Chapter 1: The Basement
Chapter Text
*Drip*
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*Drip*
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*Drip*
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...One more moment.
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*Drip*
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*Drip*
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...A nightmare.
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*Drip*
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...It was just a nightmare.
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*Drip*
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...Those eyes. Those horrible, evil eyes.
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*Drip*
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...That laugh. That...memory.
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...Mario.
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Luigi let out a quiet groan, turning his head and wincing at the cold metal that brushed against the tenderness on the back of his skull. He didn't want to open his eyes. The cold air, the dripping water, the echo of his ragged breaths, the strange angle at which he lay...nothing supported the theory that it had all just been a nightmare, but he wasn't ready to face another option.
Something icy brushed against his cheek and he shuddered, pulling away on instinct. The same sensation greeted the other side of his face, coaxing him to wake up and accept that the deep, sickening nausea that lay in the pit of his stomach was warning of something very real.
"...This isn't happening."
Saying it mattered.
Saying it gave his auditory sense one last leg, upon which to stand. Saying it meant that some part of him could still be convinced, allowing him to exist in this limbo of hazy twilight, where one lives between a dream and reality, even for just one more moment.
"...It's not real."
A cold nose sighed a gentle breath against his jaw, pressing in—stopping just short of phasing through. He had mastered that trick, at last. No longer did he underestimate distance, sticking an unintentional paw through the door or popping his head through Mario's chest and startling him when he woke them up in the morning. He tried so hard to pretend to be something that he fundamentally could never achieve, and Luigi was proud of his efforts.
He was a good boy.
One more lick—this one catching a tear.
Reality was waiting for him.
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*Drip*
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*Drip*
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Mario was waiting for him.
He opened his eyes, blinking past the darkness and blurriness of his surroundings. His head pounded, spiking in pain with every thought, and he swallowed against the sick feeling rising in his throat. One hand raised, brushing over the sizable lump on the back of his skull, while the other reached forward, blindly patting at the head of his dog and experiencing the familiar sensation he could only describe to others as passing one's fingers over the top of a cloud.
"...Good boy."
One hand came away bloody, the other numb with cold.
Polterpup whined, dropping his face to mime resting on his master's knee, phasing through by an inch before correcting himself. Luigi regarded his glove—the red stains on the tips.
"It wasn't a dream, was it? He's really back? He...took them." He closed his fist, fingers weak. "He took Mario...again."
The dog sniffed, backing away and giving him room to heave his aching body out of the laundry hamper, collapsing to his knees in dizziness and trying to come to terms, both with his surroundings and situation.
The basement, his mind supplied. He was in the basement, among cobwebs and dripping faucets and cracks in the walls and floor. What had been a shining example of modern architecture had been reduced to a broken caricature of grandiosity.
A calm overcame him—the kind brought about from a tragedy, that draped itself over a bystander yet unequipped to play the role of a solo hero. A lack of control—no power to influence the helplessness of this moment—left him oddly unperturbed. Those first few seconds of realization, where everything reaches a crux of despair and the world falls silent, stretched on. Dissociation—he'd tried to explain it to Mario, once.
'It's that state where everything is confusing and maybe even horrible, and you settle into this sort of numbness where you find yourself continuing on as if nothing's changed, when, in reality, everything has.'
He tried for a first step, falling back to his knees.
'You go about your day with this weird sense of uncanniness, wondering why things don't look any different when it feels like every subtle detail, that we count on to be familiar, has been removed and we don't realize what we're missing. Maybe, it's hollowness, this feeling—or denial.'
Gripping the rim of the hamper, he pulled himself back to his feet.
'Maybe, it's just a sign of how ingrained it is for life to find a way to carry on.'
It was a success worthy of recognition that he managed to take a few steps without stumbling, fingers trailing the off-center table, bracing himself to rest against the concrete wall after navigating around just one obstacle. His vision continued to blur, ears ringing and nausea swirling, though he couldn't accurately attribute his symptoms to any given problem, as they could have been claimed by an entire charcuterie board of explanations, from fear, to worry, to a massive concussion.
Mario would certainly have had something to say about his actions. Luigi could hear him, now.
'You just woke up from a head wound! Slow down! Don't you dare brush off an injury like this; you know better!'
The younger twin pushed away from the wall, aiming for the next checkpoint a few steps away and staggering towards the washing machines.
'Don't ignore me! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?! You have any idea how reckless you're being, especially with your condition?!'
He tripped on a crack in the floor, falling into the rusty apparatus with a cry of pain.
'Lu, you have to give yourself time to get your bearings! You shouldn't even be standing! At least, let me help you!'
"You're not here."
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*Drip*
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"You don't get a say. You left me, alone."
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"You all left me, alone."
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*Drip*
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"...Again."
Turning the knob took more than a single attempt, his palm weak and fingers trembling. He had already mapped out the laundry room, his mind deeming it safe and free of potential shock, and his reluctance to leave the safety of a safe place to explore the vast unknown was matched only by his intrinsic need to reunite with his twin.
The mournful groan of the door made him shudder, freezing in his tracks and peeking around the panel to ensure he hadn't drawn the attention of anything lying in wait to harm him. His search soon proved fruitless, the darkened hallway silent, save for his quick breaths.
"Polterpup," he whispered the word, wanting the comfort of company. "Where'd you go?"
An echoing bark sounded somewhere from the wall on the left, Luigi's eyes locking in on the door. He took one step out into the hall, musing bitterly if a light switch would be too much of an ask, before his aching mind poked him in the back of the head with a memory.
His flashlight.
Not only had he borne the Toads' jokes for packing a "useless item," but he had dragged that "useless item" with him into the laundry chute. Bolting back to the hamper, his concussion less of a hindrance under the excitement of this tiny measure of success, he threw aside a few bedsheets, allowing himself a shallow moment of satisfaction that he had been right to be cautious, before his mood once again sank under the weight of wishing he had been proven wrong.
He would give anything to have been proven wrong.
Regardless, the flashlight was a small victory, and it was the small victories that would pave the way for the large ones.
Returning to the hallway, he wasted no time in rushing to that second door, pushing his way inside and immediately noting the chill, his heart beginning to pound as he spotted the moonlight sneaking in beneath the ajar garage panel. To his right, Polterpup was spinning in circles by an old car, yipping for his attention. To his left, that inch of clearance offered escape.
Traitorous thoughts wrapped their tendrils around his brain, sickening his stomach with the question of what would happen if he simply left. He wouldn't forget about Mario, of course. He would rather die than live without his brother, but...he could send proper help. Before he knew what he was doing, he had taken a step towards the temptation of freedom, ignoring his dog's confused whine. The fingers of a coward trembled over the switch, Polterpup's bark of disapproval causing him to flinch.
Gadd. DK. Even Bowser. Anyone.
Anyone, but him.
He would be doing them a favor, he reasoned with himself. With no way to defend against King Boo, he was unequipped to offer any aid. If anything, he would be making the smart choice—the sane choice. If he got himself killed, and Mario somehow found himself freed, he would never survive even hearing of the loss, and if Mario fell, the Mushroom Kingdom would follow.
It was both a relief and a greater burden that he could so easily justify this cowardice. He could cast it in a light that lessened his role as the one who ran away.
A tug on his pants had him looking down, just noticing how the beam of his torch had allowed Polterpup the opportunity to catch him between gentle jaws, the ghost's corporeality limited to a direct light source. His dog whined again, Luigi's guilt truly unmatched, but he honestly saw no other reasonable solution. Even if he came back with the worthy rescuer, he would have to do so while armed with the Poltergust.
He wasn't choosing the coward's path. He was choosing the sensible one that lent itself well to a coward's heart.
"I can't do anything like this," he redirected his light, Polterpup's grip phasing through his leg. "I don't have a weapon I can use against him, and I can barely walk straight! I didn't pack any mushrooms and my head is pounding!" Another good reason to leave. "I'll just get myself killed!"
His dog yipped and backed away, twirling in a circle and running off, back towards that rickety car in the corner.
"I'm doing this for Mario!"
Mind made up, story in place, he slammed his hand against the switch, listening to the foreboding creak and frowning in confusion before the door slammed closed with a resonance that rattled his very bones.
He gasped in surprise, stumbling back and tripping over some old, dusty suitcases, the echo slowly fading as he tried to process the fact that his fearfulness would not be rewarded. Shame flooded him. The evidence now stood that he had been willing to abandon his friends—abandon his brother—and suddenly, no reason was good enough.
Mario would have never even considered trying to open that door.
He curled in on himself, trying to hide, almost unable to bear the weight of his guilt, even if no one was there to witness his shame. No one would ever know, but somehow, that was worse. He had proof of who he was, when no one was watching, and he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror and say that he would never and had never abandoned his brother, especially when Mario had needed him most.
"I'm sorry," he whispered the words into his stained glove, knowing they would never be enough. "I'm so sorry. Mario, I'm sorry!"
It had been so easy to justify.
There were so many reasons he could convince himself that he had been acting in everyone's best interest, and in a way, he still could. But, if nothing else, he consoled himself with having the courage to admit that all his excuses had just been carried on the back of a bad character. He could dress selfishness up in any mask he liked, but he couldn't change the fact that he had been ready and willing to run away. Even if he defied the odds and saved everyone, he would now have to live with the fact that his first instinct had been to save his own skin.
How he wished he had never been given the opportunity to prove his mettle.
He curled his fingers into his sweaty hair, welcoming the pain in his skull and calling it his penance, once again reminded that Mario's unwavering faith in him couldn't be taken as a sign that he was a good man, but that Mario was an even better one than he had previously believed.
"...I'm sorry."
It wasn't enough. It never would be.
"I'm sorry, Mario."
Squeaks and skittering had him pushing himself back against the wall on instinct, lifting his head and meeting several pairs of reflective eyes, matted fur, and bent whiskers.
Rats, his mind supplied, with bitter pith.
'How fitting.'
At least, he had fallen to a floor that appreciated irony and had placed him at level with his own kind.
A whine from his left drew his attention, his loyal companion nuzzling at his leg, as best he could with an intangible form. Luigi drew himself out of his sorrow long enough to spare a hand, petting his dog and taking solace in the fact that someone had, in actuality, witnessed his lowest point, without retaliating in disgust. Even if he was just a dog, the forgiveness meant everything, in this moment.
"Good doggy," he gave the broken praise, hoping Polterpup could somehow understand how much his master meant the words.
"...What do I do, now? What do I do?"
Even asking the question seemed like it should be carried as a badge of shame, but he just felt so lost.
"What do I do, Pup? You have any ideas?"
The dog snorted, Luigi huffing with a suggestion of a smile before taking the hint that his pet had been trying to lead him somewhere.
"You got something?"
Polterpup barked in delight, chasing his tail and dashing back over to that same car, leaving Luigi frowning in confusion.
"If the plan's to get out of here, not only did I just ensure that we're stuck," he gestured vaguely to the garage door, "but I think you picked the most unequipped kart for a high-speed escape."
The dog sneezed, shaking his head and circling the car, filling the room with insistent barking. Luigi indulged him, having no better option or plan to move forward than to take this moment and inspect what had his pet so worked up about this old lemon.
"This thing's gotta be eighty years old," he muttered, inspecting the seats and wheel—noting the lack of dust.
It had been used recently, by whomever had the guts to take it out on the road. But, what he may have initially written off as an antique now dared to hide a secret—one Polterpup was pointing out with building elation.
He nosed at a side panel, sticking his head through and letting out a series of muffled yips. Curiosity piqued, Luigi crossed over to his side, fingers trailing under the compartment to search for a hatch or button and taking only a moment to care about the fact that he was snooping through someone else's property. A resonating pop heralded his quick success, and he almost couldn't believe his eyes when he lifted the lid and was granted a miracle.
"...I-It can't be...really?"
Polterpup pranced around, proud of himself, tail wagging, but Luigi was still struggling to believe his luck.
"This has...gotta be- it can't be real, can it? It's not possible."
Or, at the very least, he would have previously ranked it more improbable than King Boo stacking his brother and friends into a neat pile and handing them over with a set of keys and a bid for them all to have a nice day.
With near-reverence, half-convinced of the ghosts' trickery at play, he lifted the Polgergust out of the compartment, squeezing the nozzle and finding it to be crafted from genuine authenticity—solid metal and no strings attached.
"How did this get-...oh, no."
Polterpup tilted his head, confused why Luigi's pleasant disbelief had so quickly morphed into horror.
"The professor! Does that mean he's here, too?!"
His dog whined, sniffing at the air and sneezing, leaving Luigi to tug on his hair, so many new problems now arising. Why was Gadd in the hotel? Was he all right? Was he captured?
...Was he dead?
Luigi felt sick, but he couldn't worry about that now, the weight of responsibility heavy in his hands as he looked over the vacuum, taking a deep breath and recalling Gadd's words.
'Wielding the Poltergust is a privilege, and not one I grant to just anyone. However, I've decided that you've proven yourself capable of carrying on my legacy. Carry it with pride, Luigi. We're all counting on you.'
...
...
The shame returned. But maybe, there was still time to make amends. With no way to erase proof of selfishness, forgiveness was all he could hope to earn.
He slowly fitted the vacuum over his shoulders and gripped the nozzle, the memories flooding in of his past experiences hunting ghosts. He shivered, the dread of facing another night like he had just a few years ago weighing him down more than the metal and machinery digging into his back ever could. However, with the added questions and renewed worry came the slightest comfort in knowing that he was no longer completely vulnerable. The Poltergust had served him well, and he trusted Gadd's design. In fact, it looked as though the professor had even upgraded the model, the young plumber taking note of the empty chamber on the back and thumb brushing over the engraving near the light source—G-00.
Polterpup barked, Luigi turning his attention to the dog with a sad smile.
"...I hope he's okay."
More than basic human empathy behind the words, he needed him. He was the only one who understood ghosts on such a level that he could beat the game of the dead. Though, he couldn't hope to ascertain how King Boo's cruelty affected his choices. Gadd had been the one to keep him locked up for years, prodding him—studying his kind. Would he even bother to keep the professor alive, or would killing him be seen as just retaliation?
Luigi covered his mouth, sinking to the ground.
He hadn't killed his brother or friends. The plumber had to hold onto that fact. Entrapment seemed to fit more with Boo's warped sense of justice, and even Luigi, who had captured him twice, hadn't been murdered on sight, but chased after with a portrait frame, the intention clear.
Eternal imprisonment.
It struck him that Boo was truly repaying an eye for an eye.
His thumb flicked along the buttons nervously, causing him to startle when he accidentally flashed the Strobulb, nearly blinding himself and causing Polterpup to freeze in an awkward position after venturing too close, his ghostly matter overcharged with light and causing a temporary stasis of rigid corporeality.
"Sorry, Pup," Luigi apologized, getting to his feet while his dog shook off the effects, his form a clearer shade of white as the light took its time to fade from the dead cells that absorbed life and energy from any source they could.
He barked, conveying that there were no hard feelings, and his owner scratched the back of his neck, deciding a refresher course on using the vacuum would be of more use now than when or if he was face to face with an enemy.
"Okay...okay, I remember this."
Feeling certain, he jammed a finger into what he thought to be a vaguely-recognizable button, blinking a few times when a plunger shot out of the hose, straight through Polterpup and sticking itself to the wall.
"...Maybe not. Gadd, you worry me, sometimes."
His dog interrupted his befuddlement, nosing at a switch beneath his index finger that flipped between two options, remaining neutral when positioned between them. Slightly less confident, Luigi leaned away and flicked the switch backward, relieved at the familiarity when a strong gust of air kicked up the dust and debris around him, Polterpup enjoying the breeze, even as he was pushed away, like a slightly-tangible fog.
Nodding his head, Luigi clicked the switch to the forward position, watching his dog be drawn back towards him and turning the device back to neutral. He sighed, relieved that nothing had changed, there. Upon further inspection, though, he noticed a fourth option, the switch seemingly acting as a button, as well. Unsure, especially given the plunger surprise of just moments ago, he turned the nozzle away from his dog and reluctantly pressed it, unwilling to find out what happened in a moment that was less than ideal.
"Whoa!"
The burst of air that erupted was strong enough not only to lift him a foot into the air, but Polterpup, as well, scattering loose papers and even a few rats that squeaked in anger and scurried away as soon as their feet landed back on the ground.
His legs nearly buckled when he fell down to earth, but he caught himself on the rusty rim of the car, managing to stay upright. The jostling had done little to help his aching head, but at least there was only one more mystery button, and it lay beside the Strobulb activator, near his thumb. He had never seen it, before, and it worried him what else Gadd had added in his spare time.
"Ready for nothing, Doggy?"
Polterpup yipped, backing away, and Luigi closed his eyes, steeling his nerves and pressing the button.
...
...
Apparently, his statement had been factually-correct. Besides a strange jolting sensation on his back each time he gained the confidence to try it again, nothing was happening.
"Huh...I really hope this isn't a prototype, or something. He wouldn't have packed it if it weren't done, right?"
While it briefly crossed his mind that the machine itself may simply be faulty, he quickly disregarded the theory. Gadd's experiments may be unconventional, but Luigi could say, with full confidence, that they never failed—a fact that the professor emphasized with more pride than he took in any other accomplishment.
His dog sniffed at the empty chamber, cocking his head in confusion before shaking his nose and prancing around to face Luigi, wagging his tail and barking at the nozzle, pointedly, his owner almost able to picture what he was trying to ask.
'Comfortable with what you learned?'
"Oh, yeah. I think I've got the hang of it. It's kind of like riding a bike."
A series of rattles and groans from above drew both their attention, Polterpup glancing at Luigi curiously before floating up towards the ceiling with the kind of confidence of someone with no life to lose.
"No, no, no, no, Pup! Come back!"
Luigi reached a hand out, unable to stop him and feeling incredibly cold and alone. The lights of the garage flickered, causing him to clench his fingers around the nozzle in uncertainty. His breaths quickening, he hurried out the door and down the dark hallway, grateful for the light attachment on the Poltergust that illuminated the room to the point that he could sigh in relief at the immediate lack of danger. More sounds echoed from above, causing him to increase his pace to a sprint, knowing logically that his dog couldn't be hurt, but still feeling the need to ensure his safety. Not to mention, the canine's company helped him remain grounded and he wanted it back.
He skidded to a halt when he came across the elevator, a pit forming in his stomach and causing him to back away in memory of that ghost woman emerging and addressing him, in her true form. Did they know where he was? Surely, she knew where the laundry chute ended. Why hadn't they ambushed him, already? Were they in that elevator, waiting for him to push the button and open the door to his own capture?
Panting in panic at his perceived scenario, convincing himself of its reality, he sidestepped to the stairway, vaguely noting the strange mechanical barring of the only other exit and the sick, pulsing green light that reminded him of Gadd's unique style of activation requirements. He realized that the ghosts may have stolen more than just the professor, himself, but had failed to realize that half the experiments he created were unlocked by the master key Luigi carried on his back.
It was a small victory, but one for which he was immeasurably grateful when he flashed the Strobulb at the sensor, granting himself access to the stairs.
He pushed through the door, slamming it closed and leaning against it to catch his breath, fingers numb from fear and only regaining control of his quivering limbs when he heard the echo of his dog, barking from somewhere upstairs. Swallowing thickly, unsure, squeezing the nozzle of the Poltergust with both hands, he timed his breathing and climbed the stairs, wondering what could be waiting for him around each corner. In truth, he didn't know whether or not to be angry at Polterpup. On one hand, he had forced him out of his comfort zone before he had been able to get himself into a proper headspace to tackle the task in front of him. On the other, he had forced him out of his comfort zone and given him the push he needed to get started.
The stairs creaked with each step, but something soon came into view that shifted the tide of Luigi's fear. Upon the wall was a relief sculpture of the woman who had freed his arch enemy, captured his friends, put him in this position, and, worst of all, taken away his brother. The fear began to back away to make room for a new emotion—anger. There she was, smiling—captured in a pose of expected acclamation—as if she weren't the cause of all of this; as if she weren't responsible for potentially ruining his life.
Had she stood before him in actuality, he wondered if he could be so brave as to stand his ground and call out her blame. Given his irrational fear of the elevator, he figured probably not, but, if anything, the fact fueled his rage further. He made it to the top of the stairs and paused, offering the wall a hand gesture he could only dream about having the courage to show the woman, herself, and opened the door, finding himself in a very different lobby than he remembered, in a very different world—an unfortunately familiar world—that he had never explored, by choice. He set his teeth, closed his eyes, and took that first step, out of denial and into a nightmare.
~To Be Continued~
Chapter 2: The Lobby
Summary:
Out of the basement and into a nightmare.
Notes:
I haven't finished this one, but I felt bad that I hadn't updated it in almost two months, so I decided to release the first real chapter. While I pretty much have this entire story written in my head, scene for scene, putting it down in words is taking more time than I'd like, mostly due to the fact that I don't have a lot of free time and I'm a very hard critic of my own writing, so posting something with which I'm satisfied takes me longer than I anticipated. However, when I do have time to write, all my stories flow like water, so I'm still optimistic that this one and my other one will be done before I know it. Most importantly, I'm having a lot of fun with them, and I truly appreciate how kind, encouraging, and patient everyone has been. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)
Chapter Text
"Hey, Bro."
Mario cracked open the door, allowing a slim amount of light to cast the darkened room in a few shadows, the older brother silhouetted against the beam.
Luigi didn't respond, turning away from his twin to face the wall—away from his shame. It had been a bad day.
No, it had been a horrible day.
Mario didn't make another attempt to get his attention. Instead, he simply pressed himself through the gap in the doorway and closed the panel with a soft click, plunging the room back into a void of quiet nothingness. Luigi wasn't sure if he heard the footsteps or just passively exercised his shared ability to sense his twin's presence, but he felt Mario standing beside him, sighing sadly before running a gentle hand over his back.
"Things will get better."
"...They never do."
"Aw, Fratellino," he sat down, the dip in the bed making it a less lonely place, "don't say that. You know, there are days I question myself, too."
"Why would you?" The younger brother couldn't keep all of the bitterness from his tone, despite his best efforts. "You're perfect."
The hand on his back paused, pulling away a second later, and Luigi regretted everything. He needed that contact with his other half.
"No one's perfect, Lu," his brother spoke up, his voice raspy. "We can pretend all we want, but there are some things we can't change. People are flawed. People make mistakes. The better people try to be better, and the best people know they'll never be the best."
Something shifted in his hands—some plastic and metal, by the sound of it.
"...I know you struggle. I know I can't always tell you exactly what you need to hear, in any given moment, but...maybe, sometimes, you just need to find whatever helps you be strong, and hold onto it."
Tenderly, he set a pair of headphones in Luigi's line of sight, along with a small recorder.
"You'll never hear me say you're anything but a hero. I don't care what anyone else thinks of you; I know you. I love the person I know. I love who you are, not who you wish you were, and I hope, someday, your demons will let you go and you can see yourself how I see you."
A steady hand fell on his shoulder, squeezing.
"That'll be a good day, and I'm gonna continue to be patient for it."
After delivering a gentle kiss to the side of his twin's head, Mario left, letting his brother lie in the resulting silence. After a moment, a listless hand snagged over the headphones, finding the strength to apply them and press a single button on the recorder.
'Hi, Bro,' his sibling's voice came through, loud and clear, 'I got the idea to make this for you a while ago, but...I think you particularly needed it, today. You're in for a series of pep talks and rants to get you through anything you're going through, but I wanted to categorize, so I can hit all your different misconceptions about yourself. You can just skip to whichever lecture gets you through whatever situation calls for it, so...part one, I guess.'
He cleared his throat, gaining a little momentum.
'This is for when you need courage...'
He took those recordings everywhere. Even Mario didn't know that the device he had gifted his little brother was an anchor—a lifeline—a source of strength that booked a special pocket in every piece of luggage, reserved an open spot on every shelf, and kept a backup stash of batteries that resided in the same category of importance as a can of food in an apocalyptic bunker.
They were here, in the hotel. They were close—only five floors up. They may even guide him through this horrible night. If he could just hear Mario—hear his brother's voice, telling him to be strong, to be brave, to be steady...he may have a chance.
The floorboards of the lobby groaned under his shoes, once pristine and perfect, and Luigi wondered how he could have ever beheld the space through a lens of awe. The lights flickered, the smell of decay permeating the room to the point that the walls and floor had almost seemed to absorb it, rotting and darkening across some accelerated timeline. A vague sense of unease—the only clue he could remember attributing to the lavish hotel and its occupants that something wasn't right—should have triggered a response from his fight or flight before any of this even had a chance to happen, but he had ignored it.
Bringing the vacuum's nozzle forward, his flashlight proved useless against the blue bath in which the moon cast the lobby, thousands of previously-absent dust particles only emphasizing how well the illusion could mask dilapidation, as well as pose the unsettling question of whether he would now be able to count on anything he saw to be more than a trick.
He should have listened to his instincts. He should have let timidness take control and risk ruining everyone else's vacation over what could have been a baseless feeling. None of this would have happened.
Mario's presence had suppressed his cowardice, and now, they were all paying for it.
He crept forward, resisting the urge to give away his position by calling out to his dog and feeling very much like a deer in an open field, spotting countless places for anything malicious to lie in wait, hiding, and anticipating the perfect moment that he lowered his guard. However, something hanging above the grand staircase caught his eye, and he stepped into the foyer without even thinking about first scanning the area for danger.
"M-Mario," he choked on the word.
Whether it was a visual placed for his torture, or simply a checkmark for a successful capture, seeing his twin's portrait, marred with a giant "X," as if marked for dead, was enough to cause his knees to rattle. The only comfort he could take, upon realizing that the same treatment had been awarded not only to Peach and Toad's portraits, but to his own, as well, was that the mark wasn't synonymous with death, as he was living proof. If they had simply drawn him up as a lost cause, he could even view it as a good thing—benefit from the kind of arrogance that didn't even entertain the notion that he might succeed.
Backing away from the stairs, trying to calm his pounding heart, he turned around, only to lose his grip on the Poltergust and freeze in place.
"Ghosts can only harm you if they're tangible," Gadd educated, adjusting the straps of the vacuum a bit too tightly across Luigi's shoulders. "But, they're only tangible in a direct source of light. That's their limitation and our advantage. Boos make their own rules, but that's a different story. For now, all I want you to remember is that a ghost is a master of its own form. It will duck into dark corners and become practically invisible, then spring at you as soon as you step into the moonlight, or any light you can find, around this place. I suppose that's why ghosts so enjoy blowing out candles and breaking lightbulbs. Well, another reason besides the fun of terrorizing their victims, I would guess. Though, can we really blame them? It must be dreadfully dull, being dead in a place like this. You know, my grandfather-"
"Professor," Luigi interrupted with a pained smile, "my brother?"
"Right, right."
Gadd waddled over to his back, tightening a screw on one of the Poltergust's panels.
"Fascinating creatures—ghosts. Luckily for us, I have labored over the study of their delicate biology and have perfected a way to gain the upper hand."
He tapped at the nozzle, specifically at what Luigi recalled to be named the Strobulb, with a triumphant grin.
"Light is our greatest weapon against them, and this light is just a little too much to handle. If you blast them with this, not only will they get overcharged and become involuntarily corporeal, but the flash is strong enough to even petrify them in place, if only for a moment, but a moment is enough. Now, you have to be quick, because once the vacuum comes out, they tend to try to scramble away and will give you a good drag-along, if you don't suck them up quickly."
Luigi regarded the Poltergust, feeling a little ill.
"I thought you respected ghosts?"
"I do. Very dignified life forms- or, well, you know what I mean."
The professor pushed his glasses up his nose, clearly not seeing the issue and waiting for the plumber's point.
"...But...you want me to flash them in the face with a supercharged lightbulb and petrify them so I can suck them into a vacuum bag?"
"For science."
"'Dignified?'"
"Yes. Respect is maintained, if that's what concerns you. It's not like I'm having you capture them, just to flush them down the toilet."
They hadn't seen him—too busy barring up the door with boards and chains, and Luigi felt a bizarre blend of terror and relief. At the very least, with the last possible avenue of escape now inaccessible, the temptation to leave could be almost fully stifled under the inability to do so. With no other option, he could even pretend he was choosing to stay and face his fears. With time, he may even believe it, himself.
One foot stepped back, the other remaining in place, the plumber torn between the classic problem of facing head-on what could easily be avoided. Of course, he forgot the dusty floorboards might have a say in his decision, letting out what he believed sounded like an intentionally-loud and even mischievous creak, causing him to gasp and look down in surprise.
By the time he looked back up, one of the ghosts was an inch from his face, waiting for his eyes to meet its empty sockets before grinning and shrieking into his ear.
That scream was something he remembered from his dreams, odd and bone-chilling, like a strangled crow, and he had honestly lost track of how many times he had woken in the night to Mario calling his name, looking so worried and using his pajama sleeve to wipe at the tears and sweat that covered his little brother's face.
He cried out in alarm, falling on his back and wincing as the Poltergust dug into him. Turning quickly, praying nothing important broke, he scrambled for the nozzle, eerie chuckling filling the space as the room darkened further, curtains falling over windows and the specter's teeth glinting as it backed away, disappearing into the shadows.
Luigi got to his feet, readying himself, spinning in a circle and trying to rely on muscle memory as much as he could while thrown into this fight before he was ready. All around him, warped, misaligned fences grew from the ground to bar any escape routes and close him into an arena of the ghost's own choosing, and he vaguely tried to recall any bits and pieces of Gadd's advice that could prove helpful, begging the memories to scream louder than the ringing in his ears and override the panic that had never gone away, regardless of how many times he had faced dead specters and come out victorious.
"They're masters of illusion."
A bit of old dialogue broke through, quickly drowned out by the malicious giggling at his expense and the flashes of movement that tricked the corners of his eyes, causing him to question his own sanity.
"Anything they can build isn't real, despite how it looks and even feels. They may cage you."
The hair on the back of his neck stood up a second before a chill ran down his spine, another screech making him want to curl up into a fetal position, but he resisted, twisting around and flashing the Strobulb. He missed.
"They may try to make you believe that you're at their mercy, but it's only in your mind, that you're trapped."
It floated to his left, past a beam of moonlight, and he fired the Strobulb again, hands shaking. The tips of its fingers were caught in the crossfire, but it still managed to get away, fading into the background. However, its pale phalanges trailed behind, allowing Luigi the slightest victory, as he now could just barely track its movements, even if it was nearly impossible to see.
"Your brain tells you that anything you can see and anything you can touch is real, so you believe it. Ghosts play their own game, so play it with them. Their constructions are no more tangible than they are. You are not boxed in. The only barriers that exist are the ones you have constructed, within your own mind. Train your head to know when to doubt your senses, and those bars will disappear like smoke in the wind."
They seemed pretty real to him, especially when he stumbled into one of them, upon catching the ghost trying to sneak up on his right. He had to calm his heart rate; it was beginning to gallop to the point of pain, and he was not about to die from a heart attack in the dirty lobby of this hotel, never to make it even to the first floor.
Clenching his teeth, he decided he very well could play the game, even if his brain couldn't get on board with the idea of the fences being nothing but a trick. He leaned against them, clutching his chest and feigning distraction, catching a hint of blue to his right and purposefully jerking his head to the left, letting his very real fear shine through, in full. The ghost drifted into the moonlight, silent and just a little too confident, Luigi's trembling fingers sweating through his stained glove and finger hovering over the button, both foes awaiting the perfect moment.
"Don't let them play on your empathy for who they used to be. There's one clear difference between you and a ghost, Luigi. You have something to lose."
He waited for the familiar chill in his blood—a cue of his own design—and whipped around, flashing the light in the ghost's face, capturing its surprise and seizing the brief moment he had to turn on the suction, aiming for its tail. As expected, the now-corporeal form tried to dart away, strong enough to drag him with it, but he held firm, pulling back, shoes scuffing the floor and slipping against the tile. His hat fell off and he held his breath, focusing every bit of strength he had into holding the device steady. Taking a chance, he flung himself the other way, carrying the ghost with him and slamming it into the ground. It seemed to stun it, giving him the upper hand, so he did it, again.
And, again.
And, again.
It felt like beating a bug with a rolled up magazine, only less humane and certainly more barbaric. However, if it were the ghost or him, it would be the ghost. If it were the ghost or Mario, it would be every ghost in this cursed building.
The final slam of the specter into the ground jostled it out of its last dregs of resistance and he could feel it getting pulled into the vortex of its capture.
He closed his eyes, the shrieking dissipating after a moment and his own body tripping to a halt as the force against it suddenly disappeared. Panting, filling the room with the sound of labored breathing, he opened his eyes, nearly falling to his knees as he processed his success.
But, before he could properly celebrate or even smile, he was ambushed by two others. These chittered and scowled, using his inadvertent sidestepping into the moonlight as their chance to shove him to the ground, drawing the first blood of battle as he bit his lip. While the original had seemed more like a chaotic sprite of mischief, the two new ones were obviously less playful and more vengeful, likely foretelling that their fellow ghost would have some fun with a helpless victim before he joined their ranks—scared to death. They hadn't expected him to fight back.
They certainly hadn't expected him to win.
Had there been anything of their own they could have used as weapons, in that lobby, Luigi had no doubt he would be fending off bats and boards and anything else they could wrap in their light-charged hands.
Even so, while one distracted, the other was hard at work, trying to pull one of the nailed beams off the door and giving Luigi the perfect opportunity to take a chance and turn his back to the decoy, aiming his attention at the one in the background, which ultimately proved to be a good decision, on his part, if not risky.
Educational, though. Who knew ghosts could get beaten up with one of their own kind?
Fighting two was an entirely different experience than fighting one, requiring more focus, more energy, and more strategy, and at the end of it, when sweat dripped down his brow and the ghostly fences faded, the casters of the illusion defeated, he could consider himself lucky that the worst injury he had received was a bruised chin and split lip.
Looking around, finding himself truly alone, he allowed himself to collapse to his knees, trying to get his shaking under control. He covered his face, trying to force calming images in front of his mind's eye—memories of Mario, scenes of them walking in a sunny field, visions of a cup of tea, shared with his big brother on a quiet evening. He would do anything to have that back.
It struck him, then.
...He would do anything.
Saying the words wasn't enough.
Thinking the thought wasn't enough.
Feeling the desire wasn't enough.
...Time to prove it.
The trembling subsided, his breathing evening out. Dropping his hand from his eyes, he spotted none other than Polterpup, sitting in the moonlight and holding his hat in his mouth, tilting his head and looking particularly sorry for running off.
Luigi granted him a wobbly smile, slowly pulling his feet under him and shuffling over to his dog, taking the hat and patting the pearly, cloudy texture of his head—cold and firm under his fingers.
"Good boy."
Polterpup raised his eyes in suspicion, as if he himself questioned the validity of that statement, and Luigi laughed, the sound a rare pleasure, given his situation.
"I mean it. You got me going and gave me the push I needed. Bravo ragazzo."
His dog barked, happily wagging his tail at the praise.
Polterpup's insistence about the locked door at the top of the stairs was both a welcome hint and a bit of a nuisance. The fact that Luigi could not so easily phase through walls, in order to determine whether the contents of a room was worth exploring, was somewhat lost on the excitable puppy, who couldn't seem to remember that living, breathing humans had to spend time looking for those inconvenient things called keys.
"I hear you," he called up to his dog, trying to put a damper on the impatient whining whilst rummaging through the front desk's messy drawers and cabinets, noting files still containing years of past guests, who had visited the hotel long before his family had even left Italy.
He supposed updating one's records was somewhat pointless, when dead, but it didn't make his job any easier. He couldn't even be certain that the key lay hidden here, or if he was just wasting his time. If it had been up to him, he might have moved on to a different room, but Polterpup's desperate yapping and tugging at his clothes clued him in that something important was behind that door—or someone.
Was it Mario?
He didn't dare hope.
Then again, maybe-
Another insistent howl made him cringe and drop the stack of papers he had been moving aside, hoping his canine wasn't about to alert every other ghost in the hotel to their presence. Would they write off his caterwauling, as he was one of their own? Or, would even the deceased spare some of their infinite time to investigate and complain about the racket?
"Cucciolo! Tranquillo! Sto arrivando!"
He spoke the words in that sort of yelled whisper that was supposed to, in theory, reach its target and avoid bystanders, but which ultimately only succeeded in alerting those nearby and straining one's throat.
Abandoning the desk to run upstairs and quiet down his dog, he only made it to the banister before a yip from behind had him turning back around, Polterpup doing his best impression of an English Pointer, not that Luigi would bet any substantial money on knowing what kind of breed he had been, while alive, standing on the desk and directing his nose to the one hook Luigi had yet to examine—the rather obvious one that held a gleaming, golden key.
Flushing red, he scooped it up, aiming a finger at his pet.
"Not a word," he warned, perhaps imagining the smug sniff that Polterpup offered, in return.
Nevertheless satisfied, he trotted off, taking a shortcut through the walls and returning to the door mere seconds before Luigi was there, shakily turning the key. However, his palm froze on the handle, and he closed his eyes on instinct, unsure what awaited him and wondering if his heart could bear the disappointment when he didn't see his brother. Leaving Mario so close would be too easy, he now reasoned. He had to tamper down his hope and keep his expectations low, or he would never get through this night.
Unless, King Boo had set up a trap, which was entirely possible. What was waiting, behind the door? Was there a spring trigger, ready to impale him? Was there an army, lurking in the shadows?
His respirations picked up speed and he clutched at his chest.
Was there-
Polterpup probably wouldn't ever know how relieved his owner was to hear him bark. His heart calmed, anxiety fading, if only slightly, but enough to allow him to swallow down the lump of fear that had lodged itself in his throat and slowly creak open the wooden panel. He knew his dog well enough to understand that his yelp was one of beckoning, not warning, and the puppy was far too loyal to ever lead his master into danger, even accidentally.
No, Luigi could trust that he was safe, for now, and with that confidence, he opened his eyes and swung open the door, only to clap a hand over his mouth at the sight of a single portrait, hanging on the far wall.
"...Professore?"
Polterpup whined, scratching at the wall and gazing up at none other than the ghost expert, himself—Elvin Gadd.
Two minutes.
...Three minutes.
......Five minutes.
How long was an acceptable amount of time to wait before acknowledging that the Poltergust was, in fact, missing the Dark-Light function, and he wasn't simply too stupid to locate the button?
Perhaps, five minutes was enough.
Polterpup had given up four minutes ago, sniffing out some trail that led him through the only other door in the room and leaving Luigi with the odd sensation of standing before his mentor and failing the only test in which he usually excelled.
What if he couldn't find the Dark-Light attachment?
'Don't panic.'
What if he couldn't find another solution?
'It doesn't solve anything!'
What if there was no other solution?!
'Breathe! Think about Mario; he'd tell you to stay calm.'
It wasn't as if he were smart enough to build another one, even if he had the blueprints, but he didn't even have those! What was he going to do?!
"You know, one of my favorite things about being your twin?" Mario had asked, one day, as they took their evening stroll in the mushroom fields, squeezing his hand and directing a smile his way that was meant for no one else, but him. "No matter where you are, I can feel your heart beating. And, no matter where I am, you know that mine's beating to the same rhythm as yours. It's comforting. I always know when you're upset or hurt, but I also know when you're calm and safe."
"How do you know it's not mine beating to your tempo?"
"Lu, c'mon. My heart started racing this morning, and it didn't have anything to do with a particularly exciting breakfast bagel. However, I'm pretty sure any detective could trace it back to a certain crisis involving you, the bathtub, and a little black spider that you made me deal with."
...
ThumpThumpThumpThump.Thump.Thump
Thump..Thump..Thump....Thump.....Thump
...
'Breathe...Breathe...Do it for Mario.'
He sighed, managing to calm himself enough to focus on what he had to do next. The Dark-Light had to either be found or reassembled, and he had the rest of his life to figure it out.
'Focus on the positive,' he had to remind himself. He had found one of his missing allies, and far earlier than even he could have hoped.
Resting a tentative hand on the edge of the portrait, he couldn't help but turn his gaze away, a torturous thought plaguing him that this may be the closest he would come to feeling less alone. Whether or not it made sense, he still felt safer, just being in the presence of someone who knew what he was doing, even if he was currently in a state of inability to make any sort of difference. It wasn't like he could spring into action, if Luigi suddenly found himself surrounded, but he supposed there was something primal about impressing humanity onto an inanimate object, to rely upon as a source of comfort—children had been doing it for centuries. Turning up his eyes, he felt a familiar pain in his heart. It never got any easier, seeing his family and friends trapped and scared, and if he couldn't get the Dark-Light problem fixed, there was no saving anybody, especially without Gadd.
"I-I'll figure it out," he stuttered, wiping a frustrated stream from under his eye and gazing up at the fearful countenance of the professor, locked in a frozen frame that captured him at this most primordial display of human emotion.
"I promise!"
Why was he defending himself? Prior evidence supported the fact that Gadd couldn't hear him or see him, but he still found himself unable to shake the theory that those captured by King Boo were still fully-aware of their static prisons and the continuation of the outside world. At least, Mario had always emphatically insisted that he could still sense his twin—following his journey and feeling his pain—down to the moment he was freed. Gadd had vehemently discounted the older brother's testament, holding fast to his own scientific research that those within the portrait could not sense anything between the time of capture and the minute of release. Of course, Luigi believed his twin, but he also wondered if Mario's situation had been unique, due to the fact that his other half still roamed free, each time he had been captured, and thus, he was never fully contained—heart, mind, and soul.
Then again, Gadd could just be wrong. The possibility was about as far-fetched as the record distance he held in throwing sticks for his dog, and he wasn't particularly skilled at pitching.
A cold tongue phasing through his hand had him scrambling away, yelping and feeling as though every nerve were tingling at the same time; anxiety soaring, once more. Polterpup only sneezed, yipping happily about whatever new clue he had found and shoving his practically-corporeal head under Luigi's hand, prompting him to catch hold of his collar before he was quickly dragged forward.
"Wait! Wait, wait, Pup- you-"
THUD
One of these days, he would have to teach his dog about human limitations, to avoid situations that led to owners groaning in pain and rubbing their noses, eyes watering as they wrung out the hand that took most of the impact when colliding full-force with a door.
As he glanced down, he noted a drooping muzzle and two guilty eyes slowly poking out of the panel, looking up at him with the tentative question of whether or not he was still a good boy. Sucking in a deep breath and deciding to wait to answer that inquiry until after his knuckles stopped stinging, he twisted the handle and followed his dog out into the hallway, casting one last look towards the professor and whispering the silent promise, not only that he would return, but that he would return successfully. His mentor deserved no less.
~TO BE CONTINUED~
Chapter 3: E. Gadd
Summary:
Freeing Professor E. Gadd is the key to saving Mario and the others, if only Luigi can find the Dark Light and survive long enough to rescue his mentor.
Notes:
Since I decided I like posting on a consistent schedule, instead of waiting until the story is complete, chapters for this novelization will be coming much more frequently. The writing requires a lot more work than "There His Heart Will Be," which is purely for fun, so these chapters will take longer to write, meaning about two weeks between postings, if I'm estimating myself correctly. Also, warning for unhealthy self-image and possibly disturbing implications/imagery. I want this retelling to be dark and realistic, so be aware of more mature topics. Thank you all for your patience and I hope you enjoy this next chapter. :)
Chapter Text
Hopefully jiggling yet another knob for a door that was, once again, clearly locked was a level of wishful thinking that Luigi would store up on the shelf of idealism, along such classics as the Mushroom Kingdom flying green flags in his honor or Bowser taking on a new hobby that didn't inevitably end up as a group activity. But, of course, it was the only door in the hallway of three that Polterpup was insistent upon him opening. He only hoped it was worth the time it would take to find the key.
He could hear his dog barking from inside, not understanding why his master was simply walking away, and Luigi didn't bother trying to explain, feeling there was no point. The door at the end of the hall might as well have been locked, also, for the fact that something heavy had obviously fallen in front of the other side, but it didn't prevent the green plumber from walking off, once more, with a sore nose and bruised pride. Given that Polterpup had no interest in that door, though, Luigi was content to let it remain a mystery—turning, instead, to the only other room and hoping he would get as lucky there as he had at the front desk.
Taking a deep breath, preparing for anything to jump out at him, he took a chance at a different approach and threw open the door, hoping to surprise anything that lay waiting for him.
...Empty.
"H-Hello? If you're here, c-come out! I've got a v-vacuum!"
That sounded more intimidating in his head. Chances were, there was no one around to care about him or his vacuum.
Clutching the nozzle with both hands, he carefully stepped across the creaking floorboards, spooking himself more than once via the mirrors that lined the wall.
He ventured to the left, barely spotting a safe within the wall, hidden behind a rack of dusty clothes that spanned at least five generations of styles, and locked by one of Gadd's sensors. Hoping for a key, he was quick to activate the mechanism, feeling his excitement rise, then quickly dwindle at the lack of progress when the door slowly swung open. A gem lay inside—a large one—clearly valuable. After allowing himself a moment to work through his disappointment, he resealed the safe, losing interest in its contents.
Eventually, tentatively convinced that he was alone, he was able to relax, just slightly, especially when something else caught his eye. He strode over to a familiar human mask that lay on the counter of what he could only call a dressing room, picking it up and cringing at the unfamiliar texture. It looked human enough—enough to have fooled him, anyway—and he traced around the eye sockets, wondering how he, and so many people smarter than he was, could have been so easily tricked.
He berated himself for being so stupid. Forgiving Mario and Peach and the Toads was easy—they hadn't been the ones to check them all in with the steward—but he had interacted with him directly. He should have known better. No one else, in his party, would have looked at this mask and not realized something wasn't right. He had no one to blame, but himself.
The texture was causing him to shiver, a bitter taste rising in his mouth, of unknown origin, but he couldn't shake his curiosity. It wasn't rubber; he knew that much. It wasn't plastic or leather. From what could something so realistic be made, if not from real human skin-
Dropping the mask with a gasp, he scrambled away and fell to the ground, legs becoming jelly as he turned on his side and dry heaved, covering his mouth and trying to retch silently, knowing the ghosts could probably hear him. Tears leaked from his eyes at the effort it cost to stifle his nausea.
He hated this place.
He hated it.
He wanted to go home and lie on his bed and have Mario stroke his hair and tell him everything was going to be okay.
He wanted to listen to his recordings on a loop, until he fell asleep.
'You're not weak, just because you react to things so strongly,' Mario had said, at the twenty-seven minute and thirty-six second mark. 'Most people struggle, just to care. If caring too much is a problem, then being too kind is a problem, and I don't think that's possible, as long as you don't let people take advantage of it. Don't be ashamed that you're emotional; be grateful that you care.'
Three deep breaths. He allowed himself just three, then pulled himself to his feet, pushing aside clothes left behind by the dead and rummaging through cases of recently-used makeup, which he emphatically refused to imagine being applied to add color to masked cheeks that no longer held any blood.
Just about to give up on this room as nothing but a vat of nightmare fuel, he reluctantly faced his reflection, deciding there would be no better time to try to check his initial head wound and the cut on his lip that was already scabbing over. Mario was already going to lecture him for getting hurt; he didn't need to add negligence of triage to his list of failings.
"Mamma Mia," he muttered, feeling as though a ghost were present, after all.
Never had he seen himself so pale, or with circles so dark beneath his eyes. Dried blood caked his hair and chin, and a nice bruise was also forming, where he had hit the ground during that fight.
Looking himself up and down, sallow and dirty and clinging to a vacuum as if it were a safety harness, he felt nothing but shame and disgust. There he was, their only hope, and he couldn't even stand up straight, his legs quivering and a permanent furrow of anxiety between his brows, trembling in terror and looking even more pitiful than he could have imagined. No wonder King Boo, or Hellen, or whoever had hung their faces over the stairs, had crossed him out, along with his brother and friends. He was probably less intimidating than anyone else, stuck, frozen, in a portrait.
Fingers reached out, almost against his will, and brushed across that desolate face.
...
...
"...I hate you."
Mario would never let him say it, at home. He couldn't even know if it were therapeutic, to speak the words that haunted him—to give them life, in a way. Though, he supposed it was somewhat freeing, watching someone so pathetic say it back—validating him.
"You're not good enough to be his brother. He's perfect."
The man in the mirror scowled, looking him up and down and losing the tremor, if only to make room for more loathing. Luigi stepped closer—closer to the evaluation—closer to the truth. Burying his fingers into his hair, he tugged, trying to flick away, with growing frustration, the nervous tingles that wouldn't release him—the fear that wouldn't leave him.
His fist shot out, rage reaching a crux, and shattered that tormented vision.
Heart calming, eyes taking in the broken glass, he covered his eyes. If the ghosts hadn't heard him before, they certainly had, now.
'Anger doesn't make fear go away; it just hides it.'
"...Leave me alone."
Maybe, a day would come when his conscience would listen, but for another night, he would be disappointed. A glint from above caught his attention and he glanced up in time to notice the pulsing green glow of an activation switch, reflected in the top half of the mirror, which hadn't yet broken. The glass wobbled in the rickety frame, Luigi turning around, without proper consideration for his position, to examine what could very well be something important, following the line that ran to the painting on the left wall-
CRASH
"Oof!"
The rest of the panel dropping onto his already-sore head had him stumbling forward and falling to his hands and knees, the spots in his vision causing his nausea to surge, once more, as he closed his eyes, willing the blackness creeping around the edges to recede. Sight blurred, he forced himself to rise from the ground, vaguely taking notice of the new cuts on his palms and legs, from where he had fallen on the shards, ripping the fabric of his gloves and staining his overalls with little spots of blood.
He wobbled on his feet, aiming the Strobulb and flashing it at the light, then watching through a haze as a current of electricity trailed to the canvas, causing it to fold in on itself and allow another golden key to topple to the ground, landing in the broken glass.
Leaning over while dizzy wasn't one of his best ideas, but he managed to snag it up just before his vision tunneled down to a pinprick, causing an involuntary reintroduction to the ground. He tried for deep breaths, hanging onto that cliff of awareness by a single finger and giving himself a minute to recover; though, the minute was more than enough time to focus on the renewed pounding in his skull, the stupidity of not only breaking the mirror, but standing directly beneath it, and the way in which Mario would choose to wring his neck, should he ever find out that he had not only given himself the initial concussion, but had actively made it worse, via his own rash outburst.
If he didn't know better, he'd say Mario had been metaphysically punishing him for the merciless words spoken to his reflection, from wherever he was, but Luigi's superstition didn't extend beyond ghosts and magic. Besides, Mario would never show disapproval by hurting him; cuddles, words of encouragement, and tea were more his style.
He did make good tea. Luigi would ask for a cup, when they were out of here, and would, undoubtedly, receive a pot. That's just how his brother was—perfect.
Nevertheless, he couldn't afford to get himself hurt, so carelessly; not when he was sure to receive more than a bump on the head before this night was through, if past experience was any indication. It had been six years, and Mario still wouldn't let him forget how many mushrooms it had taken to heal him from the Dark Moon incident.
Several more minutes went by, before he reasoned that the likelihood of him fully blacking out had decreased from a ninety percent chance, down to about a forty percent. The odds of remaining conscious were good enough—solid enough that he couldn't justify wasting any more time lying around and waiting for his situation to improve, so he slowly got back onto his feet, holding his throbbing head and stumbling back towards the door, in the sincere hopes that the key he had found would prove useful, and wasn't just some decoy, hidden behind a ruse of faux importance.
Exiting the room while rubbing his aching head, distracted, he would have been blind to the trap, had he not felt the foreboding chill. Eyes snapping up, he stumbled back at the sight of dozens of wanted posters, bearing his own face, plastered against the walls and fluttering in the slight breeze through a crack in the nearby window.
He blinked, having seen similar illusions in nightmares—an introvert confronted and bombarded with his own insecurities, bearing down and smothering him with the worst image of all—himself.
'When did they even have time to do this?!'
Impulsion taking inspiration from the thought, he abandoned caution and turned his back on the room to brush his fingers over one of the pages, hoping it would fade into mist, along with every other poster in this hallway, but nothing of the sort happened. He could confirm, they were real, which begged another question.
'How did they get that picture?'
He flinched as hundreds more posters rained over his head and he hunkered down with a yelp, protecting himself like one would from acid rain. Panting, he dared to uncover his eyes, staring straight into the gaze of his own portrait, and let out a grunt as he was, once more, shoved to the ground.
A myriad of haunting chuckles echoed about the room and he scrambled to his knees, bringing his head up in time to catch sight of the ghost at the end of the hall, dancing closer, flashing its malevolent grin. Seconds later, a jolting shiver ran down his spine as phantom fingers brushed across the back of his head and he shoved himself to his feet, heart pounding and hands practically bending the Poltergust nozzle out of shape, with the force of his grip. However, he froze in place, watching the resulting scene and feeling like a morbid observer of something depraved as the second, hidden spirit glided over to where the first had been distracting him, holding up the glistening red substance it had obtained from Luigi's re-opened head wound and gleefully arcing its incorporeal trajectory around one of the posters, trailing the stains of its fingers across the portrait's neck—the threat clear.
The first one chittered like it had witnessed something unmatched in wit and bared its teeth at the green plumber, who only had a second to spare on conscious thought before they both rushed at him, shrieking, the one's bloody fingers curling and reaching for him, but his instincts were ready, if nothing else.
He could thank muscle memory for taking over and flashing the Strobulb faster than they could attack, quickly taking advantage of their dual stunned states and turning on the suction, managing to capture them both in one sweep of his vacuum. His feet slid on the papers cluttering the ground, but the ghosts, between enraged screeches and uncoordinated attempts to escape the professor's superior construction, used their last seconds of freedom to get on the same page, sharing some hasty, malicious discussion, of which Luigi was clearly the topic of contention, and showing him the final, crazed eyes of desperate souls before working together, pulling with all their combined might down the hall.
Luigi cried out, unused to the speed of two ghosts working together to yank him down, and his eyes widened when he realized their intentions.
One of the purple, misty gates that they loved to construct—tormenting their caged rats—lay in wait at the end of the hallway, only the bars had been reimagined somewhat differently than their usual, warped architecture. These were sharp, pointed, dangerous...and facing out.
Luigi scrambled back, unable to fight against the pull as every survival instinct begged him to let go and every option for how this ended flashed within his mind.
'They're not real!'
.........Closer.
'If I let go, I may not get another chance!'
......Closer.
'They're illusions! They can't hurt me!'
...Closer.
'Don't let go! Mario wouldn't let go!'
Closer.
'...Be more like your brother.'
With a gasp, he slid to a halt and fell backward, the ghosts sucked into the canister with only seconds to spare as the spikes of the fence faded into mist—no longer a threat, either real or imagined.
Choking on his terror, he stayed on the ground for a moment, trembling and running a hand over his eyes and mouth, wondering why it never got any easier. Those horrible posters remained where they were, glued to the wall, and he subconsciously sought out the one the ghosts had highlighted, staring at the threatening red smudge that ran across his portrait's throat. These phantoms were no longer simply mischievous; they wanted him dead. That much was clear.
The question was, would they achieve their goal before Luigi achieved his?
A yip from his right had him turning his head. Polterpup had popped halfway out from the door to stare at him curiously, his query just as clear.
'What took you so long?'
"Okay...Okay, here we go. Is this what you wanted?"
His dog barked, wagging his tail and sitting down to swipe at the air with a whine, pawing in the direction of the blinking safe that was lodged into the wall of this dark, dusty storage room.
Luigi sighed, needing a win, but not daring to get his hopes up too high. His head was killing him and he wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up in his own bed, to the smell of smoke and waffles, Mario vaguely heard as he hummed, singing some off-key Italian while he burned their breakfast. The younger twin opened his eyes, ignoring the wetness gathering around them and Polterpup's concerned tilt of the head.
"I'm fine," he assured, clearing his throat and lifting the nozzle. "Let's-a do this."
Whatever this was.
Despite his hesitation, he couldn't stop his dog's glee from boosting his morale completely, and he found his anticipation building into genuine excitement when the lock opened with a click and Polterpup started dancing around in circles, clearly thrilled.
"Wha-"
...It was official. He had used up the rest of the luck allotted to the world, as a whole.
With trembling fingers, he reached for the Dark Light, nearly fumbling with it, in his shock.
"...Pup...I-I think we're g-gonna be okay."
A smile spread across his face as a wave of dizziness struck him, his relief unmatched. Blinking around the tears he was no longer ashamed to display, he allowed a half-laugh, half-sob to escape his throat as he attached their saving grace to the Poltergust, its function now complete—their victory officially graduating from a wish to a possibility.
A switch of a button, and the room was soon cast in a familiar aurora of blues and purples, Polterpup soaking in the light and gliding upwards to watch from above, perching himself atop an old portrait of painted riches, which trembled under the sweep of the nozzle, giving Luigi an idea. Taking aim, he allowed the beam to focus upon the frame, the illusion soon to reveal itself for what it was—nothing but a trick.
The coins within began to take shape, bulging out of their painted confinement, like they were somehow pressing in from the back and straining the limit of the canvas's ability to stretch. As the light continued to soak into the fibers, the tapestry grew flimsy and wispy, burning away the lie and leaving only a thin, cotton-like substance over the prison, not unlike a spider web, which easily burst open as the weight of reality allowed the hoard of treasure to tumble forward, spilling onto the ground in a waterfall of gold and leaving only the afterimage of a dead, faded portal that no longer boasted the hold of even the least important of Boo's captives, its power depleted.
Polterpup dove head-first into the pile of riches with a yip of appreciation, seeing nothing of value, except the chance for some fun. He nosed at the gold, swimming through it and enjoying the sound of its dulcet clatter while Luigi watched, endlessly pleased that the attachment had confirmed its use. He lifted his head, offering up a quick but sincere word of thanks, and then, he was ready to keep moving.
"C'mon, Pup."
His voice shook, not with fear, for once, but with gratitude—with hope. The canine popped his head up out of the gold, twin coins covering his eyes, which he quickly shook off, spitting out a third and lolling out his tongue to give his owner a dopey smile that was meant to convey his own gratitude for the opportunity to play in something so fashionable.
"I know you're having fun, but we've got a lot of work to do, starting with il professore."
Trotting out of his newfound play pit, Polterpup gave a final, full-body shake, knocking off the rest of the gold and enjoying the jingle as it fell to the floor. He dutifully followed Luigi, but whined a little, at the loss.
With a sigh, heart breaking for his puppy, Luigi turned around, activating the suction and quickly vacuuming up the coins, listening to them rattle through the hose. His dog barked and twirled, elated, but the plumber lifted a finger, firm on his boundaries.
"We're not going out of our way, and we're not stopping for more playtime, but I'll gather what I come across, all right? We'll make you a little money pit, at home."
Of course, the thought occurred that most people would see more value in other potential applications of this find, but beyond spending the occasional coin to trade for power-ups or healing mushrooms, as well as sparing a few to exchange for cash, which they would then use to also stock up at a Brooklyn drug store, he was content with life and didn't find himself attracted to any reminders this hotel had to offer of its cursed existence, regardless of pecuniary value. Still, Polterpup enjoyed the sensation and sound of the treasure running along his back, and the money would be easy to share with those who needed it more, so he supposed the occasional detour to collect a coin or two wouldn't throw off his quest to such an extent that he would lose focus on what was truly important.
"I'll pick up what I see, okay?"
Polterpup barked, thrilled with his promise.
The return journey to the professor's portrait was a relatively painless process, free from any further ghost attacks or unwelcome surprises, which was about all Luigi could ask. Polterpup had finally noticed the posters, showing solidarity by tearing one to pieces, with a dedication to craft that hadn't been witnessed since back in '13—also known as the one and only time he had been left alone with Mario's slippers.
He kept flicking on the Dark Light, paranoia convincing him that Murphy's Law would take effect and the beam's power would somehow fizzle out just before he could free the only person who could recreate the attachment, should it break. The light remained strong, however, uncovering little ghostly paw prints along the carpet and a rather large splotch of plasmic energy from where his dog had sailed through the wall.
Feeling the tide start to turn on this horrible night, he opened the door and confronted his mentor, staring up at his painting before deciding not to waste another moment betting on whether something would be creeping up on his back before he could do this—shivering at the thought.
"...I kept my promise, Professor."
Somehow, it was important that he reiterated that fact, if only to himself. Unlikely that he would ever tell Gadd about his tears or his vow, but in that moment, victory deserved recognition.
He lifted the nozzle, bathing the professor in the light of his own genius and watching, with a skipping heart, as the illusion faded away, allowing the older man to reclaim a three-dimensional form as his hands pressed against the cottony barrier, easily tearing through it as he overestimated his new-found sense of balance and finally broke free from his prison, toppling to the ground with a yelp.
The vacuum slipped from Luigi's hands and he stumbled, only able to blink at the scene and try to catch his escaping breath as Polterpup hesitantly sniffed at the professor, groaning where he lay, before breaking out into a grin and trotting in a circle—message clear.
He was okay, which meant...Luigi was no longer alone.
Still unable to speak—unable to believe the magnitude of this success—he finally found the strength and manners to step forward, offering the man a hand up, but it was gently waved off, Gadd's pride on an even more tentative line than the one upon which he placed his life. Honestly, Luigi wasn't sure if the professor even knew whose company he currently kept, but he respected the need for space, allowing his mentor sufficient time to regain his bearings.
After a moment, Gadd raised his head, squinting at the plumber as if doubting his vision and adjusting his glasses before coming to the conclusion that his eyes hadn't failed him, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
"Ah...Luigi?"
"Professore," he choked, surprised he was able to push even one word past his closing throat. "A-Are you okay?"
He hadn't realized how much he had missed the sound of another voice, or how much he had needed this reunion with anyone who wasn't actively trying to recruit him to join the hotel's collection of ghosts. Gadd, similarly, seemed to be trying to process the chain of events that had led to him being trapped in a painting, his expression quickly growing grim as he cracked his back.
"Anatomically, and within an acceptable margin of error, I'm confident to report that I am in perfect homeostasis. You, however, are precisely the last person I'd expect to find here. Ghost-hunting without me, perhaps?"
"No! And, it didn't look like this, before!" Did Gadd honestly think he would be here, by choice? "This was supposed to be a vacation! Trust me, this is the last place-"
"Hold that thought," the professor cut him off, slapping a hand over his mouth to hush him and looking him up and down, like he were calculating some equation that resulted in an acceptable aggregate. "Now isn't the time to catch up. What matters is...yes...yes, you'll do nicely!"
There was that grin, again—the one that usually told Luigi he was about to participate in something highly experimental, unquantifiably dangerous, or both of the above. Mario hated that smile. However, it seemed that Gadd's thought process more closely resembled the first instinct Luigi, himself, had experienced, upon waking up in the basement, and the professor glanced around as if scanning the room for danger, his expression turning grave.
Without further discussion, he grabbed the younger one's hand, tugging him along.
"Come on, Luigi," he whispered, dragging him, with surprising strength, towards the door. "This hotel is filled to the brim with ghosts!"
"I've noticed-"
"Well, then, stop dragging your feet! Even I think this hotel is too haunted for an enjoyable hunting experience! We've got to make a run for it!"
...Mario.
"No," Luigi shook his head, struggling to push up his mental defenses against the temptation Gadd offered to simply leave and come back, better-prepared.
"No, no, no, I can't leave, yet."
He pulled his hand away, Gadd stumbling to a surprised halt as Luigi clutched the Poltergust's nozzle close to his chest, hands clammy.
"Mario's still in here, Professore! Mario, an-and Peach, and three of the Toads! I can't just abandon them here!"
The inventor frowned at him, tilting his head in consideration.
"Luigi...you're hurt?"
The question wasn't if he was correct, but rather, to what extent was he correct. Luigi ran a hand over the back of his head and winced, feeling the drying blood in his hair and the tenderness that lingered, also recalling what a shock it had been when he had finally caught sight of the same view he was currently presenting to everyone else.
"Concussion," he admitted, via mumble. "I'm okay. I've had worse."
"You look terrible."
"I'm fine! I don't care if I'm hurt; I'm not leaving without my brother and everyone else I couldn't stop from getting captured! It's my fault we're here!"
The truth choked him, but he couldn't deny it. He'd been the one to receive the invitation. He'd been the one to invite his family and friends into a trap. He'd been the one who failed to see the danger.
They had trusted him, and he let everyone down.
He wasn't leaving. It wasn't just the physical incapability, anymore—the sealed doors and barred exits; it was about responsibility.
Gadd dropped his head, shaking it. A small smile twitched at his lips, probably masking annoyance.
"You're the same as ever, I see. You always were a bit of a handful."
"You can leave," Luigi offered, ignoring the barb of his words. "You don't have to stay, but I'm not-...I can't-"
"I understand, my boy. No. No, that's not true. I don't understand, but I'm willing to accept that there are some familial mores that extend beyond the understanding of a purely analytical viewpoint."
Luigi nodded, also accepting that there were some standards of reason that didn't align with a purely emotional viewpoint.
This was it. Gadd would not be around to help him, and he had to stifle the fear that arose in response to this unexpected reality—the disappointment.
'At least, he's safe.' He could take away that much. It would have to be enough.
If he would be claiming just one success from this night, he could silently admit that this was not the one he would have chosen, but life didn't always offer a choice.
'...I'm sorry, Mario. I promise, I’ll find another way.'
After a pause, the professor looked past him, noticing, for perhaps the first time, what he carried on his back.
"You took that out of my car, right?"
The plumber glanced down at the nozzle in his hands. Would the professor ask for it back, before he left?
"Yeah. I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go through your stuff, but Polterpup kept-"
"No need to explain; I'm glad you have it. It's probably what has kept you alive, so far, no?"
"...I'd probably be dead in the lobby, without it."
He couldn't afford to care if he came across pathetic and desperate. If Gadd took back his invention, this night was over. However, the scientist simply nodded, not put out in the slightest and even smiling at Polterpup when the dog barked at them, emphasizing his own credit for the find.
"Then, it was a rummage worth exploring. I call it the Poltergust G-00."
Gadd circled him, admiring his work as a seamstress would, upon transferring a masterpiece of clothing from a mannequin to a model, for the first time. He ran a hand along the back of the device, unable to help himself from adjusting one of the straps to make it more even.
"It's an incredible upgrade with an unparalleled advantage that's...missing. I forgot to attach it."
"You forgot to attach the Dark Light, too."
Luigi bit his tongue, wishing he hadn't muttered that last thought, but Gadd didn't seem to have heard, mind up in the clouds, sharing a bench with his IQ.
"Okay. I'm not thrilled about this, but I have an idea."
He finished his observations, returning to Luigi to face him.
"First things first, we have to get to my car."
"Why?"
"I'll show you when we get there. I take it you know the way?"
Back through the lobby, past the disturbing, crossed out portraits of his brother and friends, down the stairwell's homage to the woman who caused all this, through the rats, and back to the site of unparalleled shame—in other words, the place he had nearly abandoned everyone, due to his own selfishness.
Yes, he knew the way.
He nodded, Gadd clapping his hands in delight.
"Excellent! Will you take me there?"
"The garage door won't open, if that's your plan to escape."
Now, he didn't need to know how he knew that. No one ever needed to know how he knew that.
"I didn't say anything about escaping, Luigi."
The younger twin's eyes snapped up, his heart picking up pace as he didn't dare hope.
"...Y-...You're-"
"Helping you? Of course. Besides, it would be a poor scientist, indeed, who left behind his prized collection of ghosts. We will help each other, yes?"
Luigi turned away, pretending to gaze at the door while he recaptured control over his emotions. Polterpup wagged his tail from where he sat, watching their exchange and sharing in the joy of his owner, and the plumber took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
He wouldn't have to do this, alone.
With one selfless decision, Gadd had single-handedly raised his chances of success from 'zero' to a definite 'maybe,' and he would never be able to repay him for this sacrifice.
"...Thank you, Professor."
"No need for thanks. For now, we've just got to get back to the underground garage, so let's go! Lead the way, my boy. We've got a lot of work to do."
Polterpup yipped, gliding over to where they stood and gazing up at Luigi, offering his own support in this massive endeavor—knowing it wasn't going to be easy, but ready, all the same.
Gadd glanced between them with a smile before sticking out his hand.
"I've extensively studied human customs and believe I have this accurate. Team in, as you say?"
Luigi stared, surprised, but his dog was properly enthused, raising a paw and laying it atop the professor's. Both stared at him, waiting, and the plumber couldn't help a small laugh as he added his own hand to the stack of motivation.
"On three," the professor prompted. "One, two, three! OUR CHANCES ARE MINIMAL!"
...
...
Luigi's fingers curled awkwardly after his hand flew into the air, and even Polterpup whined and tilted his head at their appointed less-than-inspirational catchphrase.
Gadd looked around in confusion.
"What? It's an ever-changing work in progress! I made a judgement call that stating our chances were 13.76585394629% would be a bit of a mouthful, given the customarily-short time spent on this activity. Was I wrong?"
"Not technically."
"Well, then. 'Technically' is all I understand."
"I know, Professor."
Luigi hid a smile, turning away and leading their small but effective group of ghost-hunters to the door, Polterpup letting out another excited bark before sailing after them. Despite the circumstances, it was good to have the team back together.
~TO BE CONTINUED~
Chapter 4: The Steward
Summary:
Accompanied by E. Gadd, Luigi faces the first major ghost of the hotel.
Notes:
Luigi finally fights a boss ghost! To everyone who enjoys this style of detail and depth of analysis into the game, thank you for reading. I don't know how many chapters this novelization will have, but after I finish my other long story, the updates should increase to once a week, rather than once every two weeks. I truly appreciate all the support, kudos, comments, bookmarks, and subscriptions, and hope this story continues to fulfil this particular style that people seem to enjoy. I hope you all have a great week and another update should pop up in two weeks. :)
Chapter Text
The lobby was empty—either luck or a trap, and Luigi had never put much stock into his luck. Mario was the one who could defy the odds, running into a crumbling building and emerging without a scratch, carrying not only the victim they knew existed, but three more, to boot. Luigi was the one who tripped over a bird while using a Super Leaf. Chances were, if he didn't see any ghosts, it wasn't because they were giving him a break. The metal of the Poltergust cut into his hands as he stepped forward, planning to make a beeline for the exit and possibly even ignore any specter looking for a fight.
Of course, he forgot that traveling with a companion complicated things. He wasn't just responsible for keeping himself alive, at the moment, and he only made it to the stairs before wishing social barriers didn't prohibit picking up the person trailing you and simply carrying him along to prevent separation and unnecessary delay.
"Luigi!"
The plumber jumped at the frantic shout of his name, nearly falling down the stairs in his rush to re-ascend them, but an amused chittering had him freezing in place, eyes darting up to find the professor holding one of the posters containing that unflattering image of him, pointing at his prominent nose with a grin and a chuckle and turning it around so he could share in the humor. The man was either clueless or insane, and Luigi wasn't sure which option increased their chances of living through the night, especially Gadd's.
Clutching at his pounding heart, he stomped back up the final few steps with the fleeting intention of speaking his mind, but cowardice tugged on the reins at the last second, leaving him tripping over a mental hurdle that resulted in an awkwardly-unintentional outstare and the impulsive flick of the vacuum's switch, the poster promptly getting sucked out of the professor's fingers and shredded through the hose.
Gadd looked down at his empty hands, then back up at Luigi, both a little confused about who, if anyone, should speak next. Luckily for the plumber, the professor's attention span rivaled those of most insects, so he quickly moved on, face lighting up as he noticed an arguably faster route down to the garage.
"Hey, Luigi, take a look over there."
Grateful for the abandonment of the previous moment, the younger man followed Gadd's pointer finger over to a sight that caused immediate dread—the elevator.
He sucked in a breath, taking a step back and feeling a little lightheaded in his quiet panic. The professor didn't seem to notice his obvious hesitation, coming to his own conclusions on which way of travel would be more efficient and already waddling over, without so much as a debate over pros and cons.
Subconsciously, Luigi turned his back and was about to take the long way, but Gadd called him out, staring over the railing with a frown.
"Where are you going?"
"It's not that far," he tried, clearing his throat to give his words' weakness something else to blame.
"The elevator will get us to the garage in an instant! Why even consider using the stairs when there's a perfectly good elevator?"
'Because anyone can hide in an elevator. Because you never know who it is that could be hiding, or what her intentions might be. Because elevators only have one exit—an exit with a destination that can easily be influenced by a certain ghost, who happens to have released a certain Boo, who happens to be keeping a certain brother and a certain group of friends hostage, and who also happens to want a certain green thorn in his side to either die a horrific death or be trapped forever in a painting, knowing that the world, as he knows it, has changed for the worse and he failed everyone he loved.'
"Stairs are good cardio."
The professor frowned at him, not understanding—not that Luigi expected him to. There were better arguments that just didn't have the courage to reveal new phobias.
"What are you talking about? You'd rather take the longer route and risk being seen? Stop messing around, Luigi! Hurry up and get over here before the ghosts find us!"
Sheepishly rubbing the back of his sore head, he wiped the sweat off his upper lip and followed Gadd, the metaphorical timer officially having run out on his chance to make a compelling case. He should have thought ahead and cried wolf about a fire alarm.
The professor was waiting for him, pointing to the overturned garbage can blocking the buttons and crossing his arms, expectantly. Luigi sighed, hooking the nozzle onto his back and resisting the urge to toss out a sarcastic, 'no no, I've got it,' before nearly throwing his back out, trying to move the deceptively heavy bin and experiencing little success until Gadd sneaked a hand over and shoved his finger into one of the Poltergust's buttons, activating an unexpected burst of air that sent them both flying and the can rolling, spilling out its contents of gold.
"Would you look at that," the scientist recovered first, adjusting his spectacles and not even acknowledging the fact that Luigi had smacked his aching head into the elevator door, thanks to his impatience and impulsivity. "Who ever said ghost hunting was a poor man's game?"
"Nobody said that-"
Gadd chuckled in delight, clapping his hands and digging his fingers into the pile of coins and gold bricks as the shimmer of their glamour reflected across his glasses.
"The ghosts don't even seem interested in grabbing it! Well, I suppose that makes sense, if you consider the purely transcendental aspect of it. What's the saying? 'You can't take it with you?'"
Luigi ignored him, forced to confront his own problems now that the way was clear.
'It'll be fine,' he reasoned with himself, willing his hand to stop trembling long enough to hit the "down" button. 'You're armed, now. You're ready. She can't trick you twice.'
He stepped back on instinct at the knell of the lift, holding the Poltergust steady and sucking in a breath as the doors slid open, revealing...nothing. There was nothing.
The plumber released the air in his lungs, heart calming, for the moment. Of course, she wouldn't terrorize him in the same way twice. That would be too easy.
Gadd sauntered through the door, pockets bulging and a trail of coins dripping from his overfilled arms, though Luigi couldn't help but recall the extremely generous grant Peach had awarded him to fund his research just a few years ago, after his inventions proved their worth by saving the lives of not only her consort, but her best friend, as well.
Normally, he would find it rude to pry, but he blamed his loose tongue on the need for distraction from the fact that he was stepping into a death trap with no windows and an intermittent exit.
"What happened to all the money Peach gave you?"
Gadd seemed surprised, staring down at his arms before his eyes seemed to flick around for a suitable place to stare, ultimately landing on Luigi's back. The man's smile was small and a little evasive.
"It just goes quickly," came the lack of commitment to honesty.
That grin faded into a frown when his gaze caught on something more important, though, the professor dropping his haul, nudging his protégé out of the way and focusing on what Luigi now realized was an elevator panel with no buttons, save for one—'B1.'
"Of all the..."
The plumber ran a hand over the holes, his mind reintroducing the obvious solution that he may just get his way with the stairs after all, but Gadd tutted, poking at the only remaining button before Luigi could slip through the closing panels, tapping his foot in contemplation when the younger man stumbled over his tardy protests.
"A mystery for later, I suppose."
Or...
"What if it's a trap?"
Hellen. She was there. She was on B1, waiting, and had removed all the other buttons to prevent any other escape and now Gadd had doomed them all by playing into her hands before they had a chance to think this through and he knew this was a bad idea and he should have just swallowed his pride and told his companion the real reason he was so adverse to taking the elevator and he was never going to find his brother-
A resounding smack to the face had him gasping, returning from his rise of panic just to gawk at the professor's solution of de-escalation, but Gadd was completely unapologetic, gazing at him like he were one of his more interesting test subjects.
"From what I understand about human encounters, swift physical interaction reduces the likelihood of overoxygenation via hyperventilation. Was I correct, or do I need to update my notebook?"
He pushed his glasses up his nose, sounding so proud.
"What 'sources' are you studying?!"
"A thrilling set of anthologies surrounding human behavior, documented, in bulk, by the great Gary Larson."
"...Those are comic books!"
Gadd stroked his chin, frowning like he had just been given a vital piece of information that he was about to grossly misinterpret into awed approval of his methods.
Freshly frustrated, Luigi turned back to the empty panel, pressing his fingers into the gaps and subconsciously counting the voided spaces, as well as the only remaining option.
Seventeen.
Perfect.
There was that fleeting muse about his luck again, coming back to bite him.
"Perché dovevano essere diciassette!"
If it weren't for his impulsive kick at the wall, his mutter might not have recaptured Gadd's attention, but as it was, the professor took notice of his poorly-hidden tantrum.
"I don't understand your native language, but I'm confident in my conclusion that you're upset about something."
Luigi crossed his arms, pacing around the space and wondering what was taking the elevator so long to drop one floor. If he didn't know better, it seemed to be waiting until Gadd had concluded their conversation to finish its descent.
He couldn't explain Italian views on misfortune—not in the minimal time they had, and not when it completely fell off the list of importance and landed in the cerebral dump, along with any potential positive thoughts or good feelings.
This evening was cursed.
This hotel was cursed.
He was cursed.
Even their due date was cursed—March 17th, though Mario, of course, fixed their mother's superstitious concerns by breaking her water a week early, leading to the childhood joke that Luigi was robbed of his true birthdate and Mario only came early to save himself from a lifetime of bad luck.
To be honest, not much had changed, even into adulthood.
To be fair, evidence backed up the accuracy of his uncles' jabs, so he couldn't even complain about them.
"Forget about it," he said at last. "It's not important."
He wasn't actually born on the 17th, after all. Mario had made sure he dodged his destiny, even before they entered the world.
The professor's disbelief that he had spoken the truth was clear, but he surprised Luigi by being tactful enough to let it go.
"It didn't seem like any of your friends were trapped on 2F with me," he said instead. "They must have been taken to one of the floors higher up in the hotel. You know what that means?"
"Stairs?"
"We're going to need those elevator buttons."
"Or, I could just take the stairs."
Luigi backed up as the doors' ding rang loudly in his ears, feeling that familiar lightheaded panic up until the moment Gadd stepped onto the basement floor, proving its safety and beckoning him to come along. Still, he couldn't help but poke his head out and glance both ways before tentatively following, shredded nerves unreasonably startled by a flimsy picture falling to the ground, causing him to yelp and flinch away, which Gadd seemed to find hilarious.
Easy for him to laugh when he wasn't the target of King Boo's torment and Hellen Gravely's tricks. Luigi tried not to hold it against the old man, hurrying ahead to give his cheeks time to drain of their blush and tentatively pushing open the door to the garage, only to freeze, the color in his face disappearing altogether.
Gadd bumped into his back and dropped his glasses.
"Drat," he muttered, squinting ahead and kneeling down on the ground to reach around for his missing spectacles. "Help me out, Sonny. These old eyes aren't what they used to be."
"P-Professor?"
Luigi's warning was admittedly weakened by fear, but Gadd wasn't listening anyway, crawling ahead and quickly locating his frames with an "ah" before shoving them back onto his head.
"Now, what were you saying, Luigi?"
The ghost of the Steward stared down at him, his human mask now absent, eyes glowing and mouth hanging open in a scream, which he directed fully into Gadd's face, forcing him to hold onto his glasses, lest he lose them again.
"...You're not Luigi," was his assessment, after the screech had faded into an echo. "In which case, I find it prudent...to RUN!"
Scrambling to his feet, he displayed a level of athleticism that rivaled men in their prime, booking it to the other end of the garage and pulling off a kind of hook slide under the forming purple bars that only lacked a cheering crowd and an umpire.
Luigi's gaping cost him his concentration, and he had no one to blame but himself when the ghost realized this confrontation was now one on one, greeting him with what felt like a suitcase full of bricks, which he took directly into the chest, causing him to fall back with a choke, the air completely knocked from his now-throbbing lungs. He coughed and hacked, feeling like he couldn't recapture his lost breath as he scrambled behind a traffic cone, clutching his chest and barely dodging a second set of luggage.
"On your feet, Luigi! Mess him up!"
Gadd's expertise in sport replication had drifted from baseball to boxing and he stood behind the barrier, miming a one-sided match as Luigi glared.
If he only had enough air to reply with something sarcastic...he still probably wouldn't, but the lack of option was more or less upsetting.
He dragged himself to a standing position, ignoring the sensation that his heart felt like it was about to explode and blinking away the black spots from his eyes, forcing his vision to focus on the blurry image of the Steward, floating towards him with a suitcase blocking his body from view. Luigi flashed the Strobulb out of habit, but this ghost was more clever than the ones he had faced previously. The light wouldn't work through corporeal objects, and someone, among the dead, had finally figured that out.
Only when he was backed into a corner was the suitcase's multifunctional use transitioned from a shield to a weapon, slamming down into the space occupied by a living human only seconds earlier. Luigi sprinted to the other end of the garage, still trying to catch his breath and desperately hoping to keep his distance while he reevaluated the situation, the Steward chittering at him angrily before his form faded, using every trick he had to his advantage.
The plumber stepped back blindly when he lost sight of the specter, tripping into the bellman's trolley and falling on his side, face to face with that horrific mask of human skin, the sight of it bringing back both a lungful of air and his nausea as he shuffled away, ears ringing.
"Come on, Luigi! Finish him off!"
"You could've stayed and helped, you know!"
The words slipped out unintentionally, and he yelped as his foot was grabbed, leading to him being dragged across the floor and back into the fight.
"Oh, no no, I wouldn't have been of any use," Gadd returned, as if he weren't watching Luigi get thrown into the garage door and drop to the ground with a pained wheeze. "I left my hunting days back in '66. That's why I needed to focus on fostering the next generation of hunters," *SLAM* "to pass on my knowledge," *THUNK* "and harness their competence into polished capability!" *CRASH*
Luigi groaned, kicking the mountain of luggage off his legs and rolling back onto his feet. The Steward was ready with more baggage, but a recent memory of struggling to knock away a heavy object had the plumber's thumb sliding off the Strobulb activator and jamming into a different button, his desperation now strong enough to abandon strategy and utilize pure instinct.
The blast of air lifted him off his feet, but the Steward obviously wasn't expecting this trick, the suitcase sliding out of his fumbling hands and crashing to the ground, spilling its contents. The shield was down. The opening was fleeting, but there.
A flash of light seemed to illuminate the entire garage with the force of the sun, the Steward's now-opaque form freezing into a grimace as Luigi flicked on the suction, seizing the moment to turn the tide and catching him by the tail.
"Atta boy, Sonny!"
He could barely concentrate on the praise, sweat dripping into his eyes and heart pounding as he fought against the resistance of the ghost, throwing his weight to the left to slam him into the ground and hopefully daze him, which worked for a few seconds, until he managed to pull away with enough determination to break the connection, leaving Luigi tripping on air as his enemy escaped.
The plumber trembled, twisting in circles as his thoughts tormented him with the truth of how unlikely it would be for this smarter and tougher ghost to fall for the same trick twice. Not that he hoped to understand, or was even interested in understanding, spectral hierarchy, but he couldn't help but notice that some of them seemed...more alive, so to speak. More connected to the world—more involved in the things they used to do or enjoy. Those were always the hardest to capture, both physically and mentally, and the Steward was no exception.
Even in death, he did his job. It was admirable, in a strange kind of way.
"LUIGI!"
He whipped his head around, torn from his musings and barely avoiding a third cranial injury.
"Pay attention," his mentor snapped. "You're no use to anyone as a particularly-sentimental puddle!"
There was a blunt truth in his words that he needed to hear, shaking off his empathy and focusing on survival. Mario needed a living brother more than he needed a sympathetic one, at least right now.
The Steward returned to his ways of hiding behind the luggage, but Luigi could detect a new hint of hesitation in his movements. He wasn't as confident. He now knew he wasn't untouchable, and the plumber was no novice in this department; he knew that particular revelation could make one sloppy.
Ultimately, caution was the specter's downfall.
One ill-timed peek around his shield, trying to judge if Luigi was about to blast the baggage out his hands once more, was all the ghost-hunter needed, flashing his light into the Steward's face and turning on the vacuum. There wasn't much fight left in him, his fingers scraping across the ground in a last-ditch bid for freedom, but after a moment, he abandoned hope and instead, used the remainder of his energy to snag his hat from the floor, dragging the dignity of his profession down with him, down to the depths of the Poltergust's prison, suitcases scattered around and his self-appointed task of baggage organization, however pointless, left forever incomplete.
Luigi allowed the nozzle to drop from his hand and swing at his side, exhausted and bombarded with his usual nausea-inducing amalgamation of relief and guilt.
"Well done."
Gadd's applause soothed the ache of pity, just a little bit. The man's smile was gentle as he approached his student.
"You're as good as I ever was, when I was your age. Even better, possibly-"
"Do they feel pain?"
The professor blinked.
"...Pardon?"
"The ghosts. Do they feel pain? Am I torturing them, when I do this?"
His shifting eyes weren't all that comforting.
"...'Torture' is a strong word, my boy. If you start feeling sympathy for your attacker, then you're going to be attacked. You don't initiate anything that they don't provoke, so I believe a better question is whether you feel pain, when you do this."
Did he?
Was his weak heart pliable enough to be manipulated, even by those who wished him harm?
Unfortunately...
"Yes."
"Good," the professor surprised him with a quick and confident answer. "Empathy is a concept of the living. It would be a shame to lose yours."
He walked away, now focused on his car and nattering on about how pleased he was to see the "old girl" again, launching into a tale of back in '52, when he took his grandpappy's cart out for a spin and happened across a crater full of off-the-chart bioelectrical readings...
Luigi stopped listening, wincing at the ache in his chest before gathering up the loose suitcases and stacking them on the trolley, refusing to touch the mask but feeling his guilt somewhat abide, now that the Steward's original, harmless task had been finished. Of course, it didn't matter. Of course, it was pointless, but anyone else might argue that the ghosts' very existence was pointless, and Luigi just couldn't get on board with that line of thinking.
He had just finished stacking the last bag when a rattling in the canister of the Poltergust had him frowning, inspecting the nozzle closely and hoping with everything he had that it wasn't breaking. Looking down the hose achieved nothing, but based on the location of the sound, it almost seemed like something was making its way through the conduit. He shook it a few times, smacking it into his hand, and wasn't expecting anything to come out, nearly dropping what he, at first, thought were two tiny lightbulbs, possibly broken free from the inside of the mechanism, but upon turning them over, the numbers printed upon them—a one and a five—revealed what they truly were. The only question that remained was how they ended up in the vacuum.
Did the Steward have them?
He had no better explanation, turning his head and catching sight of his recent work. Polterpup had finally joined them, sniffing at the stacked luggage and giving Luigi a yip of approval that was all the evidence the plumber needed to reignite his belief that simple acts of kindness would always be rewarded somehow—even in the most unexpected ways.
"Luigi, come over here. I've got something very interesting that I want to show you."
Tucking the elevator buttons into his back pocket, the plumber stepped forward, staring curiously at the little dome-like mechanism Gadd was currently unloading from his car. The metal triangles, encasing the invention, were oddly satisfying in their layout and Luigi found himself subconsciously reaching over to brush his fingers across them, only for the professor to yank his device out of the way.
"Don't activate it yet! Hold your horses, Sonny."
"I wasn't-"
"So impatient, you youngsters."
Tutting his disapproval, he strolled away, over to where Luigi had cleared the luggage from the floor, while Polterpup glided behind.
He made some casual complaint about straining his back, which the younger man found somewhat ironic, given his own recent activities, but he still extended a hand, ready to help if Gadd needed it. Once again, he was waved off, the scientist placing his invention on the ground and backing away, his grin maniacal and fingers tapping together with the vibe of a mad genius, which Luigi supposed was half-true. Of course, the half that was true was dependent upon whom one asked.
A green light rose from the mechanism, quickly filling the space, and the plumber stepped forward for a better look, recklessly-curious, but a hand smacking into his sore ribs halted him. He barely had time to shoot Gadd an annoyed look, that he wouldn't even register anyway, before he was forced to cover his eyes from what looked, felt, and sounded like a deafening bolt of green lightning crashing through the roof and striking the ground.
Once the dust settled, he found the courage to open his eyes.
"Behold," Gadd spread his arms in dramatic presentation, "the portable laboratory!"
Polterpup barked, finding no problem with a fully-functional science center now taking up at least four parking spaces, one of its satellite dishes not quite clearing the ceiling, not that the concrete was any match for Gadd's insatiable quest for inventive progress.
The professor clapped his hands, delighted and ready to get himself situated by the time Luigi was still picking his jaw up off the floor.
"Step right in, my boy," he welcomed, the door panel granting automatic entrance. "Sturdy, safe," came the list of perks, his head popping out to emphasize the most important of them all, "and air conditioned! That's a bonus."
When Luigi joined him inside, he had to remind himself to stop being surprised by the man's ingenuity. They would be able to monitor everything, from in here.
"I always knew I'd need this one day," Gadd muttered to himself, hopping into his chair and giving a little spin. "Good thing I brought it along with me, right?"
That introduced a question that Luigi, admittedly, should have wondered earlier. However, with manufactured safety on their side, he found himself in an appropriate position to ask.
"What are you doing here, Professor? Why'd you come here, in the first place?"
"Well, it's a bit of a long story, but in short..." his cheeks reddened, following words quieter than the last, "I was tricked. I got an invitation from someone claiming to own this hotel. They said they had a precious collection of ghosts, gathered from all over the world."
Luigi gulped, wishing he had received the same written beckoning. If only their invitations had been unfortunately shuffled, none of them would have ever darkened the door.
"No self-respecting ghost researcher would pass up on such an appealing offer, obviously."
"Obviously."
Obviously not. He would have run for the hills.
"I accepted their invitation, but when I arrived...the invitation was only a ruse. They captured me," his gaze darkened, "and, they took my precious ghost collection."
It was clear which transgression was a graver trespass, in his eyes. Gadd's stare trailed over to him, apologetic.
"That includes all those ghosts you'd worked so hard to catch for me before...Even King Boo. Losing him really got under my skin. He's my favorite, after all."
"Your favorite? Of all your ghosts, he's your favorite?"
"Of course! He's fascinating!"
"He's a nightmare!"
"Well, not as long as he's properly contained-"
"Professore," Luigi leaned forward, beginning to think he didn't understand the full impact of their reality, "...there's a ghost here, Hellen Gravely, and she released him."
"What?!"
"He's free. H-He's the one who captured my brother and friends."
"Ugh!"
Gadd spun in his seat, slamming his fists into his control panel with a surprising amount of anger.
"That hotel owner! What has she done..."
The plumber didn't speak again, watching his mentor's positivity begin to melt away. Only when it was gone did he realize how much he had relied upon what he now confirmed was clueless optimism. Gadd had no idea King Boo was free, and now, the younger one would be lucky to get him to leave the safety of this room, even for an emergency.
"You know what this means, don't you?"
He had never heard his mentor sound so defeated; it didn't suit him.
"You're our only hope, Luigi. I truly hate to add to your burden, but we don't have any other choice. Against all odds, without any hesitation, and at any cost..." he finally turned to face him, a furrow of regret between his brows, "you have to get my ghost collection back."
The plumber was already nodding, resigned.
"I know. I've been capturing whoever I've come across, while I've been looking for Mario."
"Oh, right! Your friends and family. I completely forgot."
Mario wouldn't have forgiven the structure of his priority tier, had their situations been reversed, but Luigi found himself a little more merciful. Gadd's thought process was completely analytical and nearly robotic. He couldn't help that he didn't have the capacity to care about anybody else, but he tried his best to mask sociopathic tendencies around other people. With his student, he felt more comfortable being honest, and Luigi didn't take his trust lightly.
"I suppose you're going to have to scour this entire hotel, which leads to the conundrum of the missing elevator buttons. I know you love your cardio, but the stairs truly aren't the most efficient option, if we can help it-"
His voice faded away when Luigi withdrew the two buttons from his pocket, holding them out for his inspection.
"...Where?"
"The Steward had them. I think so, anyway."
"Huh. I never would have guessed a ghost had taken them." He took the '5' into his hand, smiling slightly. "This is most convenient, actually. You can return to the fifth floor, which was where I was staying. There's a briefcase in my room that holds something I need—something quite special. The missing piece, you might say."
He gestured to the empty canister on the Poltergust, a bit of his previous excitement returning to him as he recalled something that seemed to hold a lot of his pride.
"Oh, and also," digging into a compartment by his desk, he balanced two pieces of machinery—complicated structures of metal and red plastic, and dropped the one that looked like goggles into his protégé's hands, "take this. You need a way to communicate with me, if you need help, and this is cutting edge technology. I hear red is all the rage; am I correct?"
Luigi turned the device over in his hands, knowing red was always the rage in the Mushroom Kingdom, but unsure if he could confidently say that it was a craze that extended across all worlds. The Darklands certainly didn't seem too fond of the color.
He ran his fingers over the engraved letters—'VB'
"'VB?'"
"'Virtual Boo.'"
The plumber raised the goggles to his eyes, blinking as the screen sprang to life, filling his vision with an abundance of red and giving him a somewhat staticky view of the back of Gadd's head. The professor turned around to face his computer, giving the camera a wave, and Luigi lowered the communicator, satisfied with its success.
It fit well on the back of the Poltergust. Gadd had obviously thought ahead, considering convenience and compatibility when inventing his creations.
"Oh, and then," bringing his attention to his other device, he dropped the bundle of machinery into Luigi's arms, this one much heavier, "do me a favor and install that in the elevator, would you? It maps out the floors and will give us both the layout of this place. We need to be a step ahead of Gravely and King Boo, and I doubt either of them will expect us to be so prepared."
Luigi shifted, raising an uncertain eyebrow.
"You want me to install it? You didn't even want me to touch the last one."
"This one has no capability of crushing one into a pancake, should it be activated early," Gadd tapped at it. "Touch it all you want. It's virtually indestructible—watch!"
He snagged it back, throwing it to the ground before Luigi could protest that his demonstration was far from necessary. Both watched as a spring shot out and bolts flew off in several different directions.
"...Drat. Give it here, then. I've got tweaking to do."
Quickly collecting the pieces, Luigi made himself comfortable, watching the man dump out the entirety of his tool bag and get to work. Nervous as he was to waste time, he forgave himself for this moment of rest, justifying that it wasn't his choice. Polterpup eventually phased through the door, settling down in his lap and closing his eyes, content.
"So, fifth floor, then? It's decided?" Gadd confirmed their plan.
Luigi nodded tiredly.
"Yeah, fifth floor. It's convenient for me, as well, actually."
He ran a hand over his dog's head, allowing the motion to soothe his nerves. His mind drifted to that floor, to his room, to his suitcase, and to something very personal—something he needed to hear, to find the courage to make it through the rest of this dark night.
"...There's something up there that I need, too."
~TO BE CONTINUED~
Chapter 5: RIP Suites
Summary:
Professor E. Gadd's briefcase is somewhere on the fifth floor. Now all Luigi needs to do is retrieve it and survive.
Notes:
This story lives! First of all, if anyone is still following this one, I'm so sorry it's been three months since the last update. I was stretching myself thin trying to write this and "There His Heart Will Be" at the same time, and these chapters take me several days to write, so I knew I had to focus on just one and then the other. Now that my other story is complete, my focus is all on this one and I honestly can't wait to dive back in. I still think it might take closer to every two weeks to get one of these chapters out, just because it's harder for me to novelize something that already exists than to just go wherever my imagination takes me, but hopefully to make up for the wait, the chapters will likely be long and cover an entire floor each time. So without further ado, here is the entirety of the first true level of the game—RIP Suites! I hope you enjoy. :)
Also, this one gets pretty heavy, so WARNING: dark themes, disturbing imagery, implied suicide, blood, and violence.
Chapter Text
...
*Breathe in*
...
"...It's okay, Weegie. It's not scary."
...
*Breathe out*
...
"...I don't wanna do this."
...
*Breathe in*
...
"I know, but we have to. Mamma said we have to 'pay our respects.' I don't know what that means, but you just gotta walk up and put the rose on top. Watch, I'll go first."
...
*Breathe out*
...
"C'mon, Weegie; Mamma said it's your turn. Come on, I'll hold your hand."
...
*Breathe in*
...
"See? That wasn't so bad, was it? Nothing to be afraid of. She's just sleeping in there, Weegie—just for...you know...forever. People sleeping forever can't hurt you."
...
*Ding*
...
Luigi opened his eyes, tugged out of a child's memory and watching the elevator doors part on floor five as he leaned against the wall, gaze drawn to the lift's mirror to try to catch whomever was waiting to ambush him as his grip tightened around the handle of his only defense.
All he saw was the rain, illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning that lit up the emptiness of the room he was about to willingly, unwillingly explore.
...
"Besides, you know I'll always protect you. What do you gotta be scared of when you have a big brother like me?"
...
*Breathe out*
...
Swallowing down his fear and forcing movement into legs whose muscles trembled at just the idea of inching forward, he laid his thumb on the Strobulb trigger and stepped onto the floor, the droplets battering against the window covering what little noise he was forced to make.
Everything was too silent—too still.
He circled the space with his flashlight, not daring to relax at the implication that there was no one there to greet him. They knew where he was. They knew he was armed—a thief looking to steal their stash of invaluable artwork—willing to bleed, willing to hunt and capture what death left behind, just to obtain it.
Wiping the sweat off his upper lip, a burst of anxiety flooded his feet with haste and he darted over to the upturned couch blocking his way to what lay in his suitcase as thunder rumbled around him, lighting taunting him with a glimpse at that inaccessible hallway. Heart rate picking up, he laid a hand on the sofa and gave an experimental tug on the leg, just to confirm what he had already realized—it wasn't going to budge on his strength, alone.
They couldn't have known that much, though...right? They couldn't have possibly guessed that the audible shield to his unconventional sword lay waiting for him to collect, and that blocking the path to his room would hinder his resolve in ways he hadn't even anticipated-
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
An instinctive hand clapping over his mouth to stifle the yelp that tried to escape as he jumped out of his skin was somewhat pointless, as he was pretty sure that pre-installed ringtone could be heard anywhere from floor three to floor seven and he fumbled desperately with his headset, trying to silence it before giving up and accepting the call, backing into a corner as he now stood vulnerable and staring into what was effectively a blindfold with a built-in alarm system, spitting out express tickets to anyone who wanted to get the jump on him.
Gadd may not have fully thought through this design. Then again, someone who believed "try to come back alive" was something to be taken as words of encouragement probably wasn't too concerned with safety features.
"Hello?!"
"Ah, Luigi!" Gadd's voice rang through clearly, unfazed by his frantic greeting and only thrilled that his invention was working correctly, as if they hadn't already tested every feature of this whole thing out in the elevator. "I just remembered something important I neglected to mention."
Luigi peeked above the headset, confirming his solitude...for the moment.
He returned his attention to the professor, speaking quickly in hopes of returning this borrowed focus back to the effort not to die.
"Yes?"
"That Poltergust G-00 of yours has a new feature that I like to call...Suction Shot!"
He waved his hands like he was revealing something mind-blowing and the plumber blinked, pulling away to glance down at the nozzle as a memory of something odd—something purely "Gadd"—returned to him.
"...You mean the plunger?"
"Why, yes! It'll work wonders as a weapon, don't you think?"
"Why a plunger?"
"It just seemed fitting. Was I wrong?"
Luigi glanced down at his work clothes, slightly put out.
"Of course I wasn't wrong! Now, you use that one button to fire it—the one shaped like a 'Y,' you see?"
"Professor, I already figured this out back in the basement-"
"You can stick it onto flat and smooth surfaces."
"Professor-"
"And if you use the Poltergust G-00 to turn on the suction and suck up the rope, you can tug things out of your way with a better grip. And if you want to be fancy, you might just pull off a powerful, and quite impressive-looking, slam move to break them!"
"Professor-"
"Of course I already tried this out with a certain prototype I have yet to introduce you to. Now he made it look natural, which was quite an accomplishment all on its own, which reminds me; don't forget to get my briefcase, Luigi!"
Pinching his lips, the younger ghost hunter hung up, spending just a minute to find and fiddle with the volume on the headset before stashing it back where it belonged, muttering a curse at the interruption in the same breath that was released in relief that he somehow hadn't been swarmed during that video call.
As he continued to survey the room, his eyes landed on the large suitcase "blocking" him, and he vaguely wondered both which rookie ghost had been placed in charge of boxing him in and what sort of demotions existed in the astral plane. His finger brushed along the new trigger and he bit his lip, figuring it couldn't hurt to practice his aim. Plumber's helper and stereotype aside, if it had good pressure behind it, he could always use it for its firepower or as a distraction.
"Okay, here we go," he readied himself, aiming for the center of the luggage and firing.
Out shot the plunger, sticking itself to the suitcase with enough strength to adhere, but lacking the power to topple it and Luigi couldn't help but feel his shoulders slump, wondering when this would ever be useful.
He picked up the rope that dangled from its end, letting it slide through his fingers before deciding he had trusted Gadd thus far and doubting him now would be counterproductive to his success. The suction of the Poltergust kicked on at full force as he aimed, catching the edge of one of those hundreds of wanted posters he decided to ignore had been glued methodically to the walls in a taunting reminder that they knew the trajectory of his search better than either he or Gadd.
The rope enmeshed with the vacuum's nozzle with a satisfying *clunk* and Luigi tossed over his shoulder what was surprisingly a heavier burden than anticipated, the briefcase shattering into two pieces of splintered wood and leather and spilling out a golden fortune that he collected quickly, almost able to sense Polterpup's yip of joy at the prospect of rolling through a myriad of twinkling treasure.
After all, he had promised.
Not to mention, the professor had mentioned an interest in further funding for his projects, so Luigi supposed a few minutes spent gathering riches from the dead was an acceptable way to say "thank you" for remaining within the danger of a haunted hotel and aiding him in the search for his brother and friends.
On the plus side, the plunger had been somewhat useful.
Poltergust canister now filled and jingling with his movement, the plumber turned the corner, eyeing the sitting area warily and directing his focus to the broken window that had been letting in a draft.
He wasn't entirely certain what possessed him to approach those poorly-nailed boards and fluttering drapes, but his feet carried him forward regardless. Perhaps it was the shape of the shattered pieces of glass that sparked morbid curiosity, or the hat that lay abandoned under cobwebs in the corner—not red, thank goodness. He carefully stepped closer, lifting a finger to trace around a jagged edge and the brown stains smeared across it as an unexplained illness over potential implications made his knees weak.
*RING RING*
He jumped, shining his light on the abandoned phone near the faded love seat, little particles of dust shaken from it with each vibration.
*RING RING*
Clutching the nozzle of the Poltergust to his chest like it would in any way protect him, he slid down the wall and sank to the ground, praying he would stop being reminded that everything that wanted him dead knew exactly where he was and was confident enough in its advantage to torment him first, before striking.
*RING RING*
The message was clear; he didn't need to answer their call.
*RING RING*
He and his vacuum were little threat to them.
*RING RING*
Panting hard, he stared up at the broken window, now recognizing why the size of the hole was so disconcerting.
*RING RING*
After all, he wasn't the first human to cross the threshold.
*RING RING*
The clothes and suitcases left behind suggested far more tragedy than what was most readily dwelled upon.
*RING RING*
Some people may not have seen another way out.
*RING RING*
Driven insane by fear.
*RING RING*
With no one to force them to stay strong.
*RING RING*
Without- "Mario."
*RING RING*
*Breathe in*
Saying his name helped ground him—helped him remember what he was holding onto and how much stronger his motivation to live was than their determination for him to die.
*Breathe out*
*RING RING*
"Mario."
*Ring Ring*
"Mario!"
*ring ring*
"MAAARIO!"
*ring-*
...
...
Luigi lifted his head, not realizing he had dropped it into his hands while combating their shrill bait with his own personal cornicello, and released a shuddering breath as he stared at the silenced phone, letting his head fall back against the wall with a dull *thunk.*
...
*Breathe in*
...
*Breathe out*
...
With just enough strength to push himself to his feet, he aimed the nozzle forward and continued down the hall, shoes creaking. Unknown corners grew closer; streams of moonlight stretching across a lone cleaning cart's unoiled wheels as it rolled out of sight and into the darkness—pushed by an unnamed specter and forcing the younger twin to jump back a step at the confirmation of their unseen presence. His heart continued to race as the painted numbers above the door ahead flickered sharply in the flash of lightning that cast the room in a momentary glow—504.
Still, the ghosts made no sound or appearance, just waiting for the right moment like sharks in black water—waiting for their prey to drift close enough to seal his own fate.
Luigi could now hear his breathing over the rain, teeth chattering as he scolded himself for not being calm enough to match sensory input with controlled intentions. They already knew he was terrified, so why did he have to give them a show? Why couldn't he push a foot forward without his knee nearly buckling or hold the Poltergust without his flashlight giving away the tremble in his hands?
Mario would never be so pathetic. Mario would never find himself plastered to a wall beside his own wanted poster, almost unable to bear the thought of turning a corner or facing the reality of not being able to mentally prepare for whatever mind game lay in wait for its guest of honor.
Luigi's eyes welled up in frustration and he choked on his breath, feeling his face grow hot with that kind of terror that both paralyses your limbs and humiliatingly reinforces the idea of survival of the fittest, all while reminding you that you're far from the fittest—not even the fittest in a competition between twins.
Mario wouldn't have had to gather the strength just to bolt the last few steps, throwing himself into room 504 and shoving the door closed after himself, bolting the lock even though he knew there was no point and letting himself sink to the ground, both wishing he could be better and hoping his scene was enough of an indicator to the ghosts that giving his palpitating heart a break would be in the best interest of an elongated game.
...
*Breathe in*
...
*Breathe out*
...
Casting his flashlight around the room, he couldn't help but frown at the destruction. The bed was unmade, the suitcases sat fully packed, the closet door hung off its hinge, and a lamp lay toppled on the floor, all covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Black balloons drifted in the breeze of an open window, as if in celebration of the deathly air, and Luigi gripped a table to hoist himself to his feet, accidentally knocking over a perfume bottle left behind and watching it shatter on the ground, filling the space with a sweet but stale blanket thrown over the stench of decay.
The bottle alone was enough evidence that this was not the professor's room, but Luigi couldn't find it in himself to face the hallway just yet, venturing further into the broken space and wondering what could have happened to the occupant.
His search led him to the bathroom and the doorknob turned easily, panel swinging open to allow him entrance as his light reflected off the porcelain, casting a shadow over the spider hiding behind the shower curtain and the bend of light tricking the mind into thinking it was something gigantic as it hurried to scurry away.
Only when he guided his torch over to the sink did he release a true shout of alarm, scrambling back into the doorframe and pressing a glove over his mouth to muffle the moans of despair as he closed his eyes, refusing to spend another second staring into the empty sockets of the human skull resting in a decorative basket beside the sink, aesthetically arranged on a bed of bones presumably taken from the same body.
Luigi turned to the trash can and dry heaved, spitting out bile and no longer able to delude himself into imagining that he was dealing with an enemy who might possibly extend mercy to those with whom he had no quarrel.
He was also starting to suspect just why so many ghosts were trapped in this hotel.
*Ding Ding*
Gadd's impatient tone sounded out before Luigi could pull himself together and react to the vibrating headset, triggering a vague memory of the professor saying something about an audio setting that bypassed having to use the video feature.
"Could you get a move on, Luigi? I know for a fact I wasn't staying in 504 and you need to get to my room and recover my briefcase!"
Right. The tracker in the Poltergust had been linked to Gadd's lab and he could follow his assistant's progress through the virtual map he'd charted out of the entire hotel.
Luigi pressed a hand to his forehead, wiping at the clamminess and sweat and muttering something back to the professor that even he didn't fully hear.
"What was that? You're speaking in your native tongue, my boy. I can't understand you."
With a sigh and wince at his own mindlessness, he shook his head and switched back to English.
"S-Sorry...Mario says I do that sometimes when I'm stressed."
The professor's voice returned, noticeably gentler than before.
"...Quite all right. How is everything on your end?"
Luigi spat the last of the bad taste into the trash can and wiped his mouth.
"Peachy."
"Excellent. Well, everything is just fine over here, as well, except for the dratted air conditioning. Blasted thing burned out right when the lab was starting to heat up! It's nothing less than seventy-eight degrees in here! Can you imagine worse working conditions?!"
The plumber pushed himself to his feet, forcing himself to face the poor victim once more and offer a simple nod before he left, paying his respects in the only way he now could. He then returned to the front door as Gadd continued to babble on about something, either far less empathetic than Luigi had previously credited, or far more. The plumber couldn't tell.
All he knew was that the chatter of technological jargon and the occasional yip from his dog in the background was enough to remind him that he wasn't being watched over by only his enemy. It brought the modicum of comfort needed to push him forward and back into the hall to make his way to 505.
"Ow!"
"-never using titanium unless you enjoy scrapbooking- Luigi?"
"I-I'm okay. Stupid rat just bit my ankle."
"Oh! Hold on a moment!"
The younger twin frowned at the rustle of paper and the faint sound of a scratching pen.
"...What are you doing?"
"Trying to keep track of your injuries and convert your overall health into something less difficult to understand, like a numerical graph. Now, how hard, quantitatively speaking, would you say the rat bit you just now?"
"Wh- I don't know!"
He nudged a second one out of the way as it tried to replicate its predecessor's actions, deeming this entire room infested and quickly retreating into the bathroom to regroup.
"What do you want me to say?! Two out of ten?!"
"...Good point. I'm just going to deduct five points from your total."
Luigi wasn't listening anymore, eyes glued to the flooded floor and overfilled bathtub, the occasional drip from the faucet disrupting both the quiet and the stillness with sporadic ripples. Inside the dark water, one of the bedsheets was wrapped around something with enough weight to drag it down to the bottom, only the sodden corner resting over the edge.
He stepped away until he felt the door at his back, lightheaded, nauseated, and now much more willing to take his chances with the rats.
"...Professore," he interrupted some ramble about data charts, swallowing hard, "...what happened to all the guests in this hotel?"
He didn't know if he wanted denial, or just confirmation that he should start working his way out of denial. For a moment, there was only silence, giving him enough time to be brought back to that closet full of abandoned clothes.
"...Well, my boy...I don't think all of their disappearances are as much of a mystery as we'd like to believe...As a matter of fact, I'm certain you've run into quite a few of them—the ones who found some sort of morbid humor in death, or else simply couldn't let go of their physical remains."
Luigi turned around, pressing his forehead painfully into the wooden door and squeezing his eyes shut.
"Did they take it out on each other, do you think? Scared people to death or to," he winced, "...do things they wouldn't have, otherwise?"
Broken windows...soaked bedsheets...skulls divorced from their necks and masks carved out of human skin.
Join the phantom dancers on their terms or your own. No option to escape.
No option to live.
"Impossible to determine, Luigi. Everyone leaves behind a story, and unfortunately, some are tragedies. This hotel has seen more than its share of those, I dare say."
Bending down, Luigi lifted a mildewed rubber duck that had fallen when the tub overfilled, possibly used as a last reminder of something better, and placed it carefully on the edge of the tub before backing away. Unable to stand this room another second, he bolted out the door and over to the balcony, pushing it open and trying to inhale enough fresh air to drown-
He gagged.
-to stifle all those horrible images.
"Take all the time you need, my boy. I am often guilty of spending more moments regaling the possibilities that exist in the beginning of death than respecting the end of life, however it may come about. I admit I don't see much point in mourning what can't be recovered, but I respect a more sensitive person's need for a moment to move past the implications that a loss of hope or an abundance of fear may cut one's life string a bit too short."
...
*Breathe in*
...
*Breathe out*
...
Room 506.
Something acrid permeated what would have otherwise been the innocently-recreational retreat of an avid golfer and Luigi stumbled over to the side table, noting green stains along the carpet beside brown spots of oxidized blood.
"What do you see?"
The teapot was taken into a shaking hand, sloshing with something foul and acidic.
"...Poison," Luigi guessed numbly, pouring out a splash of the liquid and watching it sizzle into the varnish.
"Must you explore every room on this floor, seeking out answers to questions you don't want to ask? You know it just upsets you."
The plumber didn't respond, not having much of an answer that would make sense to someone who reasoned through feelings so mathematically. Instead, he stared down at the burn mark on the table and kicked a rogue golf ball into its hole, given that its owner would never get the chance to land the par.
The clatter of the sphere in the cup was loud in the abandoned room and Luigi felt a pain in his heart, bringing up a hand to press into his chest as he found himself mildly disgusted in the relief he felt upon figuring out early what likely took the life of the occupant of 506. To be fair, the relief was directed more towards the fact that he was able to answer his question via discovery of the cause rather than the effect.
"Luigi," Gadd's voice grew a bit more urgent, "I hate to rush, but we really must be moving along...My briefcase, remember?"
"Yes, Professor, I remember. I'm just..."
What was he doing?
"...paying my respects."
"Ah...Would you mind paying them a bit more quickly? I don't think they would mind."
With a slight scowl that made him grateful for the fact Gadd saw nothing more of him than a dot on a red screen, he turned his back on the room and ventured out into the hallway, quickly staggering away in alarm.
The cleaning cart from before had been moved directly within his line of sight in an obvious bid to taunt him, causing a return to the dregs of that internal panic as he felt his heart and breathing pick up the pace.
Apparently the professor wasn't the only one who had grown impatient and anxious to get his hands on what he was waiting for.
"Luigi? You stopped moving. What are you-"
Three ghosts burst out of the cart and Luigi fell on his back with a yelp, smacking his head against the purple bars that shot up to block the door of 506.
"Oh, a fight! I'm picking up three spirit signatures in there with you on the map. That actually took longer than I anticipated! They must have been taking a break."
The plumber grunted under his breath, now annoyed as well as scared and aimed the Poltergust to flash the Strobulb.
They scattered before he could catch any of them in the light and he scrambled to his feet, swinging around the nozzle and only managing to ram his elbow into the side of the cart, gasping out at the spike of tingling pain.
"What happened?"
"Nothing! Elbow," he ground out, flashing his light at a set of eyes that ducked away just in time.
"Elbow...Oh, wait! Let me get my pen!"
"What-"
One of the specters shoved him from behind, causing him to smack his face into its own paper representation—poster peeling off the wall, stuck to the sweat on his skin as he slapped at it in frustration.
"Okay, elbow is worth five points, same as ankles and toes- ooh, was that your face? It sounded like your face. Fifteen points!"
Luigi swung around, panting and shooting off the plunger through the ghost trying to sneak up on him. It sailed right through, but the spirit was confused long enough for him to petrify it and catch its tail in the vacuum, holding on tight as he was then dragged across the hallway.
"Do you think knees should be worth five or ten?"
He strained and groaned, throwing his weight into tossing the struggling phantom over his shoulder and managing to slam it into one of the other two, stunning him as well.
"Oof!"
He stumbled forward, accidentally releasing his grip on the suction as his captive darted away, the first ghost circling him with satisfaction as it slapped a board against its hand—the same board it had just used to smack him in the skull, opaque form charged briefly with corporeality with each flash of the lightning.
"Head is twenty points! That can't be good for your concussion. Careful! He's coming around the flank. He's gaining, he's gaining-"
The third ghost knocked his legs out from under him, causing him to land on his side with a grunt and dig the strap of the Poltergust painfully into his ribs.
"Ooh! That sounded like multi-coverage damage! That, alone, is worth thirty-five points!"
"Will you stop giving them a scoresheet?!"
Whoops and chitters echoed through the hall as the first two ghosts cheered for the teammate now in the lead, the third ghost pumping his fist in victory and the first scratching tally marks into the wall to reflect the fact that Gadd's enthusiastic numerical involvement had now turned beating up the human into a point-based sporting event, complete with its very own clueless commentator.
From his place on the ground, Luigi waited for them to gather close in celebration and quickly flashed the Strobulb, managing to stun all of them at once and catch them by their tails. Bracing his feet against the alcove wall, his wrists were nearly jerked out of their sockets by the strength of three tugging at the same time, but he held strong. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he vaguely heard Gadd throw out some more numbers, probably related to the strain in his back and arms, but he ignored everything except the fact that he couldn't let go of the nozzle, regardless of the growing pain and almost unbearable pressure in his joints.
He wouldn't be surprised if his arms wound up a few inches longer after all this, but just as his vision began to blur, the kickback sent him flying and he landed on his back with a trio of angry ghosts now rattling around within the canister.
Only able to lie there for several moments and catch his breath, blinking up at the flickering lights that lined the ceiling, he turned his head as Gadd's voice rang out once more.
"Don't forget about my briefcase, Luigi!"
His fingers fumbled for a minute around the machinery strapped to his back before finally locating the button to hang up.
He saw the purple glow before he could even open the door to 508, indicating a strong spectral presence that would no doubt find itself less than pleased to see him.
Oh, how he wanted to back away and leave the ghost to its business, but of course every indicator, both technological and cosmic, pointed to the fact that Gadd's briefcase resided within that room.
He was starting to wish he hadn't disconnected the professor's call. Insensitive though he could be, without his voice to distract from the darkness, there was little to focus on besides the sweat dampening his shirt and the tingles in his hands. His chest continued to ache, not at all helped by that recent battle and even less so after peeking into 507, only to be greeted by a tarp thrown over a massive bloodstain, sprinkled with shards of glass shattered from the still-broken window. It seemed like they were renovating after...an incident.
The door was promptly shut, as he felt he didn't need to see more or venture deeper into the crime scene for better answers. He was starting to believe some things were just better left unexplored.
Sucking in a deep breath, Mario's name muttered on a mantra to keep him strong, he turned the handle of the professor's room, no less ready than he ever would be to face whatever was inside.
At first, he saw nothing beyond a brightening of that purple glow, but a low humming caught his attention and his eyes widened as they landed on a much larger ghost than the ones he had just captured, her form content and almost hypnotizing in the way she drifted and glided along the air currents. Her feather duster, as much of a phantom as she, brushed over the desk—pointless in the task of clearing away the physical evidence of an untidy room, but she didn't seem to notice how it passed through the cobwebs and dust, leaving them undisturbed.
She continued on, a maid trapped in the loop of her life's occupation, forever bound by duty to complete her work—forever destined to never make a dent.
Luigi backed up as she moved along the room. She paid no attention to the intruder and simply continued with that haunting tune she hummed, peacefully swaying her head to her own song as her hands phased through the mattress and quilt, miming the action of making a bed, like a child playing pretend, all while seemingly failing to realize nothing tangible had changed by the time she moved on to collect the clutter.
Or perhaps she knew. Perhaps she understood her limitations and continued on, anyway.
A small flicker of hope sparked within Luigi as he imagined the possibility of snagging that briefcase without even having to disrupt her. He didn't want confrontation any more than she seemed interested in being disturbed, but he also had yet to face a ghost content to let him pass, unbothered. Maybe if she just didn't see him-
A flash of lightning lit up the room and she turned her head, those glowing, empty eyes looking right through him as he froze, hoping she would move on. He felt like an animal caught in a predator's line of sight, barely allowing himself to breathe as she slowly tilted her head, her humming resuming as she floated away.
Luigi let out a breath, that initial wave of relief crashing down when he noticed the fading corporeality of her hands now resting on the very object of his interest. She hummed in delight at her find, lifting Gadd's briefcase and pressing it close to her chest in a transient embrace of something physical, and he couldn't help but wonder how many of these ghosts relied fully on thunderstorms—more specifically on the overcharged light they brought—just to be able to feel something solid under their fingers.
Before he realized what was happening, his distraction had allowed the door to slam closed, startling him and fully capturing her attention as she spun around, eye sockets widening as they glanced between him, his vacuum, and the briefcase she held. He wasn't sure how she knew he wanted it, but something sinister crossed over her face as she glared down at the Poltergust.
Not only did she know what he wanted, but she also knew what he had done to her fellow ghosts in order to make it this far. The tangible aspect of her form was beginning to deteriorate as the light faded from dead cells, leaving her to grow increasingly translucent. Still, she took advantage of whatever dwindling opportunity she could to make his life harder.
He was certain he made some gesture of disgust and horror as he watched her bury the briefcase into her own stomach, where it bobbed in place, stuck in a cloudy dichotomy between transparency and corporeality as he realized he had no clue they could even do that. Before he could blink, however, she took off, sailing through the wall and only getting caught for a second before somehow managing to drag both herself and her physical barrier out of sight and into the next room.
Standing in place for a moment, wondering what just happened, he finally convinced himself to actually take action and follow her when that ear-piercing ringtone startled him once again.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
With a quiet groan of annoyance, he answered the professor's video call, the man not even giving him a chance to offer a proper greeting.
"Luigi! Sorry we got cut off before. I was busy and just got back to my desk. Did I miss anything important?"
"Well-"
"What's the status on my briefcase?"
The plumbed lowered his headset, staring at the wall.
"...That's...hard to define."
"Oh! 'Status' means the current state or progress of a task-"
"No, I know what 'status' means, I just- purely hypothetically, if a ghost maid absorbed something valuable into her stomach and then slammed it into a wall before phasing through it, would it damage the thing she ingested?"
"..."
"Professor?"
"...In all my years of ghost hunting-...never mind. Don't just stand there! Get after her!"
He hung up, Luigi slowly lowering the headset and feeling a numb humiliation bubble up within his mind. Gadd was angry at his failure—rightfully so, but the plumber didn't really know what he could have done to prevent what happened.
...Except capture her before she even had the chance to potentially damage the briefcase and take off with it. If he hadn't just stood there, watching and deluding himself into thinking he could avoid confrontation, this wouldn't have happened.
In his sympathy, he'd been playing defense instead of offense this entire night, and now it had finally caught up to both him and Gadd.
He couldn't let it catch up to Mario.
He scrubbed at his face, annoyed with himself for feeling so small after getting scolded like a child and telling himself to toughen up and fix his mistake.
Then, as if he weren't feeling bad enough, another familiar purple glow rose up to cast shadows over the room and he raised his head, only to come face to face with a second trio of phantoms who seemed to exist only for the fun of tormenting the living. Still, the only thought on his troubled mind was a feeling surprisingly strong enough to stand side by side with fear—shame.
"...I'm not in the mood."
They didn't seem to care, one popping directly into his face to shout and get its kicks by watching him fall backwards in alarm, but he didn't give it the satisfaction, which he could tell surprised it. Undoubtedly, he'd built up yet another less-than-favorable reputation for himself that would take considerable effort to dismantle, though he had no doubt they would give him ample opportunity to do so.
The other two shared glances, now unsure.
"I don't want to fight you! Can't you see that?!"
One bared its teeth, hissing like it expected a trick and he raised the Poltergust, ready to defend himself as he braced his feet. The first one charged and he flashed the Strobulb, catching it instantly and sucking it into the vacuum, tears of frustration blurring his vision as he slammed it brutally against its friends, stunning them as well.
"I've been trying so hard to see what you left behind!"
*SLAM*
"To see if there's anything left!"
*SLAM*
"You make it so hard!"
*SLAM*
"I'm just trying to stay alive and get my family out of here without bothering any of you!"
*SLAM*
"I don't want to do this! Why do I always have to feel sorry for the things trying to kill me?!"
*SLAM*
"What's wrong with me?!"
*SLAM*
He fell to his knees as the spectral gates faded away, having barely realized he had actually beaten his enemies into nonexistence rather than sucking up their petrified forms. Eyes streaming, he buried a hand in his hair, tugging fitfully at the roots.
"...What's wrong with me?"
Nothing was working against the maid. He had chased her from 508 down to 505, but her evasion tactics were beyond his capabilities to copy. All the while, he felt a flutter in his chest, attributing it to anxiety over Gadd's next call, where the professor would undoubtedly travel down a predictable slope of anger, passing by disappointment before landing in resignation and dragging himself out of fieldwork retirement to come take care of this, himself.
That would just be so humiliating, and there was absolutely no way Mario and the others wouldn't hear about it on the ride home. It's not like Gadd was known for his tact. The Toads would tell their friends, who would spread it to the neighbors, who would let it be known throughout all the kingdoms that Luigi's mistake had to be fixed by an old man with arthritis.
As if he didn't have enough problems with his reputation.
As if he hadn't brought his family—brought Mario—enough shame.
If he had just captured her when he first saw her, he could have been back in the lab by then and getting smothered with emotional support from his dog. Instead, he got to run back and forth between rooms, hoping she wouldn't wise up to the fact that her wall-phasing trick wasn't limited to a purely horizontal plane.
Leaning against the door of 507, he stopped for a minute to catch his breath, having lost track of how many times he'd dashed up and down this hallway.
Surely she was just doing this to exhaust him into giving up.
He ran a frustrated hand over his face, wiping the sweat off his temple as he thumbed nervously at the Poltergust nozzle, only to accidentally trigger the plunger expulsion and nearly give himself a heart attack when it shot down beside his foot and adhered to the ground. Looking for further distraction from his conundrum, he grabbed the rope and tugged on it subconsciously, using it as a fidget toy as he suddenly rethought his original opinion about the suction cup's strength. It wasn't budging, after all.
...The briefcase had seemed solid enough each time he confronted her—a flat, smooth surface.
Frowning in consideration of this probable-failure of a plan, he released the rope and flinched when he heard the dreaded ring of Gadd's impatience.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP-*
He reached back and declined the call, picking up his half-baked idea and running with it as he charged through 507 with no more dignity left to lose.
The maid was startled by his entrance and he wasted no time in aiming the hose, firing a plunger with an accuracy derived from sheer adrenaline and watching in awe as she jerked back, translucent hand grabbing at the handle and rope but passing right through. Both she and Luigi stared for a moment in shock that it had worked, but he couldn't afford to waste another minute, kicking on the suction and catching the rope with the nozzle.
Of course the maid tried to escape, dragging him into a pail of paint that splashed over his shoes as he slid on the tarp, jerking her back with all his strength and falling into the window's broken glass with a cry of distress, his hat falling off in the struggle. She fought harder, prompting him to will any unused strength into his arms and throw her over his shoulder to slam her into the ground.
Lightning flashed, charging her hands with temporary physicality as she grabbed a handful of the glass, throwing it towards his face. He had no choice but to turn away or else risk being blinded, wincing as the shards cut into his ear and neck and feeling the streaks of warm blood trickling into his collar. She used his distraction to grab hold of the plunger and yank it away from her body, diving through the wall and into the next room.
Luigi stood there panting, watching the lightning cast a shine over the red droplets now staining the tarp and adding his own mark to the previous occupant's. With a trembling hand, he pinched the largest spike of glass that had stuck in his arm and pulled it from his skin, letting it shatter on the ground beside his sanguineous signature before scooping up his mislaid hat.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
Pressing his lips together, he once again declined the call, not wanting to hear what he already knew. He had found a solution—not a good one, but a solution—so Gadd had neither further reason to berate him for a mistake he had every intention of fixing, nor further reason to get involved.
Squaring his shoulders, he bolted to the next room.
*Ding Ding*
Luigi ignored the master ghost hunter as his tinny voice echoed through the hall, complaining about his headset not being answered, though the plumber was paying much more attention to guessing whichever space was next in line for the maid's game.
"-and it wouldn't kill you to just stay in one room for the ten seconds needed to pick up my call-"
The plumber hung up.
"...Sorry, Professor."
He needed to concentrate.
She was hiding from him. He could see worried eye sockets peering over the bed before ducking back down and he froze in place.
No, she was scared of him.
Though his frown remained in place, internally, his heart ached in a way he hadn't imagined possible. Never, in all his years of travel and combat, had he given anyone reason to fear him—both his greatest personal victory and the worst failure to his name—and it hurt.
The nozzle slid in his loosening grip and he forced himself to snap back to the stronger mindset that dwelled in reality.
He had chosen to be a hunter.
She had chosen to be his prey.
This was his responsibility.
He didn't have to like it, but he still had to do it, even when no one was there to hold his hand.
He would not bring further shame on Mario by forcing someone else to clean up his mess. He'd done enough of that over the years without adding another penny of debt to the pile he would never fully be able to pay back to his brother.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
Grinding his teeth, he circled around the bed and aimed as she scrambled back, feeling like he was holding a shotgun to a wounded deer and almost losing both his grip and his nerve.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
Shaking the tears out of his vision, he fired the Suction Shot, causing her to gasp and try to claw her way over the bed, but the lightning hadn't struck for several minutes and she had no corporeal grasp left on the physical world, giving him the time he needed to catch her in his vacuum's handle and fling her into the wall, her form flickering in a weakened state and briefcase jerking loose just slightly.
"Just let it go," he begged, voice trembling as much as his legs. "Just let it go! I don't want to hurt you! Please, just let me have this and I'll leave!"
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
"I need this!"
Her eyes met his just briefly, something remarkably close to empathy shining within them before another bolt of lightning lit up both the room and her spectral form, allowing her the chance she needed to pull herself free from the plunger and flee to a different room.
Luigi cursed over the thunder, letting the nozzle fall from his hand in exasperation as he swayed on his feet.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
Wiping at the blood still trailing down his neck, he readied himself to book it over to 506, having finally figured out her pattern.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
Luigi couldn't take it anymore, detaching the VB from its spot on the Poltergust and leaving it in 505. The distraction was just going to get him killed.
"I'm sorry, Professor," he muttered, wondering vaguely just how sorry he really was.
Surely Gadd had enough common sense to realize that interrupting his lackey to such an extent wasn't going to work out in his favor. If not, Luigi supposed he could just make up the excuse that the communicator fell off the vacuum while he was fighting the maid. It's not like the professor was able to see enough to refute it. In the meantime, he could talk to the rats.
Thunder rumbled as the plumber threw open the door to 506, expecting to find her hiding from him once more, but his steps faltered when he spotted her drifting form, making no effort to conceal herself and simply tracing around the burn that the poisoned tea had left on the table while humming that same eerie tune, the notes fading away as he finally stepped closer, raising the Poltergust nozzle.
She lifted her head, glowing eye sockets flickering with something he couldn't identify, and stared through him for a moment before spreading her arms, moving herself into aim of his shot as lightning flashed within the room, solidifying her form once more.
It could have been a trick.
He couldn't afford to take the chance that it wasn't.
"...I'm sorry."
Truly, he meant it this time.
Closing his eyes, he shot the plunger at her torso and caught the rope in the vacuum, pulling hard, though it wouldn't budge.
"Come on...Come on!"
He panted with effort, sweat beading on his temple as he stared back at her, regret in his gaze. She only nodded once, giving him silent permission to do what he had to do, and he left one last whisper of an apology to linger in the air before pulling her over his shoulder and slamming her into the ground, watching her purple glow flicker and grow dim. He gathered what strength was left in his muscles and yanked her the other way, her spectral body hitting the wall as the briefcase was torn a quarter of the way from her body, making her cry out in some sort of phantom pain.
...
*Breathe in*
...
With a shout of effort, he hoisted her back the other way one more time, nearly pulled to his knees as the briefcase was torn free and flung across the room, crashing into one of the corners.
...
*Breathe out*
...
Maybe it was all a trick. Maybe as she lay there, flickering and seemingly helpless, she was waiting for the perfect moment for him to lower his guard.
'Just finish this.'
She flipped onto her front, phasing halfway through the floor as she crawled away and he couldn't help but repeat the very first mistake he had ever made with her—observing rather than dominating—but he couldn't help but wonder.
What had convinced her to give up? Did she feel guilty? Was her loyalty to King Boo and her fellow ghosts based only on the immaterial aspect of their similarities, leaving an opening for her to be swayed by human fragility? Would he ever be able to understand the complexities of someone who used to know what it felt like to have something matter?
Maybe she just wanted to return to her cleaning and humming. After all, he had said he would simply leave if she gave him the briefcase.
"Don't let them play on your empathy for who they used to be."
He didn't know why he even bothered leaving Gadd's voice in the other room when he could still hear him clearly, beating the words against his morality.
"...I'm sorry."
The maid's form had faded, the charge from the lightning having worn off, and Luigi choked on the acid rising from his stomach as he aimed at her back, thumb quivering on the Strobulb's button. She didn't turn around and he had to resist the urge to call out to her—to give her a fighting chance.
"There's one clear difference between you and a ghost, Luigi. You have something to lose."
"I'm so sorry."
He had lied to her.
The flash of the Strobulb was brighter than any lightning, filling the room with the visual evidence of his betrayal, followed closely by the sound of it.
It felt so wrong.
It felt so evil.
It felt like he was no better than King Boo.
The fact that he hadn't kept his word and let her go once he got the briefcase would torment him for years to come, waking him in the night and forcing him to relive this moment his character hit a new low.
...
*Breathe in*
...
*Breathe out*
...
Then again, maybe this was all part of that whole thing about "toughening up."
...
*Breathe in*
...
*Breathe out*
...
After all...
...
*Breathe in*
...
...even Mario had lied before.
…
*Breathe out*
~TO BE CONTINUED~
Chapter 6: Gooigi
Summary:
Luigi finally meets the professor's passion project and discovers the reason he felt so unexplainably connected to whatever resided in Gadd's briefcase.
Notes:
Gooigi gets his own chapter, then we'll come back to the full-floor chapters, starting with the Hotel Shops. Considering what his role is going to be in this story, I needed to give him and his creation the proper attention it deserved. Not much action in this chapter, but I really enjoyed exploring what I could do with Luigi and Gadd when it came to Gooigi's existence and I hope you guys like dialogue!
Also, fun fact, the entire middle section of this chapter was the very first scene I ever wrote for this fandom, long before "Crunch Time," and was what made me commit not only to seeing what I could do in terms of writing Mario stories, but to making an AO3 account and actually sharing them. It's probably overly-wordy, but definitely sentimental to me to finally see this story reach the point that it was time to include it! I hope you guys enjoy. :)
Chapter Text
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
Luigi could hear the VB going off before he even pushed open the door, hand pausing on the handle as he gathered his remaining nerve.
In his other glove, the elevator button, labeled simply "3," was being rolled between fidgeting fingers, whose owner had probably spent a few minutes too long sitting on the floor of 506 and wondering whether King Boo had gifted certain more...passionate ghosts these separated buttons just as a way to slow him down, or as part of a structured game to lead him blindly across a path of his enemy's own choosing.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
*Bump*
He sighed, sweaty forehead hitting the door as he prepared himself to face the music.
Gadd could out-lecture any other man who held the title of "professor" and could scold with a stamina rivaled only by Mario, and only when the older twin believed his junior had done something particularly dangerous, though the scientist's rants were rooted less in concern for one's wellbeing and instead focused more on any potential disruption to his experimental projects, of which Luigi carried his favorite and probably his most expensive. He supposed it was only fair of the man to want to keep tabs on his intern's progress.
The fallout for ignoring his calls would not be pleasant, but maybe the briefcase sitting beside him would be enough of a peace offering to cut the monologue short. He could only hope. As for him, curious as he was about why the contents of the luggage was so important, he felt both inexplicably repelled by and drawn to the briefcase's mystery, like a magnet whose polar ends had somehow met in the middle.
But he wouldn't pry. Flawed as he was, he at least had enough self-control to limit the reach of his nosiness behind a line of acceptable decorum.
Stepping into the room, the plumber reached for the vibrating device, catching it just as it was about to gyrate itself off the bed and shatter, which would have landed him in even more trouble. Finally, he answered, the ringtone cutting off in time with a rumble of thunder he couldn't help but perceive as either foreboding or mocking.
"...Hello?"
An empty chair greeted him.
"..."
"Professor?"
"..."
The younger ghost hunter's heart rate picked up as he found himself stepping with increasing rush back towards the door.
"Professore?!"
Had he been attacked?
Was he hurt?
Luigi hadn't picked up the device in nearly fifteen minutes. Had Gadd needed his help that entire time? Had he been calling out of desperation to reach his only ally within the building?
More egregiously, had Luigi let him down the way he had let Mario down when he had tried to escape his situation and run away like a coward while his family and friends were held hostage by an enemy of his own making?
He had been so desperate to correct his mistake in letting the briefcase be stolen, but in doing so, had he failed an even more important test?
"Professor! Please answer me!"
The irony wasn't lost on him, nor was the hypocrisy, but even that was being drowned by panic. He pulled the device away from his eyes only long enough to grab the briefcase and sprint back to the elevator, rapidly shoving his finger into the button and feeling a cold weight press in on his heart that he may have allowed pettiness to seal his mentor's fate.
"Professor Gadd, please!"
"..."
*Ding*
He tumbled into the lift, briefcase scraping up the paint as he dragged it in after him and finger nearly missed the button for "B1" due to blurring sight and a trembling hand.
"...Come on."
He bounced on his heels, sweat beading on his temples as his eyes traveled back and forth between the VB—that lone chair in Gadd's lab—and the buttons displayed above his head, ticking down far too slowly.
"Come on!"
*Ding*
The doors had barely parted when he barreled between them, mindset only on returning to what he could only hope wasn't a crime scene-
"Oof!"
He stumbled back, colliding painfully with the wall and getting the wind knocked out of him before scrambling to steady himself and reach for the vacuum nozzle, only to freeze at the sight of Gadd, lying on his side and donning the Poltergust 5000 while he felt around, trying to locate his glasses.
"Professor!"
Luigi dropped to his side, handing him his spectacles and helping him to his feet as his own heart calmed slightly, his limbs growing numb with relief.
"Luigi?"
The old man took back his glasses and squinted through them for a moment before coming to some conclusion.
"...Luigi! You're not dead! How convenient for us both!"
The plumber scratched at the tender scab on the back of his head, not knowing quite what to say, but Gadd predictably appeared to have plenty of words left to share, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in annoyance.
"When you failed to answer my calls, I could only assume the worst."
Lowering his eyes, the younger twin shifted in place, staring down at his paint-stained shoes.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"As you should be! Here I was, thinking I was going to have to come collect you, myself!"
Luigi frowned, glancing over the man's shoulder at the older Poltergust model and feeling an icy chill run down his spine at the phrasing of his complaint.
"...'Collect' me?"
The inventor blinked, nodding once and stepping past his assistant to brush his hands over his briefcase, scowling a bit at the scraped leather and looking like he already had a comment prepared about the damage, but Luigi wasn't done.
"What do you mean, collect me?"
"Well, I-...you know..."
He looked uncomfortable, eyes darting to the vacuum on his back before returning their attention to his briefcase and the younger man swallowed thickly, feeling sick as a very cold and solemn realization dawned on him.
His voice shook.
"...Y-You mean, you thought they'd killed me and I'd turned into a ghost, and...you were going to come do to me what you and I've been doing to them for years."
"Don't take it personally, Luigi," his tone was almost flippant. "Wouldn't you rather be in my keeping, continuing on in the good name of science rather than wandering these halls aimlessly for the rest of your existence?"
The younger twin pressed a hand to his clammy forehead, watching the professor gather up his briefcase while trying not to hyperventilate as he turned his face away, unwilling to let the other hunter see the shine in his eyes as he was reintroduced to the transience of his life's worth. True, Gadd had admitted on more than one occasion that he didn't hold a sentimental view on humanity, but it was always a startling experience to be reminded of just how detached one could become from life, itself.
He supposed the professor shared more with ghosts than just an interest.
Still, one thing bothered him even more than the fact that having a history with the man in no way meant he was exempt from his emotionless worldview.
"Wh-Why do you think I'd come back as a ghost, at all? I don't have any unfinished business-"
Gadd paused in his path to tut at him, shaking his head.
"This whole 'unfinished business' business is entirely fabrication. You're too educated on spectral biology to continue believing that ghosts are a result of 'unfinished business,' Luigi."
"You never told me otherwise! What is it, then?! Why do you think I'd come back as a ghost?!"
The professor stared him up and down for a moment, clearly reluctant to speak his mind.
"...Perhaps I'm wrong. I hope I am. No matter, though," he patted his luggage, "because within this very briefcase is something that...may help you avoid finding out whether or not my suspicions are well-founded."
He turned around, struggling with the weight of his burden as he hobbled back towards the lab. Luigi hurried after him, his thoughts dark.
"Professor, listen...If I die, I want to stay dead."
"I have less control over that than you do."
"But you obviously know more about this than I do!"
He struggled to imagine what he would even do as a ghost, besides just haunt his poor brother's portrait for the rest of time. If Gadd had any way of preventing the spirit from being trapped on earth after death, then he wanted to know.
The older man kicked open the basement door, walking past a barking Polterpup, who hurried forward to try to welcome his owner back with about four dozen kisses. Luigi's smile trembled on his face, trying to wrap his arms around the ghostly canine, only for them to phase through. He almost considered flashing his puppy with the Strobulb, just to give himself something physical to hold onto while his mind fell apart, but he knew that would be selfish.
He had suspected for years that the Strobulb caused pain, but he'd tried to ignore that thorn of a thought for a while now. Dwelling on it only brought to light just how much morality he was willing to lose to Gadd and his cause.
The scientist dropped his luggage on the lab floor and shed the Poltergust 5000, tossing it aside carelessly as Luigi watched, wincing as he heard something shatter.
"You need to answer me when I call," the man spoke softly, but with a hint of lingering anger, shuffling up onto his chair and dragging the briefcase into his arms before brushing an almost reverent hand across the shiny top. "I'm too old to be out catching ghosts by myself."
Luigi stepped closer, silent as the man wandered through the woods of troubled thoughts, coming across some unpleasant scenery and frowning in retaliation as he continued to mutter to himself.
"Too old. Too-...well, no matter. My mind is younger than my limitations."
With two gentle clicks, the briefcase popped open and Luigi saw only a subtle green glow cast across the tiny smile the man now sported as he reached inside, hands slowly emerging around a canister of what could only be described as emerald goo—goo that almost seemed to tremble and bubble when the younger ghost hunter ventured closer.
Luigi felt a buzz under his skin—a connection he couldn't explain—but Gadd glanced between him and the odd treasure he held, his grin growing wider as he seemed to not only sense, but understand the very same something that was confusing the other human.
"Yes," the professor nodded to himself, "yes, you feel it, don't you?"
"F-Feel what?"
The plumber forced his eyes away from the warm hum of the canister as it pulsed with life, drawing into his mind, transcendental tendrils tangling into his thoughts in a way he wasn't sure he liked.
He backed away, shaking his head and feeling a bit snappish as the haze only faded from his brain with distance.
"Professor, what is that? How is a jug of Jello gonna help us?"
Gadd ignored him, cradling his creation like a newborn—regarding it with much more caring than he had ever shown either the living or the dead.
"The perfect culmination of man's strengths and the precision of science, and now the time has finally come to use it in battle. Yes, rather than give up on my ghostly pursuits, I thought I'd create a...well, a helper to take my place—someone both unfazed by human weakness and untouchable to death. Many a question has been posed, you know. Just what would happen, should a perfect soul be given a perfect body, created by the mind and separated from the heart?"
He twirled his finger, gesturing for Luigi to turn around, which he did with caution, that low ringing returning to his ears as he sensed the canister grow closer.
"Of course," Gadd shoved him forward with the force of his tinkering, installing the upgrade into the Poltergust's holding unit, which, until then, had remained noticeably empty, "while the soul is the goal, everything starts with the mind. It all begins with a first step and a prototype, but talking about what he is can only be so helpful. What I really need to do is show you who he is."
"You with me, Sonny?"
Luigi tried to breathe deeply around his nod, his trust in the professor fibrillating and his ability to withstand confined spaces dwindling.
"Now, before I show you, I'd like to get a bit into the science behind-"
"Professor," the plumber grabbed at the bars of his cage, pressing his nose over the top of the uneven boards spread across the perimeter of the trap, "n-no offense, but I'd rather hear the explanation after the demonstration. I, uh, learn better that way?"
"Ah! Yes, yes, time is of the essence. You are entirely right, Luigi!"
Sure, that worked. Definitely. He could certainly be both right and claustrophobic. They weren't mutually exclusive, so they could just go with "right." No one would be the wiser.
Gadd braced his feet, grinning a little crookedly and with a glint in his eye that had Luigi holding tightly onto the metal of his confinement, slightly nervous about either witnessing mad genius or molecular destruction. With that smile inching just this side of maniacal, he closed his eyes, fairly certain that the professor would have no qualms about blowing up the earth, as long as he could justify it as some scientific breakthrough.
"Ready?!"
The man trembled, voice too loud and struggling to hold the reins of his excitement.
"Not rea-"
His heart seemed to lurch, causing his stomach to flip and his head to pound with a spike of discomfort. He felt like his neck had been snapped too hard, and it must have been more painful than he realized, because he was fairly sure he blacked out. He remembered a flash of absolute delight on Gadd's face, which could have been complete fabrication on his part, but also a vague sense of movement and purpose to reach a switch, all before the unpleasant feeling of water splashing into his eyes caused him to jolt like he had just woken from a dream that ended with that unpleasant falling sensation. Awareness came back with sharp disorientation.
He hated that fluttering swoop in his stomach and he choked on air, heart pounding as he regained his consciousness.
Gadd was rubbing his hands together like some sort of mad scientist, but Luigi could barely focus on the jumble of jargon being tossed his way, as if the professor felt he had any hope of understanding it, even if he had been fully oriented.
"Wait, wait, wait," he finally managed to get out the words, the repetition necessary to bring Gadd's attention to the fact that he was taking in absolutely none of what he said. "I just- I think my narcolepsy just acted up, unless...did you trigger that somehow? Was that the experiment? How is that supposed to help me besides giving the ghosts with bad aim a better shot?!"
"Now hold on, Sonny. Oh, my. This is why I wanted to explain before we tried it."
"Tried what?!"
Gadd clutched at his face, shaking his head like he had any right to try to stand on the high ground.
Luigi tried to hide the quiver in his voice, but he was honestly growing scared, squeezing the bars to hide the tremble in his hands. He didn't know what his response would be when Gadd inevitably requested they try again.
"Professore? Tried what?"
"Gooigi."
The green plumber blinked, exhaling through his nose and counted to ten.
"What's 'Gooigi?'"
"He's the experiment, of course!"
"The experiment where you separated my soul from my body? Is that what you tried to do?!"
"Oh, no, no, no-"
"Because that's what it felt like!"
"Now hold on! Weren't you listening? Spiritual cleaving is entirely impossible...right now."
Luigi scowled, instinctive hand covering his heart.
"No. What I did was completely mental."
"You can say that again-"
"Are you going to let me finish?"
The professor frowned, tapping his foot with clear impatience.
The younger twin sighed heavily, but managed to give some vague gesture to continue before replacing his sweaty hold on the bars.
"Now," Gadd adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, straight back to the egghead, "what we just witnessed was the separation, not of soul and life, but of mind and body—the very sever of consciousness and subsequent transference of being."
"You witnessed. I blacked out!"
"Don't be dramatic now, my boy, it was only your body that blacked out."
"Wh-"
"Now, I would like to try again, but with the stipulation that you do not panic and you do not fight the connection. We had something great, Luigi!" Gadd's eyes lit up in a way one didn't usually see in a child older than four. "A truly remarkable fusion of science, body, and mind!"
"Professore, I would really appreciate a more fifth-grade-science-class explanation before you ask me to go through that again. What, exactly, did you do?"
"I gave you a clone."
"I already have a clone. He's hanging on a wall, somewhere."
"No, no, no, I mean...a real clone."
His hands quivered as they steepled in front of his pinched lips, the man bouncing on his feet as he awaited his heralding of praise for unethical genius.
After Luigi's mind went completely blank, he had to double check to make sure the professor hadn't mistaken his horror for awe and silence for permission to turn the experiment back on. He had to have misunderstood, because there was no way Gadd had pulled off what he was claiming. It wasn't possible! Surely not.
...Surely not?
"You did what?"
"I cloned your DNA. You're a twin," he thought a moment, "...triplet? He's mostly made of ectoplasm and I may or may not have spilled some coffee in him at some point, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect besides some chemical reaction that turned the goo that lovely green-"
"Wait a minute..."
"What? Don't you think it's a very pleasant emerald hue? I would have thought you would find his palette an upgrade, considering he used to be a rather unfortunate shade of yellow."
A clone. An actual clone. So many questions swirled around in his mind's hurricane that he couldn't even distinguish which was the most pressing. That goo he had called Jello...How much autonomy did it have? How was it created? How was this even possible?! Magical mushroom worlds and talking turtles aside, there was only so far one could be expected to suspend his disbelief.
"How d-...when did you get my DNA?!"
His question changed mid-sentence as he realized a biology lesson would be harder to understand than the suddenly more important answer to whether or not he needed to change the locks. Safety first, then explanation, then throwing up. Perhaps not in that exact order, or maybe with some duplication of steps.
"Oh, that," he tapped his fingers together, moral hesitation fading with the opportunity to further explain his scientific breakthrough. "Well...I may or may not have...taken advantage of a certain opportunity presented to me by a certain malfunction of a certain Pixelator."
Luigi's breath hitched as he recalled the moment Gadd sent him through his transporting prototype, hardly giving him a chance to question the safety of the mechanism before he was being disassembled on an atomic level and spat back out into the thick of a ghost den, of which the professor had clearly wanted no personal part.
"A p-piece of me got left behind, didn't it? Y-You said it was experimental when you tried it on me, and...there was a problem, wasn't there?!"
His heart pounded as frantic hands ran over his body, searching for the part that was missing while his imagination ran wild with the possibilities.
"What? Oh, no, no, no," Gadd waved his hands, seeming mildly offended that Luigi would question the reliability of one of his machines. "Nothing important, at least."
"Nothing important?! What's missing?! One of my organs?!"
He couldn't breathe, clawing at his chest as he was struck with the realization that he could be down a lung.
"Now calm down, my boy. If it were important, wouldn't you be dead? Doesn't that make you feel better? All that was left behind was a single eyelash. You know I would never harm you, don't you, Luigi?"
He sounded so hurt that Luigi forcibly calmed his breathing, ignoring the pain in his chest as he hurried to give reassurance to the man who had made it possible for him to rescue his brother, not only once, or now even just twice, but coming up on three times—hopefully no more and no less.
"No, I-I know," he spoke softly.
"Good. You're a valuable asset, Luigi, so don't go about insulting me by assuming I won't use my brain to keep you around. I'm not entirely unreasonable. Rest assured, if you had left behind your liver, I would have mailed it back to you."
'Submissive, gullible, and dispensable. At least Mario's value lies in his good traits.'
He flicked his head, trying to toss away the thought that had found a window in his mental wall, shouting through the crack at the first opportunity.
"I'm sorry, it's just," he shook his head, adrenaline finally settling, "...why would you do this without asking me? Isn't that illegal?"
"How can it be illegal if it's never been done before?"
Luigi supposed he couldn't argue with that. The déjà vu of the sensation he had just experienced kept poking at his subconscious, and a brief search of his mental library led his mind's eye directly to its filed realization, almost causing him to stumble under the weight of epiphany.
No.
He couldn't-...
He was cold, but was he heartless?
"...I don't really have narcolepsy, do I?"
Gadd's head darted to the side a little too quickly. He played with his fingers, hands just a little too sweaty.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
The younger twin licked his lips, trying to bring up every memory he could use as evidence, body trembling with the introduction of a suspicion as horrible as it could be wonderful.
"My...episodes started a little less than a year ago. You created a Frankenstein goo monster and you used my DNA. You said it fused with my mind, so obviously, you've tried it out before just now. Did-...did you not know what would happen to me when you activated it? Or did you just not care?"
"Now I don't think you're giving me enough credit, Luigi. You see, Frankenstein was an elementary concept-"
"I passed out at the wheel of my kart and drove off the road. It happened again, later that day, and Mario caught me before I fell down the stairs. He dragged me to a doctor and I got put through...so many tests. I came out of there with an official diagnosis of narcolepsy and a traumatized twin."
The series of events played out in his mind, cold chills and despair numbing him. Even now, his small bottle of Provigil cut into his leg as he pressed a clammy hand to his pocket, resisting the urge to throw it blindly and hope Gadd wouldn't think to duck.
His words were almost too thick. His throat was almost too tight. Pushing his sentences into existence was almost painful.
"Mario wouldn't let me go with him whenever he went to do something he thought would be dangerous because we didn't know if I would fall asleep and get hurt or get him hurt. He was always so scared I'd hit my head because we were told that a concussion could make me worse or give me secondary narcolepsy. I already thought I was having hallucinations about...everything being green and muffled. I couldn't drive...This went on for the last eight months. He went on so many missions alone while I was stuck at home with a knot in my stomach and a piece of paper that diagnosed me as useless to him."
Gadd seemed to pale, tapping his fingers more frantically.
"I...suppose that must have been quite demoralizing, but, Luigi, chin up! Now you know the truth, so the first thing you do when you get everyone home is take that paper and throw it into the fire!"
He said it with such passion, Luigi sliding to the ground and letting his head rest against the bars, unwilling to let his tears fall in the presence of the only person who held more faith in him than in his brother. All those months of worry about Mario's safety could have been avoided if he had just gone to Gadd for a physical exam instead of that sleep specialist his brother had found in Queens.
However, the worst of it all was how worried Mario had been, driving them home from that appointment with a deep furrow between his brows and a glimmer in his eyes. Even eight months later, Luigi would still frequently catch his sibling randomly staring at him, that same frown in place and muscles always tensed to dive for him, should he fall.
On the bright side, he supposed he could look forward to being able to tell his twin that his diagnosis had been false.
"Come now, Luigi. You're the only one I can count on to see the advantage of my creation. I truly wish you hadn't had a rough time of it when I started working on my project, and I promise, from now on, anything that will affect you directly will be done only after you receive notice of the side effects. Cross my heart."
He performed the gesture to signify his commitment to the oath, Luigi looking up with the hope of finding honesty and exhaling a long breath, even as he wondered bitterly if crossing one's chest where a heart should be was even worth the time it took to make the vow.
"Mario's not going to be very happy with you."
That was somewhat of an understatement. His brother already had nothing good to say about the professor or his meddling with Luigi's life.
Gadd pinched his lips, opening his mouth before seeming to think better of it and twiddling his thumbs instead.
"What?"
Luigi was curious what he had stopped himself from saying, on edge and ready to defend his twin.
"Nothing, Sonny. A man must know when not to speak his mind, and I'm not about to get between you and your brother. Heaven knows that wouldn't be pleasant or work out in my best favor."
"You think I shouldn't tell him that my blackouts are your fault and not a medical condition?!"
The snap in his tone surprised him, leading him to lower his eyes in apology for being rude.
Gadd seemed surprised, too, his lips slightly quirking up in discomfort.
"No, no. You let your brother tell me off, Luigi. I suppose you deserve it. It makes you angry, no?"
He searched his emotions, trying to find anything under the anxiety and honest relief. Was he betrayed? Somewhat. Though he could justify most of the professor's less considerate quirks as mad genius. Flabbergasted? Definitely. Flattered? Maybe a little. Anyone else would have cloned Mario.
"Not- not angry, particularly, but I-"
"I see," Gadd nodded, a little morose and with a sad smile the plumber didn't quite understand. "No need to explain. Shall we try again?"
"Wait," Luigi sucked in a breath, more concerns beginning to take root than simple frustration and shock, "I didn't even think about...does this thing have any sort of consciousness outside of what I give it?"
"I'm not sure I understand," Gadd tilted his head, puzzled. "He is you. He has your consciousness."
"So when he's not active, he's not alive?"
He tried desperately to understand and to factor some morality into a situation that was starting to sound more and more like a serious breach of ethics.
"Well, I wouldn't say that. He's dormant. Think of it like...two bodies with one mind, and only one of you can be awake at a time, but while you're controlling him, your body isn't dead, it just isn't conscious. He's the same way. While you're talking to me, his cells are repairing themselves—his form sustaining. He collects nutrients from his environment. His neurological impulses are ready to fire. He's very much alive, he's just not in a current active state. It's like the difference between pudding and a starfish."
Luigi massaged his head, unable to determine if Gadd's analogies were hogwash or just beyond his own intelligence. The professor seemed fairly pleased with the comparison, so maybe the green twin was just one intellectual tier too far down to understand.
"This still seems illegal. You tried to grow a new human soul in a petri dish and only managed to make the husk of someone who already exists. You're trying to create- what, lackeys?"
"Protégé."
"Modeled after real people? And you're stealing-"
"Borrowing."
"-the real people's minds without telling them, just to give your experiments life, at least for the brief amounts of time that you'll need something done? Professor, this is-"
"First stages! But with your help, I can work out some of these kinks by having you test out my prototype."
"But then you're going to end up either giving them unique awareness without freedom or else using a real person's consciousness without warning, like you did to me."
"Science shouldn't be legal," the professor retorted with a huff. "It's all experimentation. However, the only way to determine what is and isn't moral is to explore the confines of what hasn't been done and make that ethical determination after the question has been presented."
"I think some things are a little more black and white than that. You benefited off my DNA and left me with a pretty significant side effect every time you tested your experiment."
"I prefer to think of it as a symbiotic relationship. I provide you with new age technology, and you provide me with an eyelash. I never asked for anything more from you."
"You kidnapped me from my living room and made me put the Dark Moon back together!"
"I retrieved the best man for the job from the vacation home I provided him and his brother, you mean, asking for a small favor in return and arming him with only the best. You were always free to walk away from me, Luigi—me, and everything we've done together since we met."
The plumber opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, only to realize that he couldn't. Gadd's involvement in his life could have ended after that first encounter, but he had been dazzled by the interest the professor seemed to take in him and had accepted the man's aid and generosity in return for the odd favor. This clone of his...was more than a favor, but, then again, so was staying with him in a dangerous hotel for the sole reason that Luigi wouldn't leave without his family and friends.
He met the professor's eyes, each of them unwilling to voice Luigi's realization that he needed Gadd more than the other way around. The younger brother's stakes were personal, while Gadd's were simply intellectual. The professor could easily find a braver participant to test his theories and inventions, but he had chosen to give Luigi the opportunity to keep him as a contact and...maybe not a friend, but at least as an associate. And if Luigi wanted to continue relying on the professor's brain as a resource, he figured he'd better not depend on accurately guessing how many high-horse questions he would tolerate, or on how long it would take a human guinea pig to become obsolete. With the creation of his clone, it struck him that his usefulness was already running out.
"You know, Luigi, you don't have to get your big brother to tell me all the things you want to say. If you think I've stepped over some moral line, then go on. Tell me."
This was a test. This was a test and Luigi's pride was at war with Mario's safety.
It lost before it entered the battlefield.
"...I'm sorry, Professore. I won't tell Mario it was your fault. I-I'll find something else to say."
Gadd frowned, obviously expecting to have heard something else, but Luigi just swallowed and turned away, hoping obvious submission would put him back into the man's good graces. His face burned with humiliation, his mind already preparing to lock this memory up tightly with the rest of the proof that he embodied the only cowardice in his family's bloodline.
Gadd waited a moment or two, but huffed when he concluded that he had achieved dominance over his lab rat. Luigi supposed the professor's choice of clone had been based on the utility of a weak personality, and suddenly, it was a lot less flattering to have been chosen as the template for the world's first mindless assistant.
"Quite all right, my boy. Now, let's try this again."
Consciousness fled his body and he had time to feel his head drop heavily against one of the bars before new images flashed across his mind, notably of Gadd staring into the cage with a wince and an apology.
The disorienting sensation of drowning flooded his mind, causing him to spiral in circles, the muffled calls of the professor falling on deaf ears. Everything around him looked warped, splashed in hues of green, but the shock of the first time was absent, the knowledge that what was happening wasn't a hallucination to be ignored and escaped—was something real to be embraced—solidified his resolve and he could regretfully start to claim more control over this out-of-body experience.
Using the same calming tactics to soothe his mind of anxiety attacks, his vision cleared slightly, though he still felt like he had his head stuck in water, but memories were beginning to form as more than just fragments.
Strength began to seep into his fingers as the connection between mind and body overrode reflex to make way for intentional movement. Vaguely, he wondered if this is how an infant would feel if it could remember that exact moment of mastering physical autonomy.
The feeling of being drowned dimmed as his brain slowly wrapped around the fact that his need to breathe was entirely absent. With no heart to pump blood, the ringing in his ears faded, psychosomatic understanding taking place as he began to instinctively accept and separate the experience of humanity from the experiment of immortality. To his left, Gadd was watching him like a mother would admire her new baby, and to his right...his own husk lay on the ground, dead to the world and completely devoid of life.
Seeing himself now, with that waxy skin and mechanical breath—the lack of spirit undeniable—he finally understood why Mario had always looked so haunted when discussing his episodes.
"It's not normal, what you do," he had insisted, nerves frayed, eyes dry, fifth medical volume on sleeping disorders wrinkled and dog-eared as it slipped from his lap. "It's not normal narcolepsy. You look...gone...No, I'm not taking a picture next time! I don't need to save that image. I'll just hold you and keep a finger on your pulse until you wake up, like I always do...No, I'm NOT overreacting!"
He tried for a step, wobbling as the ground slipped below him, but upon attempting to catch himself on the bars, he slid right through, splattering to the ground.
The jolt occurred and he snapped his head up with a gasp, clutching at his pounding heart and shaking off the sensation of his very cells scattering on the ground upon impact, matrix held together with nothing but gelatin. It had felt like a dream—an impossibly realistic dream. Seeing his own lifeless body gave him chills, but at the same time...if he just had a little more control...
"Well?" Gadd raised his voice over the muffled echo in the plumber's ears. "What do you think?"
He waited to answer, trying to wrestle his composure and wiping the thin sheen of sweat off his brow as the aches and pains returned to a stiff and exhausted body.
"I think you gave him chloropsia. Was that intentional?"
"You just have to get used to him. Third time's the charm, right?"
"No, wait," Luigi held a hand out, causing Gadd's finger to pause over the button. "Was I really-...did you really just put my mind into a body that can't get tired and can't feel pain?...He can't die?"
The professor's eyes shined as he nodded, hopeful breaths picking up speed.
"Huh...That's kind of...useful."
"Ah-"
"I mean...if it works—if I can control it, I mean—it's an advantage, right? Just while we're in the hotel. He can't get hurt? He can't die? He just goes *splat* and back in the tank?"
"Well, semantics and all," Gadd tapped at the remote, shifting his weight. "If his tank were to ever get damaged, that might be a problem, and he has quite an aversion to water, but otherwise, he should feel no exhaustion and no pain. Traveling through cracks is now possible, with the fluidity of liquid movement. Falling ten stories? No coffin needed. Trust me, Sonny, you can shoot him with a crossbow and he won't die!"
"Good, because-"
He cut himself off, remembering a particular "narcoleptic" episode that resulted in him jolting back to awareness with a distinct pain in the center of his forehead. He elected to ignore it.
He allowed his aching skull to drop back onto the bars, hating his own susceptibility to manipulation. However, he just couldn't talk himself out of the fact that an invincible being, conceivably completely under his control, was incredibly useful. Unethical? Most likely. A result of non-consensual experimentation that caused a rift in his daily life and increased the chance of his brother not coming home from a solo journey? Yes. But useful?
Also yes, unfortunately.
"...I'll help you."
The words felt sharp in his throat, but Mario didn't have to know. No one had to know. It's not like this secret about his questionable integrity would be the only one he was leaving behind with the rest of the ghosts.
The only frustration would be to receive praise for courage while using a body that had no need for it, but he could live with that shame, as long as it weighed less heavily than the dishonor of admitting he was willingly endorsing something he believed could harm someone else in the long run.
"I thought you believed my experiment to be immoral?"
He winced, knowing he should have expected the hint for an apology, or perhaps an explanation for being so easily swayed. At least the professor managed to make the question sound more curious than condescending.
"I do, but...I- I don't know. It's really useful? It can't get hurt like I can, so I guess it's worth it to me as long as no one finds out I'm taking part."
"Understandable. So we have a deal?"
"A deal as in, I keep my mouth shut and let you do what you need to do, and in return, I get to use the goo body for tonight?"
"A deal as in," Gadd drew a tiny screen from his pocket, looking entirely too happy about the direction of this conversation, "you do what you do best—ghost hunting—and I do what I do best, which is research."
He was helping him. He was officially helping the mad scientist explore how far he could push the boundaries on human experimentation, all because he saw an easy way to protect himself from the dangers beyond the door by trading his ethics for a suit of green armor.
"This still isn't approval," he choked, the last of his dignity drifting over the words like a shoreline at low tide, but he had to convince himself of the fact.
Gadd didn't even bother to look up from where he stood, tapping at one of his gadgets.
"I don't need approval, Luigi. I've already done it, so you refusing to take advantage of a useful tool isn't going to put a stop to its creation; it's only going to make your task more burdensome and less likely to succeed. And your feelings on my lack of morality aren't going to have much of an effect on an unethical person, are they?"
"I suppose not."
"We can help each other. All I ask is for you to use your clone to your heart's content and allow him to learn from you. Now, as for how he works—think of it like you're downloading memories into a computer. He traps whatever thoughts and feelings you experience while controlling him and uses them to mould and adapt his sentience. The more time you allow your mind to fuse with his body, the more memories he'll have stored and the more autonomy he'll be able to replicate, until he'll be able to stand fully on his own."
He handed Luigi the button, nattering on about getting used to the feel of the remote and practicing taking enough control of his duplicate to phase through the bars and flip the switch to lift the cage, but the young plumber could only stare down at the device like he was holding a contract with the devil. He had no clue where Gadd drew the line, and he had just agreed to help him advance his knowledge in a project that had wronged him personally, all for the comfort of a safety net for a job his brother would have already completed by then.
He already knew that his mentor's moral compass pointed south, when it even worked at all. If Gooigi proved useful, Gadd would do this again to someone else, somewhere down the line. After all, he had done it to Luigi, who was perceptive enough to realize that he mattered slightly more to the old man than most people did, even if purely for the sake of familiarity. He suddenly realized it wasn't even that he didn't know where the professor drew the line; there was no line.
If he just had enough confidence to negotiate participation only if Gadd limited this experimentation to him, alone...but he hadn't been programmed with a personality that kept him steady enough on high ground to prevent him from climbing down as soon as the earth shook.
Some part of him—a short, red part of him—was trying to convince the rest of his brain that he was the one who deserved the apology and that he should side with his moral concerns, but unfortunately, there was only one man on that side of the tug-of-war, and he got pulled over immediately by the army chanting that he should just be grateful that the smartest man alive had found enough use in his lack of importance to allow him to orient a tub of Jello in the ways of being human.
"...I can't believe I'm taking part in this."
He spoke so quietly, he was surprised the professor paused in his ramble.
"Mario would be so disappointed in me."
But, he reasoned, Mario also didn't have a handicap, so maybe he shouldn't judge the extent of a normal person's limitations.
Gadd was silent for a moment, scratching at the back of his neck.
"...You don't...have to take part, of course."
'Ah, the escape clause in the contract that allows an opt-out in exchange for one's soul and firstborn child.'
"Yes, I do," Luigi shrugged, too tired to defend himself. "You knew I would do it. That's why you picked me, right? I notice you didn't try to clone my brother, or anyone else, for that matter. You needed someone who pretends to be ethical but really is just desperate."
"You're...good with the Poltergust?"
Gadd lifted his hands, helpless smile crooked.
Luigi shook his head.
"When you get what you want from him, will you stop with me or keep going?"
"What do you mean?"
"When he's...learned enough bad habits from me to be your new doormat, will you make another one or will you be content to just have one slave?"
The professor stepped back, looking a little shocked and possibly offended.
"Is that truly what you think of Gooigi?"
"I can't help it, Professor. This whole thing is a grey area, at best."
"He's not a person, my boy. He has no soul to be dominated by some equal-footed tyrant simply claiming superior."
"...Right now, you mean."
The man shifted on his feet, eyes traveling the room but refusing to settle.
"Well-"
"That's what you said—'impossible right now.' 'The soul is the goal but we start with the mind.' If you think you can go further, we both know you'll try. You just need me to prove going further is possible."
Gadd cleared his throat.
"Yes, well, for now, let's just start with mastering the cage lever."
His tone was firm.
"Whenever you're ready, Luigi."
Swallowing hard, the plumber hesitated only a moment before pressing the button. What more could he say? After all, he was the one progressing the man's research, paving the way for the breakthrough that may lead to some unsuspecting stranger getting his entire soul ripped out and shoved into a different permanent body against his will.
Suddenly, lying to the maid was becoming one of the less horrible things he had done.
And as for Gooigi, at least the nausea of stepping over that ethical line was finally starting to pass, only leaving behind something numb—something colder than before.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP...BEEP...BEEP BEEP...BEEP*
"Yes, Professor?"
"Luigi! Why aren't you heading to the third floor? You've already been to floor five!"
"I know. There's something up here that I need. Besides, you said to practice with Gooigi as much as I could."
"Well, that's true, but-"
"Don't worry, Professor. I'll head to the Hotel Shops right after I'm done; I promise."
He hung up, not bothering to wait for a response.
*Ding*
Stepping out of the elevator, his eyes were immediately drawn to the furniture blocking his way to the east wing hall, where his room resided. Over the legs of the overturned couch, he could barely see through the darkness until a bolt of lightning lit up the placard above a certain door—503.
Backing away, he sat down on the floor, resting his head against the wall and pressing a round little button with almost no hesitation, feeling the black haze close in on the body of flesh and blood before his vision lightened into something clearer—something greener.
Sound filtered in slowly as the pain of before faded away, and with increasingly steady steps, he moved back to the upturned couch, pausing only long enough to catch a glimpse of his slumped over, damaged body—broken but real—before focusing back on the task at hand.
He honed in on the motions, mentally narrating the steps he would normally take instinctively as he impressed into that muffled mind the actions of firing the Suction Shot at the smooth surface, sucking up the end into the vacuum, bracing his feet, and pulling the weight over his shoulder.
"Aim," he spoke aloud, Gadd's instruction to train Gooigi's ever-learning artificial brain as one would a child, implementing the entire range of faceted comprehension—vision, sound, speech, touch, and repetition, "feet apart," he focused specifically on each step as he willed the information to sink and absorb into every aspect of his clone's mind, even as the words came out as nothing but garbled nonsense, spoken through a throat built for silent obedience, "eyes on the target...brace your stance...steady, fire...vacuum on...catch the rope...check your stance...ready your grip...over the shoulder."
Three more times, he demonstrated the movements he wanted memorized, speaking aloud as he taught the basics to the perfect body he would leave behind. And only when he was certain the actions would be remembered and copied did he retreat back into his own mind, now used to that swooping sensation that left him snapping awake with a gasp.
All at once, the pain and exhaustion returned and he winced as he sat upright, rubbing at his aching head and watching with disturbed amusement as Gooigi continued to mime the small series of steps he had just learned, repeating the motions in a form-perfect but infinite loop.
It was so strange, watching that familiar figure, built from an unfamiliar substance, move with such fluid, yet robotic, precision. For all intents and purposes, it looked just like him—a perfect, moulded copy—a perfect clone. The uncanniness was still hitting him hard in the shock factor, but it scared him that he was already starting to get used to it.
He could only liken the experience to looking in a mirror, facing your own reflection, yet still only seeing yourself as a stranger would see you—an empty canvas of flaws yet to be painted.
The plumber pushed himself to his feet and joined him, waiting for the beginning of the cycle to start again as he joined in, matching the movements and finally managing, with the strength of two, to budge that massive barrier.
Falling back a step, panting and staring at the small opening he and his doppelgänger had made, Luigi felt a mild sense of accomplishment until he realized Gooigi was still firing the Suction Shot at nothing, continuing to perform the only routine he knew as he failed to realize that action proceeded purpose.
"Okay, that's enough," he muttered, hitting the button to recall his copy into its tank. "I'll teach you more later, and maybe we'll work a little bit on understanding surplus."
No need to waste energy. Then again, he remembered a second later that Gooigi had no need to save a strength that would never diminish.
Regardless, he was still kind of creeping him out.
Now alone, Luigi ventured down the hall, brushing a hand over the room that was his brother's, but forcing himself to keep walking. There was no telling when the ghosts would show up again and he had no time for sentimentality.
Though, he supposed this entire detour was the result of nothing but sentimentality, but he still needed that something from his suitcase—as important to him as Gooigi's retrieval had been to Gadd, if not more so.
His door creaked as it swung open slowly and his eyes watered at the sight of his book lying open on the bed, his page carefully marked, as if he would have had the luxury to return to it.
Maybe days from now, he could look forward to picking it back up where he left off, but in the meantime, he was focused only on this sole task. Steady hands unzipped his suitcase and opened the lid, searching fingers pressing into a well-known, well-worn compartment until they at last closed around something that made him want to cry.
Squeezing the tears from his eyes, he withdrew a simple recorder and set of small headphones, chipped once in the corner from years of love, but bearing no other scratch from a lack of care.
"...Mario," he whispered, pressing what could only stand in for his beloved brother close to his chest as he found renewed strength to get up and move, making his way back to the elevator and slipping the headphones on as the doors parted.
*Ding*
A ready finger pressed the "3" and the doors slid closed once more, allowing him only about twenty seconds of leisure, but twenty seconds was all he needed to remind himself that he had been the person Mario loved most long before he ever tried to be stronger, and to not let himself be too hardened by the darkness trying so hard to claim him.
He held a finger on the cheap but invaluable machine to fast forward his recordings for exactly seven seconds, knowing each line and its timestamp by heart.
There was one message in particular he needed to hear now, more so than he ever had before, and he sank to the ground in tears as his brother's warm, steady timbre flooded his weakening heart with love and resolve, cracking through the growing calcification and lending a strong hand to the one recently slipping off the cliff of his ethical integrity, all while reminding him that there was more than one way to be brave.
'-not a bad person, even when I have to remind you that I'll look past every mistake you make, because knowing the right thing is about your conscience, but wanting to do the right thing is about your character. It's also the first step to actually acting on it, even when you can't always be strong enough to make that choice. Just know that I'll be proud of you when you do, and I'll be proud of you until you do.
This is for when you need guidance...'
~TO BE CONTINUED~
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