. Yeah, definitely Ganondorf.”

Fingers drummed on the table again. “Iiiiiiinteresting.”

“Belmont? We’re not familiar with the name.” Calyban’s tone was stern and resolute.

“Weeeeeeeeeeell, with the tourist photos we’ve acquired, he should’ve been in the same area as your Lord that night.” Cabanela’s smile was unrelenting.

“Do you have evidence of this? Or mere speculation?”

“I just think a small discussion with Ganondorf would be-”

“Not interested. We’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

Onishima’s fingers had tightened into a ball, squeezing his jacket. “Listen you uptight, weaselly-”

It's hardly worth repeating the conversation that followed. Needless to say, the investigators were quickly removed from the embassy premises.

Fine for hate speech: to be determined by a judge in a court of law: Minimum 100 rupees, Hylian currency.

“It's obvious.” Onishima waved a fork into the air. “That Gerudo thug was at the scene when Belmont vanished. He probably offed the guy. Case closed.”

The three had retreated for dinner at the Pasta Pit. Already full up on Min Min’s ramen, they had largely selected the non-pasta based offerings. Cabanela had selected a large salad. Onishima had gained a reasonable chicken platter. Susie had settled on the bread and only the bread.

“It's circumstantial, baby.” Cabanela twirled his scarf below the table. “All reliant on the account of a princess we haven’t talked to and testimony that isn’t eyewitness.”

“I ain’t talking to that grinch.” Onishima didn’t use the word grinch. “She’ll use any excuse she can get to dock our pay or send us packing.”

Peach didn’t actually control the paycheck situation, but that was hardly relevant to Onishima’s interpretation. He’d learned a lot from the school of I Knew A Guy Who Said So.

“You’re looking for the simplest routes, but you haven’t found the right bus. You gotta start changing stations, baby.”

“Eh?”

Cabanela leaned his head back to sing into the air. “Noooooo connections~ Nooooooo case~”

Susie gripped on Onishima’s arm, blocking another attempt to pull his firearm. “We have a connection. Isabelle.”

“The secretary? Pup’s the size of the enamel-glass lamp I have at home.”

“And she’s working for Ganondorf. She doesn’t need to kill Belmont herself. She can hire Ganondorf to do it.”

Cabanela waved a hand. “Hold on, hold on. Now you’re turning a diplomat into an assassin for hire? And what’s the beef the pup would have with Belmont?”

“Belmont is hardly worth killing over something personal. He’s no Picasso. No Van Gogh.” Susie had been so proud of the metaphor, she kept finding ways to repeat it.

Cabanela waved an elegant hand. “Weeeeeelllllll, he doesn’t strike me as a cubist or impressionist. Sofonisba Anguissola’s the kind of style he’d be rocking.”

“Ahem. Quite.” Susie straightened her hair band idly, before returning her hands to a composed position. It did well to hide the quick internet search she was employing on her smart watch. “But the point being, he was a fighter. Not a thinker.”

“Great way to think of a missing person, Susie baby. Relevance?”

“Easy.” Onishima munched down on his chicken. “The tournament.”

“The tournament?”

“Yeah. The pup and vampire hunter were up against each other next. Anyone can see he’d have creamed her.”

“Yes, that’s clear to us all.” Susie nodded. “And this is a small town woman on a national stage. She’d do anything to keep the kind of adulation she’d be getting. Losing now would ruin everything.”

“Once again, this is a missing persons case. Not homicide.”

“Won’t know till we interview the grinch.” He still didn’t say grinch, although he delighted in how appropriate the word was in this instance. “Let’s check that off before it gets dark.”

Cabanela sighed. He was outvoted here. “I s’pose there’s no harm. Let’s give her a visit.”

Beneath their table, beneath concrete flooring, Belmont’s body wasted away.

Cost of meal: 30 coins each, Mushroom currency.

“M-Missing?” Isabelle’s eyes had widened to the size of saucers, her hand covering her mouth in horror. “B-but that’s- I just saw Simon a few days ago!”

“It's alright, pup.” Cabanela kept his tone gentle and kind. “We’re still looking into things, but we’re just looking for any information you can give us.”

“O-of course! Anything I can do to help!”

Onishima and Susie were already angling to snoop, but that “permission” was enough for them to immediately remove themselves from Cabanela’s side to toss the hotel room properly. Isabelle barely had time to dash out of the Captain’s way before he muscled towards her closet.

“What can you tell us about the last time you saw Belmont?”

“Well… I was meeting with Mr. Snake and Miss Inkling. The four of us always try to meet up.”

“Ahh, so the four of you are friends?”

“Oh, yes!” She waggled her tail. “Best! They’re all so amazing and interesting!”

“I’m sure you’re as thick as thieves. Now, forgive me, but when I said they were missing, Belmont was the only one you reacted to. Is there some… bias there?”

“Huh?” Her brain took a second to catch up. “Oh. Oh! Right! I- well, I probably shouldn’t say…”

“Anything you might know could help.”

“Well, I can’t say specifics, but Mr. Snake took Miss Inkling on a boat tour.”

“An ocean trip on the waves, eh?” Cabanela tapped his chin with his pen. “And that’s why Miss Inkling missed her match.”

A notepad was thrown over Isabelle’s head as Susie upturned the bedsheets.

“Oh, please don’t tell anyone. She said disappearing would make a real scandal. It's part of our competition.”

“Competition?”

The dog’s head jingled with enthusiasm. “That’s right! We’re gonna see who gets more people talking about them before the end of the tournament. Her disappearance versus my campaign work!”

“An old fashioned popularity contest.” That certainly filled a few dots for his benefit. “But Snake and Belmont, they aren’t playing?”

“Oh no. Mr. Snake had business obligations, and…” Isabelle’s smile dropped, eyes fluttering a little. “Mr. Belmont… he wasn’t supposed to leave town at all. I-I don’t understand why he’s just gone…”

“We’ll find him soon enough, pup, don’t fret.” Cabanela spun his scarf again, thoughts and fabric twirling in the wind. “Did this business of Snake and Belmont have anything to do with Peach Castle?”

“Peach Castle? N-no, I can’t think of anything… Why?”

Cabanela’s mouth opened, only to be cut off by the sharp slam on the wall. Onishima peered down at the shih tzu, grinning malevolently.

“What was that you said just now? ‘Bout some kind of attention contest?”

Isabelle blinked, nervously glancing over at Cabanela. “S-something like that, yeah…”

“Well…” He opened up his hands to reveal a small, white and red object. He dangled it with a delirious, purposeful malice.

The bloodstained handkerchief hung in the air before Isabelle’s trembling eyes.

“How’s this for publicity?”

Soaked to the bone, Joker’s first step after escaping the docks was to buy a bag of rice and a towel.

After dropping his phone into the grainy pack, he set about returning to his hotel room. Negotiations with the taxi driver significantly benefited from the towel covering up the back seats.

After cleaning himself off, Joker retrieved his phone, checking any particular water damage. Satisfied, he began making his calls.

“Yo, Falcon.” He fell back into his bed, dragging a hand through his black locks. “Know any good lawyers in town?”

Ganondorf, Gerudo Lord, shoved a pile of gold into the hands of the Toad manager. Tugging his cloak behind him, he quickly grasped onto his key and vanished into the inner workings of the hotel.

There were too many eyes at the Gerudo Embassy. Too much whispering about his behavior before the Town Hall.

Too many signs of just how far he had fallen.

Calyban, his dedicated loyal soldier, unwavering in the totality of her belief in the Great King, observed from the street with a quiet stoicism.

Something broke, internally.

By the final police report, the budget for this single day of investigation was approximately $2,216, American currency. This included officer pay, damages accrued in the line of duty, meal expenses, and so on. It did not include the cost of detaining a suspect in a cell for the night or the vehicle collisions committed by Onishima, post-ingesting some wine with his dinner.

It also did not include the emotional cost inflicted upon Isabelle.

It also did not include how Isabelle’s inability to guide the Trainer through tomorrow’s corporate dealings resulted in such specific power shifts in both the Mushroom Kingdom and Isabelle’s own village.

Chapter Text

The Trainer was alone.

She had followed Isabelle’s directions to the letter. She had arrived in the large, corporate building, with the exact numbers on the side. There were a number of floors and rooms they were supposed to visit today, but Trainer had triple checked to ensure she had arrived at the correct one. Within the small lobby, Trainer placed herself onto one of the plain, gray couches. She perused one of the old business magazines on the table. She weathered the withering glances of the secretary. She drummed her fingers on the arm rest. 

She had really hoped Isabelle would be here. It was hard to learn how to be a proper mascot without some kind of example to strive towards. It was unusual for Isabelle to be late for anything, much less something on her own schedule. 

“Party of Isabelle?” The Trainer glanced up to see a young office worker standing before her. “The director will see you now.”

The Trainer considered one of the more recent local phrases she had observed since her arrival in the Mushroom Kingdom. “The situation was going to get a lot harder before it got better.”

A particularly relevant terminology when entering a Minch Incorporated enterprise.

Isabelle’s razor-sharp mind was a fact that required very little work to confirm.

Administration was her fourth favorite sport, only superseded by management, governance, and cricket. Drawing up bills and amendments was as natural as breathing. Political campaigns were how she sought out a challenge to stretch her mental muscles. She benefited from bureaucratic brilliance. She possessed a certain perspicacious prowess. She showed off her sharp secretarial skill set from second to second.

However, there were several gaping, glaring holes in her knowledge.

This wasn’t a terrible knock against her personality in ways it might reflect in other individuals. She had done well in political science and administration classes in her college days. Teachers adored her. Her papers elevated student work across the universe. Her capabilities had been proven time and time again.

The issue was the application of her own knowledge.

Take, for example, the subject of material conditions. Every Saturday, from 8:43 to 8:54, in between her daily review of the town’s budget and her regular morning stretch, she regularly updated a personal spreadsheet on business trades. It started as a worksheet for her required economics class. Now, it was an elaborate hobby. Ten years of stocks, bonds, industry deals, turnip prices, goods, services, all color-coordinated and designed with automatic updates in mind.

The simplest way to outline her data would be to distinguish each country’s imports and exports.

First, the Mushroom Kingdom. In terms of exports, the kingdom was an agricultural powerhouse. Grains, flowers, cottons, and the obvious catalog of mushrooms. These items placed the kingdom as a major industrial enterprise, a valued entity across the entire extended universe. In terms of imports, the kingdom requested shockingly little. When it came to trade, you were always assured a positive deal. The kingdom demanded very little in coin. They primarily asked for friendship and camaraderie.

Then there was the Galactic Federation. The Feddies were heavily focused on the import of goods. Every planet within the collective was required to send a percentage of goods through Federation channels. Carefully managed and carefully distributed, access of goods was under strict control. Very little was traded to other empires. 

Hyrule contrasted these other governments by a strictly maintained balance. Minerals, metals, and magic were exported. Spices and technology were imported. While some might dismiss the country’s seeming technological stasis, the Hylian government believed it was important to filter new advances carefully, to maintain local culture. Fodlan and Ylisse followed similar customs, and trade between them was relatively frequent.

And finally, the smaller territories. Humble locales like Isabelle’s own Village. Self-sustaining, self-governed. Occasional imports, but nothing consistent. A simple but pleasant status quo.

Isabelle’s catalog of information was rivaled only by major intelligence agencies. She could chart who owned what, who needed what, and all the different purposes and vacancies in public need. She regularly messaged different embassies to provide them with warnings of potential shortages or overstock. She built different prediction charts for any theoretical health crisis and presented action plans wherever she felt necessary. Isabelle firmly believed in her duty and responsibility as a government worker.

And thus, there was Isabelle’s core knowledge gap.

When Isabelle looked at her detailed charts and graphs, the exchange of goods only reflected a natural path of exchange. She viewed these business transactions as immutable facets of the universe, predestined conclusions. How resources were hoarded, the intent behind the control of resources, and how resources were blocked from so-called undesirables… all these concepts barely left a blip in Isabelle’s brain.

If one were to examine Isabelle’s spreadsheets with this thought in mind, more sinister behaviors would become clear. 

The Federation’s monopoly and control on public welfare was self-evident. No one inside the Federation could attain easy access to supplies and no one outside were allowed to benefit from the services of those supplies without forms signed in triplicate. 

The Mushroom Kingdom may have been well-intentioned with its earnest trade efforts. Yet unspoken tensions emerged in trade efforts. The nation unintentionally lorded its agricultural superiority upon other nations, leaving countries fuming that such simple farm folk left them in such a position. When the Toadstool government was in a rare position to deny a request, it was taken as a personal insult. The MK was thusly placed in a particular position of supreme power and supreme vulnerability. Adoration and resentment combined, not aided by the Kingdom’s broader habit towards assimilation above all else.

Hyrule was a particular beast. In theory, it possessed every piece of its resources that it claimed. Yet, ownership was in something of an internal dispute. Many Hylians held strong views of the exact regions that fell under the purview of the Hylian government. This often included areas such as Death Mountain, Kokiri Forest, Gerudo Valley, or the Zora Domain. On one hand, Gerudo and Zora alike voiced a few concerns about this particular interpretation of land ownership. On the other hand, experts such as Hylian press, Hylian royalists, Hylian academics, and Hylian knights with Hylian weapons made very convincing arguments to the contrary. When a disagreement held so many sticks with sharp pointy bits, it was difficult to say who was right and wrong. 

Every ounce of Isabelle’s carefully considered brain simply could not fully grasp the subject of power or its relationship to corruption.

She broadly grasped, in theory, that lawmakers could weaponize policy or that the government could intentionally harm people. But she couldn’t comprehend how it occurred. On brief moments where she would consider the idea, she managed to rationalize it as the act of a single bad actor. It would be easy enough to remove such a dangerous outsider from power, if there were enough protections in place. 

“After all,” she would say with a giggle. “An elected representative would never commit a crime.”

This tied into her other considerable failing. Her town, her precious village, did not possess a police system as the rest of the world might understand it. The police managed the border and controlled the lost and found. Nothing more, nothing less. There had never been any serious crime in her village, so no greater police authority was ever needed.

She had no experience to prepare herself for something like the Toadstool Tournament Task Force.

Isabelle had barely gotten any sleep in the Task Force cells the night before. She had only gotten any rest at all thanks to Inspector Cabanela’s insistence. And a lumpy mattress did not make for the ideal cure to anxiety.

The Inspector himself wasn’t as present as she wanted him to be. The interrogation room was firmly the territory of Onishima and Susie.

The interrogation room was dark, a single light hanging over her head. The metal table was grimy, covered in fingerprints. Her tiny paws had been cuffed and chained to a grate on the floor. She could no longer tell if the shivering was from fear or from the cold.

This was not the kind of story Isabelle was meant to be in.

The questions didn’t make any sense to the bureaucrat. Questions about vendettas. Questions about how long she hated Simon Belmont, where she disposed of the body, when she had killed Inkling or Snake as well. No matter what answer she gave, it wasn’t the answer they wanted. Hour after hour, question after question, each more skewed and pointed than the last.

But the thing that alarmed Isabelle the most was how her own recollections of events were starting to fade.

Her pride and joy, her complete mastery of scheduling and timing, was becoming muddled and confused. She had been so certain she hadn’t seen Simon since the last meeting with Snake. But now, after enough pestering from the officers, she began to wonder if maybe she had seen her friend at the tournament after all. But as soon as she voiced this, tourist photos across the city with Belmont were dropped on the table.

“Gotcha!” Onishima crowed. The discrepancy became the next topic of interest for who knows how long. Where would she see Belmont if he wasn’t at the tournament? Did she sneak out? Why would she do that? You can’t say you didn’t see him now. Why did you lie?

She was so… so tired.

The craving for sleep, somehow, brought her mind to television. Half-remembered TV shows bounced through her mind. Talk shows, romantic comedies, family dramas… Her speedy mind only really managed sleep when she had some soothing background noise to calm her down. A vague thing to concentrate on, a distraction from all the planning and organizing. The more brainless the better.

She wondered what they said on cop shows in situations like this. 

“...a-a phone call.” The statement came out like a gasp of realization. “I-I get to have a phone call!”

The officers grimaced. “I hardly think that’s necessary.” Susie’s cold voice couldn’t quite manage the dulcet comfort of Cabanela. “We’re having such a productive conversation as we are.”

“N-No, I… I need to use my call.” She nodded vigorously. “Right now.”

“It's so good to meet you properly, Ms. Traynor.”

The Trainer shook the businessman’s hand, trying to gauge the man’s demeanor. His office was covered in bright oboes, trumpets, and saxophones. His shiny nameplate was labeled “Fassad Yokuba.”

“You’ve met with our Chief Executive Officer, Pokey.” The man’s grin seemed natural. He seemed benevolent. “Our Happy Boxes have really excelled in profits thanks to your sponsorship.”

Ah, she remembered those things. She hadn’t thought much of the little devices. She had determined they weren’t televisions or a similar sort of black mirror. They never displayed anything, as far as her own tests could tell. They just… sat there.

“Are you speaking on behalf of Isabelle and the Mayor, then?”

The Trainer nodded vaguely. Perhaps this was Isabelle’s intention. To give her training for proper public performance.

“Then this will go smoothly.” Fassad’s grin seemed to grow by the second. “She initially seemed against beginning a partnership, but she must have changed her mind if she’s relying on you.”

That logic made… a certain amount of sense. She nodded again, doing her best to follow the conversation.

“In that case, we can finish up quickly. If you’d just sign here, we’ll begin an exclusivity deal with that little village. Happy Boxes will be furnished to every house of the town.”

A Happy Box, in every house?

Well, if it made people happy…

Isabelle stared at the phone with an empty stare. They had moved her to a public area, between the various offices and desks of the TTTF building.

She wasn’t sure who to call.

The Mayor might make the most professional sense. There were so many responsibilities she was leaving in his hands. But the Mayor’s skill was interpersonal. He was friends with every neighbor, helping out every problem that presented itself. He was the one who could get support for projects. Support to keep improving their village. She wasn’t sure how useful he could be right now.

Maybe the tournament heads were the ones to rely on. That made logical sense. Princess Peach told everyone that they should contact her immediately if they had any concerns. But maybe she was just being polite. And while she would never want to think negative of the princess, the Task Force was listed in her name…

Instead, Isabelle could only think of the emotional choice.

“T-that’s inconceivable!” A fiery rage had consumed Mr. Nook’s gentle voice. “Th-they can’t treat you like this!”

Isabelle was familiar with statements like this. Platitudes of how someone couldn’t be treated might be irritating for someone who had experienced enough hardship to know that this was how someone could be treated. Even someone more experienced with city corruption like Mr. Nook couldn’t help but fall into such a general statement. 

But for the moment, Isabelle only felt relief that someone was confused as herself. “I-I-I don’t know what to do, Mr. Nook. N-nothing they’re saying makes any sense- I don’t know what to tell them…”

“That’s alright- it's okay. I’m going to get you through this.” Nook paced around his shop anxiously. He switched the call to speaker, opening up his internet function to track down arrest policies of the TTF. “Tell me- how long have you been there?”

“I-I’m not sure. They’ve been talking to me for a couple hours. I spent the night here.”

“Ah. Are they watching you right now?”

She glanced over. Desks away, Susie kept a stern watch over the dog, headset firmly attached to her head. Onishima, with his own headgear, was eating a large sandwich.

“Y-yeah.”

“Are they wearing headphones of some kind?”

“T-they are.”

“That means they’re listening to us.”

She could see a new grimace forming on their faces.

“Is this your first phone call?”

“I-its my only call.”

“Only- oh, Isabelle, that’s a myth.”

Direct anger overtook the officers’ expressions.

“H-huh?”

“You’re allowed as many phone calls as is reasonable to get assistance. And you’re supposed to have it within your first three hours of arrest.”

Onishima stood up, already advancing across the room.

“They’re going to claim that’s a lie, but I’m looking at the rights page on the Toadstool government website right now.”

“B-but that’s- why wouldn’t they say that?”

“Because they want a confession, no matter who they get it from.”

Onishima circled around the desk of Gillian Seed, red starting to spread across his face.

“Keep demanding calls until you’re certain you’ve got a lawyer on the way. Then don’t say another word.”

“I-I don’t know anyone in the kingdom.”

“Then use that to get as many calls as you can. Keep calling, keep getting anyone you can.”

“I-Is there anyone you can call?”

“I… Isabelle, that’s-”

“Oh!” The bureaucratic mind caught up. If he said that on call, they could cite that as proof she didn’t need to call anyone else. As long as he didn’t, the officers couldn’t count this call as a “reasonable” request for support. And if they were really recording this… “R-right! I-I’m officially putting it on court record that I’m the only person calling anyone and so I should be allowed more calls as is reasonable-”

The phone was pulled from her paw and slammed on the receiver. Onishima glared down, teeth sharp and predatory.

“Enough talk. Back to questions.”

Her whole body trembled in all-consuming terror.

But she kept her eyes centered and focused.

“No. Another call. N-Now.”

“I think you should know,” Apollo began tactfully. “The courts are pretty prickly about professional wear.”

The Wood Door Hotel wasn’t as expensive or illustrious as the Blitz Snarlton or the High-Ate Regency. But it was also affordable and secure. A celebrity of Falcon’s stature could converse in the dining area without major fear of publicity hounds.

Nonetheless, Falcon was noticeably dressed down. His helmet had been replaced with a baseball cap and sunglasses. His bright red hair clashed against the Birdo Beauties cap logo, but not enough to grab the attention of prying eyes.

Granted, passing eyes had much more interesting things to look at. In particular, Falcon’s dining companion.

The young Tokyo-to resident was dressed in a somewhat unique style. Each piece of the outfit, on its own, would be an understandable impulse purchase from a hotel gift shop. The Sonic the Hedgehog brand blue board shorts could be useful, despite the hotel’s lack of proximity to a local beach. The conch shell necklace rested on Joker’s neck naturally.

The addition of other items is where the problems of taste began to enter the picture. A bright yellow hoodie, plastered with the text “I <3 Mushroom Kingdom.” The hoodie was noticeably several sizes too small, leaving much of Joker’s arms and navel exposed to the wilderness. Pink flip-flops, with a little crab design barely visible against the green thong. And finally topping the entire ensemble: a trucker hat with the words “Big Sexy” sewn into the fabric.

“Whaddya mean?” Massive effort on Joker’s part was directed to appear genuinely confused.

“I mean, suits and button-up shirts.”

“I don’t like buttons.”

“You don’t like buttons.”

Falcon leaned forward, hand resting on his knee. “You can’t shame someone for an illogical fear. That’s like putting the whole world in a bottle, tinkering with them as your little toys to fix!”

“I wasn’t implying-”

“Point of order.” Joker raised a hand. “It's not an illogical fear. Buttons are scary. Nothing else to it.”

“My apologies.”

Apollo rubbed his forehead. He had to get back on track.

“Let’s… set aside the clothes. You should also know, before we go any further: my job is usually defense.”

This time, Joker had to mask his genuine confusion as complete understanding. “Of course.”

“You’re hiring me to prosecute the TTF. So it's important to me that we talk about how I would be approaching this.”

Joker glanced at Falcon briefly for a twinge of moral support. Suing the federal government was a lot funnier in his head before he had to think about the practical reality. “Alright.”

Apollo tapped a pen on the right side of his notepad. “My philosophy, approaching a case like this, would be reparations. These officers assaulted you and broke your fishing pole. Right away, that’s going to be tough to play in front of a judge. 

“But,” he punctuated his words here by tapping the left notepad side, “you’re a tournament competitor. We can levy that social cache to establish the clear intent and harm there. A TTF officer, an allegedly neutral party to protect tournament figures, assaulted a tournament figure. That would play great on the public and private stage.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure.”

“The problem is, from just how we’ve talked…” 

Apollo hesitated. He had to think about tact again. Every day, he had to think about tact again before he said something stupid.

“I can’t help but notice that you seem more invested in a political attack.”

Joker let his body puff up. Something genuine was bubbling to the surface. He could feel it spilling out of the eye sockets in the internal domino mask that protected him from retribution. “These people are monsters.”

“I agree.”

“They’re a tool of oppressive institutions. An extension of military power, only interested in protecting the status quo.”

“Absolutely.”

“Think about all the people they’ve assaulted that weren’t tournament fighters. If they can get away with that against me, they’re doing that shit to everyone .”

“Without question.”

Joker’s features were creased into a rare scowl. Apollo’s were relaxed and passive.

“Your tone sucks.”

“That’s-” Apollo jolted back to genuine conversation. “My tone sucks? ”

“Yeah. If you don’t care about this, just tell me rather than waste my time.”

“I’m- I’m agreeing with you.”

“It could use some passion!” Falcon waggled his finger in the air. “Your website promised passion!”

Spiteful quips were quickly squashed inside Apollo’s skull. He tossed his notepad to his side, a bit more forcefully than he had intended. Fingers tapped against the chair as he tried to keep his cool.

“My passion is helping a client. That’s my job. And sometimes, that means politics. But my primary, ethical duty is protecting my client.” He gestured to Joker. “You want to punish these officers to protect others. I like that. That’s what I’m passionate about. But I’m telling you right now, if you come into a courtroom spouting anarchist talking points, you’re going to get nothing.”

“They’re objectively correct facts about what these people are doing.”

“Of course they are! But that’s not the argument that’s gonna get you anywhere.”

“So, what?” Joker hand gesticulated at invisible points he could snatch out of the air. “I’m just supposed to cater to some crusty old man and not tell him that this entire system is a joke?”

Apollo pressed his hands on the table gently. “Believe it or not, people don’t take it well to hear their entire job might be evil.”

Joker’s ever-present wit failed him. He slumped back into his seat. “What are we talking about here?”

Apollo, calmed by Joker’s own lax posture, leaned back into his own chair. “I’m just laying out strategies. If you want to get reparations, we can do that. Nine times out of ten, the department will make a backroom deal and you’ll get paid. But that’ll still be public record. It’ll be in the news that this happened, if only for a short time. And if they don’t make a deal or we don’t like their deal, we go to trial and both sides of this get put through the public ringer.”

“Something I’m used to.”

“Focusing on reparation still gets you what you want. It makes a public point about the Task Force and it sets precedent for future cases against them.”

“But?”

Apollo sighed. “...But. If you’re going into this to make a political case first, to make fun of the judicial process and make an argument about why it sucks, which you’re allowed to do, you have to find someone else.”

“Because you just love that boot so much.”

A tongue click. “Because some of us can’t focus on making cases for future victims or future generations. Some of us have to focus on the present ones. I work for current clients. Not ideologies. That’s just how I work.”

“Even if they’re the correct ideologies?”

“Especially those ones.”

Joker rolled his emotions around in his mind a little.

Finally, he managed to retort with a snide: “You’re a buzzkill, man.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Any further discussion was interrupted by a large argument emerging from across the diner and in the main lobby.

Mr. Carpainter, broadly speaking, was in quite a bit of legal trouble.

When he founded the Church of Happy Happyism, success seemed to finally drop in his lap. Donations were plentiful. Followers were constantly increasing. His ex-wife was convinced to come back. These were the sorts of joys that could spread once someone embraced the color blue. If he could paint everything blue, then his life would just get better and better.

Then some plucky kids had exposed some “evidence” of “kidnapping.” And then his ex reported to the courts that his followers had “threatened” her to “return or else.” And further investigation revealed that his congregation may have “stalked” and “assaulted” individuals who refused to donate.

Was it a crime to have a passionate flock?

In Eagleland, yes.

Thus, he was forced to flee the country. Minch Incorporated provided some measure of support, but their funds were paltry compared to the lifestyle he was used to.

In his dingy motel room, Carpainter could only lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling. It was like the old days, before the Mani Mani Statue. He was lost, directionless. He used to find blue such a comforting color. It filled him with a sense of peace and tranquility. It would stare back into him and fill his soul with perfect, overwhelming hues. 

The TV blasted the latest tournament. The stupid quiet boy in a hat was there, baseball bat in hand, heart bursting with passion. The cult leader tossed a stale bagel at the screen, cursing under his breath. 

And then he saw it.

That new arena stage.

Her walls were bland, empty. Not a touch of color tainted its walls. It was a simplistic gym, but in its emptiness one could be soothed into an identity free of pain or sorrow.

And the woman. Just as pale as her room, hair just as gray. She was empty. She was blank.

She was beautiful.

She was Gray.

It was so clear now, his folly. Blue was not the answer. Gray was the answer. Painting the world in garish colors- that only brought suffering. But Gray was a blank slate. It was uniform. It erased all biases, all flaws. It was everything a society should be.

It didn’t take long for him to produce merch. Curiously enough, Ms. Traynor never seemed to copyright her image. But this was a sign, truly. A sign that she approved of the Message.

And it was here and now, in this quiet little office building, that Happy Happyism was restored. Sales were through the roof. His congregation was rebuilding. Bigger than before, better than before. Even Traynor fans who did not officially sign up had bought merchandise. Traynor plushes, Traynor face paint, Traynor posters, and beautiful, perfect, gray flags…

Religion was quite a profitable institution.

He still wasn’t technically “allowed” to “handle money,” but Carpainter had a series of valuable contacts to make life a little more comfortable.

Polishing his desk, Carpainter had almost missed a message from Fassad that there would be a guest in a few minutes. Another product manager, he assumed, another standard meeting.

He nearly had a heart attack seeing the Gray Saint walk into his office.

He was a bit too cloying, perhaps. A little too passionate. Traynor, in her infinite humility, pretended not to know about the merchandise or the Message. But he could tell she approved. How could she not?

“This message…” she asked, curiously. “It helps… spread peace? Encourages healthier living?”

“But of course!” His voice echoed a little. He had removed the carpets in favor of gray tiles, so sound tended to bounce a bit easier. “Happy Happyism, under its new form… its changed so many lives for the better.”

With a smile one could mistake for awkward or nervous, the Gray Saint reluctantly agreed to a few press photos. 

All in the name of being a better mascot.

Each fight for a phone call was worse than the last.

Onishima had threatened and yelled and hissed. No more phone calls, only answers.

For all her fear, Isabelle kept reiterating the same point over and over.

She was beginning to realize, however, exactly how the power dynamic played out in reality. She could cite every law, cite every societal right, cite every function. And Susie could just as easily bluster a reason why that law didn’t apply here, why she shouldn’t be so belligerent, why she should just cooperate.

If it weren’t for Cabanela, each request would probably have been summarily ignored. And she wondered if Cabanela would have even intervened if Onishima’s screaming didn’t carry across the entire floor. More than anything, the calls were something to let Onishima cool off.

The annoyance of a loud coworker took priority over her whimpering.

In the end, she managed to win several specific phone calls outside the TTTF building. She contacted the Mayor, and then argued that since there was no embassy for their village, this call did not fulfill a “reasonable” protection of her rights. She contacted the US embassy and dropped Snake’s name. The sudden cut of the line filled her with greater anxiety, but it made an even more convincing argument that reasonable protection still applied. She contacted the Mushroom government, and then argued that since she hadn’t actually talked to the Princess, the protection once again applied.

But truth be told, she was running out of ideas. She could filibuster all she wanted, but… this was not how she usually solved problems. Certainly, she made plans, she made calls, she organized relief efforts. It should be her skillset. But she was used to being the person someone might call for help. She wasn’t used to being in the position of asking others to save her.

There was one person left she could think to contact. And it was the call she dreaded the most.

Water splashed onto the Great King’s head. He sputtered awake, coughing away the onslaught of H2O. He spun around, glancing around for potential attackers.

He had forgotten his escape to the local hotel. Away from the embassy, away from prying eyes. In the land of slumber, there was no shame or disgrace to haunt the mind.

Shame and disgrace stared at the king from the end of the hotel’s premiere bedspread.

Calyban dropped the bucket to the ground.

The act was so startling, Ganondorf struggled to even comprehend the rebellious behavior and the perpetrator behind it.

“This… is tantamount to execution.”

“Please do.” Calyban’s tone was derisive and bitter, a tone never directed at Ganondorf before. “At least I would be killed by a king, instead of whimpered at by a coward.”

He launched himself off the bed, fingers crackling with anger. “You go too far, soldier. You are my loyal subject. And you are not behaving as such.”

“And you-” She dared to point a finger at his chest. “Are not behaving like a king. You gussy about in town halls! You cater to the whims of a Sheikah worm and a village mutt!”

“Don’t call her a-”

“You worry about language, you tremble in front of a crowd!” She hissed out these words. “These are not the actions of a noble Gerudo King! They are pathetic acts of a failure. ”

In a swift motion, he slammed the woman into the wall. Flames crackled from his fingertips, lightly burning the Gerudo’s neck.

And she grinned. Yes. This was the proper display of power she craved. The true might of the warlord returned. If she died here, it would at least be a death that would revive the king back into who he was supposed to be.

His hand closed slightly over her throat.

The image of being overtaken by flames on that street corner emerged in his mind once more.

Calyban dropped to the ground. The Great King stepped away, drifting towards the center of the living space.

She rubbed her neck, glaring at the retreating form.

“This… this dog has weakened you, my lord. You must see that.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It's… just politics. Nothing more.”

“It's not. It’s deeper than that. You would smite anyone who spoke to you the way those pathetic wastrels talked to you at that event. But you shook at the thought of it.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all.” She marched forward, forcing her way to Ganondorf’s front. Even now, he proved his cowardice by avoiding her eyes. “The Gerudo people cannot succeed under a weak-”

“Calyban.”

The name struck her core.

Never, in all her years of service, had he ever referred to her by name.

His gaze rose up and finally matched hers. “Can you truly say, under my rule, the Gerudo have become strong?”

Her mouth moved automatically, ingrained regiments and patterns repeating old creeds. “The Gerudo are the most powerful, esteemed nation in the entir-”

“Don’t give me the tired refrains.” He paced around her now, observing how immediately she returned to soldierly poise. “What exactly have we built? An army? That honor belongs to previous Generals.”

“But in your name-”

“And the people are leaving.” He waved a hand around, gesturing vaguely. “They see no way of survival among our lands. They escape our borders and come to kingdoms like this.”

“They are treasonous, lord. Cowards who-”

“People who I have pledged to protect.” His eyes were glinting, once again directly meeting his loyalist. “People who I promised glory and perfection. And what do they have instead?”

He sighed. His confidence was wavering again as he slouched down onto his bed.

“They have nothing. No support, no promise of a prosperous life. They just have me.”

Calyban sputtered, comprehension completely faltering before her idol. “Y-you are the immortal Ganondorf. Destined ruler across the world! You’ve risen and fallen and risen again! It… it is destiny that you succeed!”

“And what if this one is another failure? Another defeat at the hands of those miserable Hylians?”

“Then you shall rise again in the next life!”

“And what about you? ”

Calyban’s mouth and brain struggled to process the idea of it. “Sir?”

“If I lose here, what happens to you? To Pasha? To the people?”

“We shall train and bide our time until your return!”

“No. You will have died.” He gestured to the window, in the vague direction of the Hylian embassy. “This fight with the Hylians will cost more innocent Gerudo lives. More loyal soldiers sacrificed, more women deemed unsuitable for questioning our war campaign. More children forced into battle too early.”

“It is better to fight than to run away.”

“I’m not running away, Calyban.” He sighed once more. “I am… considering options.”

It was as direct a confirmation of anything Calyban feared. She felt her hand tremble in a most unprofessional manner.

Beneath his skull, Power was beginning to hiss bitterly.

But any further conversation was cut off by several loud knocks at the door.

Ganondorf groaned, rising to his feet. “We’ll discuss this later, soldier.”

And Calyban’s shaking could only increase.

Without his certainty… what was her purpose to be now…?

Ganondorf swung the door open to find two curious sights.

One was Pasha, sweating a little, a notecard in hand.

Two was Princess Peach, a tremendous glare on her features.

“Princess. Soldier.” He glanced between the two. Any previous expression of conflict or hesitation seemed impossible to imagine now on the Great King’s forehead. “What brings the visit?”

“Perhaps,” Peach began coolly. “Your guard might elucidate that for you. I believe we’re here for similar reasons.”

Ganondorf’s gaze swiveled to Pasha. She gulped.

“There’s… a call for you. Forward from the Embassy.”

“From… who?”

Ganondorf expected more crying.

He almost preferred more crying.

Isabelle’s tone was pained and miserable. There was the occasional sniffle, but it was far more upsetting to hear the sheer empty despair in her voice.

“This happened… last night?” He rubbed his forehead, struggling to understand. “Why would they ever interrogate you on such matters?”

“They said… they had reason to suspect me due to… my unusual social life.”

Ah. Well, that certainly provided context.

He glanced across the hotel lobby. The psychic children played amongst themselves, knocking marbles against each other. Falcon and Joker were engaged in a lengthy conversation with a third, pointy haired party. Pasha’s standard poise had faltered in favor of nerve-wracking hand-wringing. And Princess Peach remained, arms crossed, amusement completely lacking in her features.

“I have the Princess with me. I’m certain we can provide you with some sort of… legal intervention.”

“Oh, Ms. Peach?” Enthusiasm was hard to muster. “Th-that’s good. She… she should know what to do.”

There was a long stretch of silence. 

“Mr. Dorf?”

“Yes?”

“Um… the trench coat at the Town Hall.”

Hm? He had forgotten about that thing. “What of it?”

“Well, I was wondering where it came from.”

Her words were vague. Lacking her normal honesty. He vaguely understood that officers could listen to phone calls within their station. He tried to persuade himself that this was the only reason for her reluctance.

“It was a gift.”

“I see. How long have you had it?”

“A few days.” He paused. “Does it… involve the accusations?”

“...a little.”

His hand crinkled into a fist. He took a moment to control his breathing.

Zelda.

“All will be well soon, Isabelle. The princess and I will get this all sorted out. You’ll be free by this evening.”

“O-okay. If you say so.”

“I promise. On my honor.”

A short sniffling echoed back. “O-Okay. T-they’re coming back- I think they’re gonna turn the call off soon.”

“We’ll arrive as soon as possible.”

“Right. Yeah. Thanks.”

And with a click of the line, the call went dead.

Ganondorf could only stare at the receiver for a few moments.

Hate.

Hate.

As he turned to leave, Peach was by his side in a second.

“I suppose you will claim you hold no responsibility here.”

“This is not my doing, Princess.” He marched forward, tone stiff.

“I allowed your rallies because I trusted the instincts of two friends of mine.” She kept with his pace, heels clamping into the ground with shocking strength. “And now, one of them has been imprisoned.”

“Not for much longer. We must require her release immediately.”

“Forgive me, but why do you care? What would her arrest prove about you? ”

His eyes flamed in Peach’s direction. “We can discuss blame at a later date. This woman is uninvolved with my affairs. They have no right to lock her up.”

“I’m afraid they have every right. That’s the entire purpose of the task force.”

He swerved from his march, stopping before the princess. “They’re your organization. Call them off.”

She sighed, pressing a hand against her own cheek. If it was anyone else, it would look insincere. “They’re not . I know what the name says, but actual command of their ranks is non-existent. Any request I make can be ignored outright.”

“Wonderful.” His steeled boot anxiously tapped on the polished hotel tiles, rippling small cracks into the otherwise pristine flooring. “Did Zelda plan this as well?”

“Lord Ganondorf, I will not stand here and let you demean my personal frien-”

“Yes, yes, your personal friend, blameless and perfect and unimpeachable.” His tone was riddled with sarcasm and spite. “I’m aware her side of the story must seem very heroic indeed. And it's a story that does me little good to salvage Isabelle from this scattershot attempt to villainize me further.”

“I do not appreciate your accusation here of conspiracy-”

He leaned over, forcing himself to meet Peach at eye level. “I do not care about what you appreciate, princess. An innocent woman has been treated like dirt, merely for her association with me. It's disgraceful and it's insulting. I want Isabelle’s freedom, I want her charges dropped, and I want it done now.”

She met his snarl head on, fixing him with a perfect match in determination. “There is nothing I can do about that right now. I wish I could. But I can’t intervene as a primary party and unless you have a lawyer on standby, you can’t intercede either.”

“Erm.”

The two royals swiveled to the voice.

Joker, Falcon, and the third man were staring up at them from their seats.

“If you guys are looking for a lawyer… I have an opening?” 

Apollo Justice did his best to project confidence instead of anxiety.

Black Shadow, alleged intergalactic criminal across the stars, was not one for direct negotiation. He preferred video calls, secret messages, decapitated heads in beds. Conversations he controlled. Conversations he could isolate from any prying eyes of the Galactic Federation.

Unfortunately, business is business and sometimes business forced him out of his private, isolated lifestyle into public life. And that meant (allegedly) conversing with some wary corporate executive or a low-time scam artist or even a politician.

If only he had implanted business sense into Blood Falcon’s brain. Then he could leave such (alleged) trivialities to someone else.

But truthfully, he could never allow himself to rely on someone else for such affairs. Even if he could trust the competence of his (alleged) Captain Falcon clones, leaving business to allies left far too many opportunities for a slip-up. Too much evidence abandoned in someone else’s hands.

And besides, when it came to threats or overt violence, Black Shadow preferred a personal touch.

After a quick (alleged) murder of a particularly useless low-level grunt, Shadow was (allegedly) washing his hands in his private sink. He’d have to get the place cleaned again. He didn’t mind a few (alleged) bloodstains here and there, but it made so-called respectable business much harder for more mundane interests. It wouldn't be beneficial to scare off new sources of income too soon.

All the while, he had messages to send. He had (allegedly) talked briefly with that American Senator about some latest triviality. It was risky to say anything too overt with Americans, with the Patriot System monitoring every word. He once again attempted to negotiate with the Mushroom Kingdom’s Kart Authority, eager to squirm into whatever upcoming races may emerge. But once again, folly.

A small alert vibrated on one of his many phones. One of his (alleged) spy networks, offering any number of details at any given moment. A quick glance at the alert header turned up an irritable scowl.

Carpainter.

He (allegedly) funded any number of religious groups under the table, but he had to admit he found this one particularly annoying. It (allegedly) drew in very little in profits, at least compared to his empire, and it was unlikely to encourage the sort of violent clash he was (allegedly) hoping for in the Mushroom Kingdom.

Perhaps, it was time to cut his losses on this one.

Picking up the phone properly, he (allegedly) glanced over the alert details with vague interest.

His eyes lit up.

Andross’ little discarded toy, right here in his building.

In an instant, he (allegedly) pulled up his contacts and (allegedly) began his conversation properly.

“Carpainter. I hear we have a guest I would just die to meet.”

Allegedly.

The officers left Isabelle alone for a little while. She suspected they might be planning a new method of attack. Something that could get what they wanted and soon.

Isabelle wanted to trust Mr. Dorf. She’d invested so much time and energy into his campaign, it wouldn’t be right to doubt him now.

But the trench coat. The bloody handkerchief. It looked like the same kind of tissue he gave her all those weeks ago, when she was crying next to him in the tournament suites. It didn’t seem like standard material. That would imply it came from the same region as Mr. Dorf.

And that could mean Mr. Dorf hurt Simon.

She hadn’t heard Peach’s voice. Was the princess really there with him? Or was that a lie, to cover tracks and get her to stop calling. To ensure the police wouldn’t give her more calls.

None of it made sense. And she was so painfully, agonizingly tired.

The door clicked open and the smell of fast food drifted inside. Isabelle glanced up to see a towering figure step into the room. Decked out in a large suit, bag of chicken and fries in hand, muscles rippling from beneath the fine cloth.

Her stomach rumbled just seeing the familiar burger logo.

The man placed the bag gently in front of Isabelle, smiling generously. “Eat up. You’ve been here for a real long haul.”

She didn’t need much more permission than that. She quickly dug into the bag, swallowing down those delicious salty treats. The man chuckled in delight, waiting patiently for her to finish up. She allowed a brief smile to escape, satisfied with such a filling meal.

“Quite a mess he’s put you in, huh?”

“Mmm… I don’t think Mr. Dorf meant any harm…” Oh, she shouldn’t have said that, right? That puts some danger onto his name…

“Not him. Solid Snake.”

She froze up. In all her interviews, for all their pushing, she had done her best to avoid implicating Mr. Snake. He was on an important mission. She couldn’t screw that up.

She glanced over at the top corner of the wall.

The security camera no longer flashed red. It had been shut off.

“I… don’t see what he has to do with anything.”

“It's alright, kid. I’m his boss.” He grinned a toothy grin. “Senator Armstrong. US Senator.”

S-Senator…? She sputtered a little, straightening up. “I-I’m sorry sir- if I had known- I’d want to meet under better circumstances-”

He laughed again, raising his hand carefully. “If you keep shaking, you’ll risk blowing away with the wind! The situation’s tough for all of us, don’t you think?”

“Y-yeah.” She slumped again. “I’ve… never been through something like this.”

“Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black case. Opening it up revealed a collection of expensive, Beanbean Kingdom cigars. He twirled one in his hands as he fiddled in his other pocket for a lighter.

“Um…” She wasn’t looking forward to the smell of smoke. She couldn’t remove it from the Senator’s hands with her hands cuffed up. “Is there a reason you’re bothering with me, sir?”

“Oh, it's no bother at all. In fact, I’m here to help you solve this problem quick as can be.”

“R-Really?” Her eyes lit up. “I-I can leave?”

“Sure.” He flicked the lighter, lighting up the cigar properly. “All you have to do is confess.”

The ground, already unstable, felt like it could swallow her whole.

“H-huh?”

“It's not as scary as people make it out to be. Just answer affirmatively to what they want to hear, and you can get out of here.”

“B-but… I didn’t… I could never, to Simon…”

He pulled out his cigar, blowing smoke into the air. “No one’s saying you did. But that’s what you have to tell them.”

“But…” She trembled, full body of hair jingling a storm. “W-wouldn’t that be lying? A-And I’d be charged as… as a criminal.”

His genial eyes looked almost like a tiger playing with his prey. “...How long you worked in politics, kid?”

The question caught her off guard. “Um… a couple years now…”

“Well, let me give you some advice.” He leaned back, twirling the cigar playfully. “Sometimes, to keep the people happy, you gotta take on a little white fib.”

“A… a fib?”

“Oh, yes. See, this thing with Simon… We don’t have all the answers yet. Could be your Ganondorf friend. Could be the Trainer. Could be someone else.”

“Th-the Trainer? W-what does she have to do with this?”

“She’s who you and Simon were observing, weren’t ya? All according to Snake’s orders.”

Her brow furrowed. “W-well, that’s true…”

“And now, while keeping watch on her, he’s gone missing. Seems mighty strange to me.”

That was true too. Simon had promised Snake to keep watch…

“But... then why… would confessing help?”

“Easy peasy. To keep the peace.”

“The peace?”

“Absolutely.” He tapped the cigar, letting the ashes tumble to the ground. “See, now folks are scared. Paranoid. There’s some kind of killer out there. And before long, they’ll start to wonder… is it someone I know? Maybe they freak out, jump to conclusions. Attack a neighbor. A friend. A brother.”

“But…” The scale of it… she couldn’t understand it. “But then there will be a kidnapper or something out there…”

“No, no no no…” His gravelly voice so gentle, so considerate. “That criminal will think he got away with it. That he can relax. And once he’s relaxed, we’ll have him in our trap.”

“And… and I’ll be let go?”

His smile could pierce the heavens with their sharp angles. “Instantly. And you’ll have saved lives.”

And, more importantly to some, hidden any last evidence that the US Government had agents spying on competitors.

She wobbled in her chair. The food made her want to agree with the Senator. It was so refreshing and filling. It was the only comfort she’d had since her call with Mr. Nook.

“I… I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, pumpkin. Just give it some thought, yeah?” He stood up casually, keeping a strong grip on his cigar. “Think of all the good it could do. How long you’ve been here. Once you give ‘em what you want, you’ll finally get a chance to leave.”

She could finally… get some rest…

She nodded vaguely, barely even aware she was doing it.

With a victorious smile and an eager gait, Armstrong waved her a pleasant goodbye.

Politics.

It was a game Isabelle no longer could be certain she understood.

This had been a very confusing day for the Trainer.

The meeting with Fassad had been confusing enough. Without Isabelle to guide her, she couldn’t help but feel lost in the weeds amidst all his rambling and promoting.

(Lost in the weeds was a new saying she had heard from Samus. While Samus’ version of the phrase involved more sentient, dangerous, space weeds than most versions of the phrase, Trainer liked it nonetheless).

Then, Fassad had directed her away from Isabelle’s next appointment to this Carpainter man. And he was… interesting in ways she struggled to define.

And now, she had been directed to this third party.

The Black Shadow Group.

From the outside, the office was hardly notable, even to the Trainer’s inexperienced eyes. Fancier offices, such as Fassad’s, were presented with glass doors, listing off the hierarchy of Minch Industries, valued donors, and important persons. Even if Pokey Minch didn’t utilize this minor outpost, you could see a giant painting of his visage plastered on the wall.

In comparison, the Black Shadow’s outward appearance was bland. It was a simple wooden door, with no nameplate identifying its owner. 

Entering his office was when the full scale of the room became apparent.

If one looked behind them after entering, they would notice that the wooden door was actually built with a strong steel frame. The material, originated from some planet trillions of miles away, was light enough to push the door open without realizing just how sturdy the entryway even was. In fact, the walls were coated with this steel coating. No unwelcome party could get into the room without specific effort on an intruder’s part.

The office itself was quite extravagant. A pristine, mahogany desk sat in the center, covered in computers and papers. A gorgeously carved door led to a personal bathroom, with expensive tiles and carefully installed piping. Bookshelves of long, dense texts and complicated files covered the walls, each covered by a glass cover, contained within a security system designed to burn down everything the second someone attempted to remove something not meant for outsider eyes.

And just a few feet from the desk was the man of the hour himself. The Black Shadow was jogging on a treadmill, idly typing away at a few computers as he did. His cloak hung on the wall next to him, but he was still clad in his black, horned suit. If the outfit placed him in danger of too much sweat, there was no sign of concern on his part.

The Trainer was first struck by the sheer size of the man. A towering figure. His face obscured by his mask, with sharp horns jutting off towards the sky. The peak of the physical form, although it was debatable if that form was human.

As the treadmill reached a slow stop, the man casually swung a leg off the belt. He dropped to the floor with practiced ease.

“Ah. The Wii Fit Trainer.” For how impressive a presence he commanded, his voice was shockingly soft and polite. His smile would look amiable if his mask didn’t set a perpetual furrowed brow on his features. “I’ve been interested in meeting for some time.”

“Hello there.” A crutch greeting came easily. It was coming up with any following words that gave her pause.

At the time, it went unnoticed that he was the first person who knew her full name.

Black Shadow stretched casually, rippling muscles flexing here and there. “I suppose Carpainter did not explain why I requested your presence.”

“Is this not on Isabelle’s schedule?” It didn’t occur to Trainer to hide or obfuscate her intent in this instance.

Eyes blinked behind the black mask, before a wry smile once again lightened up his features. “No. This is not.”

“I see. I do not have much time then. She might be waiting for me elsewhere.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the secretary. She’s preoccupied.”

With a quick movement, the criminal’s cloak snapped to his back. 

“Even so-”

“Tell me, Trainer.” He stepped past the woman with a careful ease that belied his overwhelming strength. “Did you ever meet Andross?”

Trainer reflected upon the many figures she had encountered since arriving in the Kingdom. The name was unfamiliar among the pack.

Bluffing might be the right angle to avoid offending anyone.

“If we have, we didn’t speak for long.”

The wry grin became full-toothed. “That doesn’t surprise me. He was a man who kept to himself.”

“Was?”

“Oh yes, he’s been dead for years.” He brushed a gloved hand along his desk idly. “Thanks to the efforts of Star Fox, the Corneria Defense Force, and the Galactic Federation… he was firmly vanquished.”

“I see. That’s unfortunate for him.” It seemed like the appropriate thing to say.

“Don’t pity him. Only an arrogant fool makes himself so noticeable that he brings about so many enemies on his head.”

Lacking other words, Trainer nodded vaguely.

“Still,” he drummed his fingers before stepping out to the window. “The things he left behind were certainly interesting. He had scientific bases all over the universe. Sector X. Macbeth. Zou.”

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“Wuhu Island.”

The Trainer’s eyes involuntarily widened.

The Shadow’s camera feeds clicked off.

I have done my utmost, as an academic and a historian, to keep myself as completely removed from the events of the Toadstool Tournament as possible. Personal sentiments have no place in a historical document. One must recognize the flaws of past cultural philosophies, yet not ascribe too many modern norms upon a world that had no context for those norms. It’s simple professionalism.

However, in the efforts of this professionalism, obtaining proper citations has encountered a few obstacles.

When gathering evidence, I visited the personal sites of each individual event. I recovered old bureaucratic documents, decayed camera footage, unpublished memoirs, and other such traditional sources.

And, upon a rare necessity, I interviewed ghosts.

This is not a tactic I prefer to utilize in my work. Even excluding the black magic involved in the process, ghosts are not particularly reliable sources. Death has shifted them in new ways. As part of the spell placed against them, they are unable to lie in the slightest. But their truths are subjective, influenced by the rush of emotion from re-experiencing such important personal events. It takes extensive willpower for a ghost to refuse to answer a question, but complete and logical answers can be an ordeal in itself.

Black Shadow’s specter revealed nothing to me. He had placed numerous protections upon himself to ensure his will could never be enslaved by another after his demise. Even when a brief connection was made with his spirit, he refused to comment on any question in the slightest. It was unclear if he even understood the questions.

That left the only other witness to this meeting to interview.

The Trainer herself.

Enclosed is an approximate recollection of facts based on the Trainer’s own description of events.

Trainer: [Andross] lived on Wuhu?

Black Shadow: Oh, I doubt he ever personally spent time there. But he owned the island during the Lylat Wars.

Trainer: I was told that WarioWare owned the island.

I intervened here to ask the Trainer how she knew about WarioWare Incorporated. She reluctantly admitted that while she had heard the name from Mona and Ashley both before and after her dismissal from Wuhu, she did not properly recall the company’s name during her meeting with the Black Shadow. She corrected her statement.

Trainer: I was told that Ware-o-War owned the island.

Black Shadow: (laughter)

Black Shadow: A riot. But not unsurprising that it's gone to… Ware-O. After Andross’ death, his properties were confiscated, examined for dangers, and auctioned off to the highest bidder. After merging with other companies, Wario acquired your home.

Trainer: Was Andross interested in fitness?

Black Shadow: (laughter)

Black Shadow: He was interested in evolution. In perfecting the humanoid form beyond its physical capabilities. It blinded him to the reality of the universe.

Trainer: The reality?

The Trainer’s words muddled at this point. Returning to the moment of the incident required immense focus that her spectral form struggled against. After significant prying and force, the Trainer was only able to use short sentences to describe the events.

Forward. Backward. Surprise.

Pain.

Fear.

Yanked from the head.

Silver strands shining in the sunlight.

Part of my head. The strands. Pieces of hair.

I did not know part of me could be taken away before.

Black Shadow: Profit, Trainer. The reality of things is profit.

Panic. Humiliation. Embarrassment.

Anger.

Black Shadow: Don’t take it so harshly, dear . You should be grateful. I was debating whether I would need to arrange the same sort of accident I once arranged for Falcon.

Trainer: Falcon?

Black Shadow: To acquire his DNA. Try to keep up. 

Anger. Burning. Terror. Red.

Trainer: I don’t know Andross.

Black Shadow: It doesn’t matter. You were part of his property. As such, the debts fall to you.

Confusion. Frustration.

Black Shadow: Oh, but I’m sure that’s all beyond you, isn’t it? Isolated on that little island. I’m sure it was paradise. Have you told Ms. Aran how empty you really are?

Unbalanced. Uncoordinated. Nothing centered. Everything wrong.

Trainer: I should be going.

Black Shadow: As you wish. But please, continue to keep up your work with our Happy friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wuhu suddenly fell into your lap if you kept up such delightful alliances.

Trainer: What? 

Black Shadow: Construction is slower over there compared to the city. I’m sure everything is still in their orderly places. If ownership somehow fell into someone else’s position, it would be easy enough to keep things stable for you. Keep up the image Ms. Aran and your fans are so fond of.

Wuhu. Safety.

Escape.

Black Shadow: (laughter)

The connection to the Trainer’s specter cut off abruptly. I would have to wait seven years to revive her again.

She was so tired.

The officers said as much, but it was still true.

Isabelle was so, profoundly, tired.

The buzz of the overhead lamp. The solitude of the interrogation room. The constant questions and badgering.

It would be so easy.

Just a few little affirmations. Give them what they want to hear. It was sort of like the rule of improv. Say yes instead of no.

And then the show would be over and Isabelle could go home.

She struggled to focus her attention on the figures around her. Onishima. Haltmann. Cabanela.

The Inspector was nice, wasn’t he? He was a good cop. He’d look out for her. All she had to do was just say the right words.

And then it would be over.

Her lips wavered as her vision blurred.

Something loud.

Arguing.

Banging.

And finally, getting lifted off the floor.

Mr. Dorf draped her over his shoulders and carried her out to freedom.

A snapping finger jolted Trainer into reality.

“Everything alright?”

The Trainer blinked in surprise.

Her feet had carried her out of Minch Incorporated building and back into her hotel room. She hadn’t even noticed that Samus was present in the room.

“You looked like you were a few light years away.”

The bounty hunter’s expression was the picture of concern. Perhaps once, such pictures would be subtle brush strokes upon the frame of Aran’s face. Yet recently, the painting of a lone warrior was employing some more distinct hues.

It seemed, whatever occurred on the planet of Silence, Samus was worried that the positive feelings of the event had cooled over time.

By comparison, the Trainer’s picture was harder to read. What people take out of art is their own interpretation, uncontrolled by the artist. The picture of the Trainer’s face had been reinterpreted a number of times by various good or bad actors. Perhaps Aran’s perspective was the closest to interpreting the artist’s true intent at the time.

It was thus notable in this moment that the Trainer’s own color palette relapsed into its most abstract hues once again.

The Trainer smiled.

“Today was a great workout.”

And it sounded like the normal thing for Trainer to say, so Samus accepted it with relief. 

The rest of the day passed without merit on Trainer's part. It was good to have a respite from the broader stresses of the day. She allowed herself to forget the myriad confusing words and papers offered to her at the Minch corporate offices.

As a supposed representative of Isabelle and her interests, everything Trainer signed and agreed to was considered a proper legal negotiation. All decisions allegedly made within those meetings were presumed to be legally binding agreements. Legal battles in the aftermath could deliberate on the truth of the matter.

Truthfully, corporate entities cared very little about proper legality. It was easy to pay for damages after the fact. It would be much, much harder for anyone to dismantle their new systems once they were installed. 

Board Game Island, uncharted on most maps, was protected by a vast coastal shelf. The shelf blocked any large ships that attempted to approach the isle. The shifting tides also made leaving the island a particularly difficult battle. To leave the island, any stranded parties lacking in air travel would have to wait until a specific week in the summer when the tides would drop low enough to escape through a small gap in the shelf.

These were not factors Snake was aware of before their approach.

The crash into the shelf was sudden and jarring. Sleepy eyed passengers were forced into the cold reality of a rapidly rising tide. Kapp’n, amidst a variety of tears and frustration, worked quickly to shove each of the passengers into life preservers.

“A-Are you crazy?!” The Inkling was climbing up to the top of the sinking vessel, clinging to her phone like it possessed the required buoyant materials. “I can’t- We can’t- I’m not going in that water .”

“Kid!” Snake growled, tightening his own jacket onto his chest. “We need to get off now or this thing is gonna take you down with it!”

“I-It's not that simple…!”

“Swimming’s not so bad!” Mona, ever the thrill-seeker, took to the danger quite positively. “Besides, maybe we’ll get to punch a shark!”

“A shark?! ”

“Listen lass,” Kapp’n struggled to keep his tone amenable while negotiating between several shattering wood chunks. “Right now, I ain’t got the patience for yer whining. Get in the water, or I’ll shove you in.”

The Inkling backed up against the front of the ship, tripping to her feet. The ship had so firmly tilted upward, sitting on the nose of the vessel was not unlike leaning against a slanted wall. “A-are you crazy?! You’ll kill me!”

“I know it's scary, Inkling, but we don’t have any other choice.” Mona tried to keep her tone gentle and enthusiastic. “Just think of it as… a complicated day at the pool!”

“I-I’ve never been in a pool!”

“H-Huh? Why not?”

“Seawater dissolves squidlings, you morons!”

A quiet horror overtook the vessel.

And with a sharp crack, the ship broke in two, collapsing into the reef.

The forgotten man on the forgotten island observed the scene with no small amount of amusement. It had been so long since there had been someone new to play with. He would have preferred some kind of alert in advance, but he supposed his employer was simply too busy to bother with such trifles as that.

“Well, whaddya think of that?” He peered down at his associate. “We’ve got guests.”

“What a welcome surprise,” the Wii Balance Board chirped back.

Chapter Text

The inevitable aftermath of most modern warfare is the exhausting effort of reconstruction. 

In the case of the Lylat Wars and the death of Dr. Andross, this was no less true. 

Planets had been debilitated, debased, and in various states of debris. The Cornernian public consciousness was depressed, despondent, and despairing. And in terms of government support, its civil services were defunded, its bank accounts were deficient, and its debts were distinctly definite.

And things were hardly improved for the losing side.

Planet Venom was well-known for its harsh, nearly uninhabitable environment. The surface was barren, broken by rough cliffs and chasms. A vast acidic ocean killed off any straggling attempts of life to flourish. As far as the Galactic Federation was concerned, no life could be sustained on the planet. 

This position tended to contradict the very living and provable existence of the Venomian citizens.

The Venomians had, upon several occasions, sent several protests, complaints, and  impassioned pleas regarding the Galactic Federation’s treatment of their planet. Since the planet was “virtually empty”, the Federation had taken to dumping a variety of waste and pollution in the area. The Venomians were significantly displeased that their already fragile home was rather rapidly decreasing in quality.

As these questions were left unanswered, individual Venomians quickly made moves to ally with fellow members of the Outer Rim, hoping to build a coalition together that would force the Federation to understand their complaints. Gathering together, the Venom Idealist Movement aimed to construct lasing, positive change for their people.

This proposal was dramatically interrupted by the exile of Dr. Andross onto the planet.

Upon his arrival on Venom, Andross quickly produced new methods of agricultural and industrialization. Terraform technology helped the land prosper and the majority of the Venomites flocked to his side. Controlling these new resources, Andross quickly gained the power to install a new hierarchy based on pseudo-science and caste superiority. Before long, progressive movements were demonized as the villains of Venoms’ history and Andross’ fascist party took complete control.

After a few years, the new agricultural methods on Venom quickly degraded and contaminated. His scientific strategy was too aggressive, chasing after brief successes at the cost of land and the few vital ecosystems the populace could feed on.

Thus, the economy under “Emperor” Andross needed pillage to survive. And inevitably, a campaign of terror was instituted to rally Andross’ new troops into an era of conquest.

The immediate history is more well-known. Devastating war, massive death toll, Andross killed, Venom defeated, the heroism of Star Fox cemented in the stars, etc etc.

It's the particulars of the aftermath where things get murky.

The Venomian Army’s philosophy made it difficult to feel much sympathy for their plight. Throughout the war, they maintained a platform of biological superiority, pollution, and general interest in “civilizing” so-called “weaker” races and planets. The chain of command was riddled with murder, violence, and more than a little prejudice. Whatever genuine grievances Venom held with the Federation was now permanently conflated with its bloodthirsty and war-hungry factions. Any Venom citizen wishing to voice the very real needs of its people would be quickly disregarded as a fascist bootstomper by any news entity of renown.

Which made it particularly frustrating when the genuine fascists tended to get a much different reaction from conservative outlets.

Take, for example, Professor Hanger. A mechanical being with a dubiously acquired PhD, the Professor was a major proponent of Andross’ bio-essentialist propaganda. Doctored research papers with a flimsy (if not outright falsified) grasp of the scientific process was the bread and butter of his department. Given the sheer scale of murder and mayhem that persisted under his command, it was expected that Professor Hanger would spend the rest of his years in a high-security Cornerian prison.

And yet before long, Professor Hanger was a key member of the Cornerian Defense Force’s Research and Development Department. Captain Shears argued that Hanger’s intelligence was simply too valuable to waste away in a penitentiary.

Hanger was not the only such case. Even within the wider culture of the Galactic Federation, considerable resources were spent recruiting many of Andross’ former agents. Mercenary group Star Wolf received a quick pardon and was quickly employed as a PMC unit. The Black Shadow Group quickly emerged as a major player in the business of cleaning up and collecting the various war debris in the galaxy, despite allegedly allying with Andross for much of the war. And several existing power structures on Venom, such as the emerging Anglar Organization, were allowed to grow in power under the less than watchful eyes of a Federation handler.

The Galactic Federation’s leniency towards some elements of Andross’ Army was particularly interesting when reflecting on which elements they focused their reprisal upon.

With the death of Andross, several underground elements of Venom hoped that they might finally begin to reforge Venom as the world they aspired it to be. They began drafting protections in place for vulnerable citizens, sustainability practices that would eradicate pollution throughout the system, and a clear pathway to independence and equity for its citizens. The Venom Idealist Movement might just emerge once again.

The CDF quickly sent out Star Wolf to decisively put down the growing organization. Star Wolf member Andrew Oikonny was recognized for valiant services and assigned an official role in overseeing Venom’s necessary subservience to the Galactic Federation. With vigor, VIM was destroyed.

As it turned out, the powers that be had much less issue with the actual bio-essentialist ideologies behind Andross’ army and more issue when those ideologies harmed any existing class and social orders.

The average galactic citizen was unwilling to hear much in terms of which material conditions created which political faction. Andross and Venom butchered planets. Building a proper political understanding of the factional disputes between left-wing, right-wing, extremist, moderate, conservative, liberal, and so on, understandably tended to lose a certain amount of emotional importance in the minds of people who lost entire families on the frontlines. But for those who sympathized with the Venomian plight, untangling their reasons for sympathy became increasingly difficult to ascertain. Some activists argued in favor of the failed VIM party, presenting a future with warmth and comfort that could have been built for all.

But the majority of Venomian sympathizers tended to portray a far more skewed picture of the planet’s political situation.

Suddenly, for such figures, the cause of Andross was not based in building a strict hierarchy of bio-essentialism that allowed higher ranked individuals to subjugate, experiment, and brutalize members of the lower caste. The history seemed inconvenient, so a new philosophy was posited. Instead, the idea shifted to fighting for the rights of individual planets against the oppressive power of the Galactic Federation. The “great cause” of the Outer Rim quickly took root among the losing parties of the Lylat Wars, with very few interested in discussing what exactly the Cause entailed. Never mind how proponents of the Cause would often demonize the vulnerable or the so-called weary. The Cause, whatever vague non-specific ideas it seemed to contain, must be just.

Interestingly, while the Federation tended to blockade or suppress positive media depictions of the VIM party, tales of the Cause were allowed to persist without criticism. Printing anti-colonialist zines for college zines often resulted in heavy arrests and fines. A local racist supremacy group attacking minorities while waving a Venomian flag would often be ignored or dismissed by the closest policing bodies.

Perhaps reconstruction efforts just didn’t afford the Federation much time to address such things.

Whatever the case, the conditions of Venom and the Outer Rim further spiraled into increasingly desperate and untenable terms of survival. Even a sympathetic Cornernian would be far too preoccupied with rebuilding their own planets to offer much in terms of financial or emotional support.

Amidst such a surreal period of fractured identity, the Black Shadow happily watched his own businesses boom. The remnants of Andross made for a wonderful expansion of his own criminal enterprises. His agents brought him gift after splendid gift, his assets were increasing, and the information he was receiving would result in record profits for years to come.

The number was going up.

Black Shadow liked it when the number was going up.

As his investments and schemes persisted, the Shadow’s arm stretched further and further across civilizations. His agents would work and work and work, uncovering new and wonderful gifts, and they would work until he felt it was no longer profitable for them to work.

Then the Black Shadow would ensure they never needed to work again.

On one forgotten Andross base, on one forgotten island, one forgotten man, with his notorious blood and the ever-so-expensive ways he was built, toiled away at the Shadow’s unshakeable command.

Most of the castaways on Board Game Island trudged onto the beach in a state of largely abject misery. Exhaustion, despair, confusion, and hopelessness stuck to their bodies like seaweed.

Snake dropped the Inkling onto the sand with an unceremonious thump. It had taken extreme effort to keep his companion out of the salty waves, particularly when she had squirmed the entire time. His free hand blindly searched for his cigarettes, only to find a soggy, ruined, and empty box of smokes waiting for him. With a grimace and a grunt, he chucked the empty box into the ocean. The second instance of litter one could attribute to this particular voyage.

The Inkling herself immediately scrambled and flopped as far away from the crashing waves as was possible. The sand sank beneath her clawing flippers, but the horror of clinging soil and grime was worth the risk for the sake of avoiding certain dissolution. For the moment, her brain could imagine no other recourse except to stare at the sky and maintain a firm grip on the sand beneath her.

Mona squeezed her hat, ocean water splattering across the sand. It was an expensive hat. Three days of work’s worth of a hat. The outfit had been a week of legal work and bureaucratic hurdles. Her heels had been a scrap of self-care after wrapping up a particularly lengthy lawsuit between the company and the government, over some obscure human rights violations.

She was delighted. She howled in the air with an erratic wail of pure adrenaline. She kicked her shoes off, playfully scattering sand across the wind, cackling like a mad hyena. Her miserable compatriots could only stare in exhausted befuddlement.

This was what she’d been missing. This was the thrill of adventure that she’d long since lost in the daily grind of WarioWare work. Days of bills, meetings, negotiations, signatures, court dates, documents signed in triplicate… The dull gray of such an existence seemed alien compared to the high-octane thrills of the now.

Kapp’n was considerably less energetic than his client on this matter.

The crusty old sailor was a saltwater creature by nature. Kapp’n possessed no physical trouble maneuvering the waves to land. The salty sea dog still had years of life awaiting him.

Emotional trouble was a different matter. 

There had been a variety of strife in his marriage recently. Both of them hated the city. They were small town sorts of individuals. But, raising their daughter required new expenses. Kapp’n had no choice but to sell his boat and take up taxi work. The long hours and devastating workload had been murder on their social lives.

Eventually, the two experienced something of a social breakdown. Rejecting a lifestyle in even a small town, they seized an opportunity to join a retired turtle on a permanent island getaway. Leilani, Kapp’n, and Leila would live and work together as a family, surviving off the land. It was a welcome reprieve from their previous daily grind.

Only now, with a surplus of time on their hands, spending time with each other seemed daunting.

Things they used to enjoy now seemed irritating. Kapp’n’s extensive sea shanties and whistling drove Leilani up the wall. Leilani’s preference for an organized, arranged lifestyle clashed with Kapp’n’s more sloppy lifestyle. 

The situation took an especially interesting turn when Kapp’n’s mother moved in with the family. While Leilani was initially opposed, she found herself quickly forming a tight bond with her in-law. Kapp’n, expecting a common ally in issues of domestic strife, suddenly realized he was out-gunned.

It was after a series of particularly heated arguments that the couple was confronted with how much the relationship had deteriorated. 

Little Leila asked what a “da-fence” or a “battle” was. She had learned these words from listening to the way her parents spoke to each other.

Without realizing it, the couple had started using terms of war to define their home.

The observation was devastating.

A compromise was necessary. No, essential.

Kapp’n would take up ferry work again. They would take things easy. They would take some time apart, but they would find warm moments to spend with each other too.

They would not risk hurting their daughter any longer.

Thus, the Leila had been an expensive and personal investment. A vessel that defined the future of his family. A vessel that needed to earn a certain amount of money to not only save his marriage, but to avoid putting them back into the financial red zone.

A vessel that was sinking into the murky deep.

“Wow!” Mona spun her soaking wet hat in the air, her grin wider than any Mii. “Look at it split . I didn’t think anything could just snap like that!”

“...Aye.”

“How much pressure had to be on it before it’d break like that?”

He grunted without commitment.

Inkling suddenly launched herself up off the sand with an energy she previously lacked. Hands furiously checking through her pockets, desperate for the sort of salvation that could aleve such miserable conditions.

“Noooo, no no no no no no no no no- Yes!”

The squid triumphantly presented her phone to the sky, relief dripping down her features.

“Nothing broken, screen still functional, water protection stable…”

But the scowl reemerged before long.

“No signal…?”

Snake grunted. “Middle of nowhere. No cell towers or satellite access. Inevitable.”

“But that’s… horseradish!” She stomped a dainty foot into the dirt. “How am I supposed to see my feed? My viewcount? How…”

There was something resembling a choke in her voice. Acknowledging the physical reality of the situation was simply forbidden if her sanity was going to maintain itself. Yet Inkling was having trouble finding enough other subjects to complain about. Had she complained about missing her feed? Yes, she supposed that was the first thing she fussed over. Had she mentioned the viewcount? Maybe she had missed- no, she’d asked about that too. The feed? The viewcount? The feed? The viewcount? The third thing she absolutely could not think about- never think about it, don’t even look in the direction of the thought-

“How… are we gonna call for help?”

Snake forced himself to look up at the squid at long last.

The expression on her face was worse than he anticipated. Pathetic and quivering, utterly lacking in her typical confidence. Snake had trouble meeting such an expression head on. His training had prepared him for a certain method of approaching a situation. Primary objectives, alternate objectives should the primary fail, back-up contingencies…

It was usually at the step after contingencies that people started dying.

And once again, he was struck with the Vision. 

The image of an inkling, another innocent, primed in the image that the war machine demanded. Decked out in weapons and fatigues, joy and whimsy forsaken for Missions and Combat.

Why had he brought her here, exactly? He should have insisted- could have insisted that Simon travel with him instead. Or better yet, hire a local merc to aid in the excursion.

What could have possessed him to bring a child?

Unless, of course, he wanted to bring a child into danger. Unless, where most people saw a child, he saw an opportunity. A soldier to be molded. A weapon to be built.

Isn’t that the kind of world he actually wanted, deep down? A world where he would remain useful? A world that the war hawk Senators desired too? A world that ensured that every child would be forced into danger, every child would know the taste of battle, every child would become a soldier passing on a soldier’s world onto a soldier’s world.

The world of the Boss, passed down to Big Boss, passed down… to him.

The sand and the dirt felt cold in his hands. 

The Inkling sought for refuge and assurance in the soldier’s features and found the result lacking.

Ink was beginning to well up in her eyes. 

“Washed up on the reef, huh?”

The castaways spun around at the voice. Snake’s, hunched over on the ground, had already circled his fingers around his knife. Mona, shoeless and regret-free, was already presenting her well-maintained fists. Inkling and Kapp’n, shell-shocked and potentially destitute, were already in fearsome hiding positions behind their shipmates.

No one had seen the man approach. Even Snake’s highly trained senses had completely missed the man’s casual strut along the beach. That was the first strange thing about him.

The second thing was his clothes. A man in a red jumpsuit really should have stood out before now. His hands were covered in purple gloves. His boots almost went up to his knees. If they didn’t know better, they might think he was stomping around in metal. 

But most peculiar were his eyes. They all felt drawn to meet his sharp, pointed eyes. The eyes ran over them all carefully, tallying them one by one. They sucked you in like a whirlpool, spinning you round and round the waves until you were already too far underwater to get out.

And there was something lying hidden in the depths.

Snake hardly needed his training to know he should position himself between the man and his associates. “Who the hell are you?”

The man tilted his head to the side. Long, curly, orange locks delicately draped over his cheek. His gaze ran over the new arrivals with something similar to curiosity. It was not unlike the look of a child who had just thrown his cereal on the floor, now transfixed observing the milk dribble along the cracks of the ground. No tears at the loss of his food. Just simple interest.

Then he smiled an off-putting smile.

“Call me your new BF.” His cheery tone didn’t match his deep, guttural voice.

Nnngggghhh. “Name. Now.”

He waved a hand casually. “Oh, what’s in a name? Anything can pass for a name these days. Some people have one name, some people have three names. Who can keep up?”

Mona figured this wasn’t the time to feel vindicated about irritating naming conventions. “But what’s yours? ”

The man kept his cheeky little smile. “It's mine. At least, once I get it back.”

“Get it… back?”

“Oh yes. It’s been stolen, you see.”

The adults did their best not to look too convinced that the man was off his rocker.

Inkling did not have such tact.

“S-so have you been here so long you’ve lost your marbles, or…?”

If he was particularly bothered, BF didn’t show it. He simply chuckled an inscrutable chuckle. “Boy, I haven’t had a lot of humor in a while. Guess I still haven’t.”

With his hands shoved into his pockets, BF raised a foot before spinning around in the sand. Completing his 180, his foot returned to ground, strolling into the direction of the jungle. “Facilities are this way, if you’re so curious. The Board is too.”

“Facilities?” Snake couldn’t stop his own frustrated curiosity from escaping his lips. “The Board?”

He peered back at them, cheeky grin there once again. “That’s what you’re here for, right? To see where the gorilla's little toys all came from?”

And then BF continued on his leisurely stroll, not waiting to see if they would follow.

The jungle ached for new company.

Falcon had helped carry Isabelle home the night prior. Joker and Apollo, discussing legal plans, determined it would be best not to pressure Isabelle with such details so soon. The essential fact was that she was not under arrest and the evidence was circumstantial. For the moment, her safety was guaranteed.

That left Falcon and Ganondorf to keep watch as the tiny pup collapsed into her bed. 

Most competitors had acquired rooms with full living rooms, but Isabelle had insisted on a smaller housing situation. She didn’t like to waste government money on frivolity. The mercenary and the Great King of Evil were forced to position themselves into a short end table, with too small chairs that both parties were too large for.

Ganondorf drummed his fingers on the table anxiously, a rhythmic tapping that was becoming increasingly frantic. Barging into the Toadstool offices with a lawyer in toe, now that was thrilling. That was battle and power and victory, all aspects of life he had been severely lacking in recent days.

But now there was the waiting. Everything required so much waiting these days. He just wanted his great victories to be speedy, violent affairs. Yet time and time again, most of life seemed to operate in these insufferable moments of the in-between. The talking, the networking, the community building, the healing . 

Why did changing the world to suit his vision have to take so much work?

Falcon, by comparison, seemed content with the silence. He had pulled a small knife from his jacket and was carving out a chunk of wood into some sort of vague animal. 

It was irritating enough spending time with such a dullard. Seeing such a man have hobbies was almost too much to bear.

The hours passed with brief interruptions, a sharp slice after sharp slice cutting into wood and air alike.

“Whatcha think of her?”

Ganondorf had to blink for a moment, rousing himself out of whatever realm of violent imagination he had slipped into. “Hm?”

“Isabelle.” Falcon gestured vaguely with his knife. “Whatcha think?”

A shard of wood sliced into the air, dropping to the carpet below.

He glared, muscles tensing once again. “I fail to see the relevance of such a question to me.”

“Really?” Falcon’s helmet tilted over slightly, peering over in curiosity. “You’re watching over the kid all night, for a crime you committed, and none of that’s relevant.”

Another shard, another slice .

His fingers sparked, frustration popping out of his knuckles. “I didn’t do anything. This slander-”

“This isn’t an interrogation.” Falcon’s amiable smile seemed to bely the fact he was accusing Ganondorf of abductment at best and murder at worst. “I’m just… thinking out loud. It doesn’t really fit expectations, does it?.”

The knife pointed at the King of Evil. “You…”

It pivoted over to the sleeping secretarial pup. “And her.”

The knife returned to its position on the wood, whittling nature into proper form. “Not a friendship that really makes a lot of sense from the outside. Not without some reason to it all.”

Ganondorf was beginning to feel distinctly hot. He tugged on his collar, popping off an irritating button.

“You wouldn’t be the first to find it unusual.” The retort came out more as an irritated grumble rather than the sharp snap he was hoping for. “I just don’t see why it’s become such a point of concern.”

“Well, when dogs are getting muzzled in the street…”

Frustration boiled over. The king slammed his fist into the table, fixing Falcon with a sharp glare. “I did not -”

A soft moan cut off the tirade. Isabelle whimpered in her sleep, turning over to shove her face deeper into a pillow.

Ganondorf’s frustration hovered in the air, unfulfilled, his eyes staring with desperation at her sleeping form. The anger fizzled out just as quickly as it had burned.

He slumped back into his tiny chair, exhaustion taking over once more. 

Falcon’s eyes darted back and forth curiously. Brain cells were rubbing against each other, but he wasn’t sure what thoughts were trying to spark.

“Why…” Ganondorf managed eventually. “Must I be the one to blame for her treatment?” His fingers danced in the air, reaching as though to pluck the words out of the sky itself. Trying to make complicated emotions manifest into simple dialogue.

“I didn’t ask anyone to do this. I didn’t put some complex scheme in motion. She…”