Chapter 1

Located less than a block away from the Las Vegas Strip, All-Day Gas and Grub was ceaselessly packed with a mix of locals and tourists from every corner of the map. The staggeringly huge filling station resembled a busy airport tarmac down to the brightly-dressed individuals guiding the often-oversized vehicles through the property without trucking over pedestrians who believed that they were entitled to whatever ground that their feet happened to be on at the moment. Waiting among a large swath of humanity for the signal to cross the lot was a stout man wearing a yellow shirt under a purple apron on which the station's logo was emblazoned. After a particularly painful wait for a semi-truck to pass through, the group was given the go-ahead to cross by a station employee who appeared to be melting in the desert heat.

"What's good, my man?" asked the crossing guard to his co-worker while trying to stop the cascade of sweat from flooding his eyes.

"Another day in paradise," responded the bulky man in yellow after he crossed the lot.

"Quick note, we're out of bagged ice," said the crossing guard as he held a smaller group on the distant curb.

"It isn't even 11 in the morning," grunted the man in yellow. His vaguely Italian accent slipped out in the midst of his annoyance.

"I know, right? Shipment is late as all hell."

"I'll deal with it,"

"Nothing much else you can do. Catch you on the flipside, man."

The man in yellow nodded before leaving the crossing guard to his work.

Sporting ten aisles of goods and a lesser-known fast food restaurant, the All-Day Gas and Gulp Convenience Center offered so much at such a decent price that most in the area used it over the nearby grocery store.

"You work here?" rudely asked a guest as the man in yellow was in the process of clocking in.

"Yes."

"You guys got Captain Lights 2000?" asked the customer, hands suspiciously in his pockets.

"Adult videos are in the back, behind the curtain," said the man in yellow.

"They're cigs, man! You work here or not?" spat the customer.

The man in yellow turned around and casually looked at the cartons of cigarettes on sale. Right when he was about to give up, he ran right into the lime green box of Captain Lights.

"Are those the 2000s?" asked the customer.

"it's all we have."

"I'll take it," said the customer, who pulled his right hand out of his pocket to reveal a small stack of dollar bills. "What's your name, man?"

The man in yellow wanted to be a smartass and point to his name tag, but he quickly noticed that he had forgotten to put it on.

"W."

"I've been in the same position as you, W. Got these idiots coming in asking stupid questions and it never seems to end. As much as you want to cuss those people out, don't. You never know which one wants an excuse to put their time at the range to the test. Later," said the customer, halfway through the process of unwrapping the carton before exiting the building.

The day went on without any other subtle threats on W's life, though the anger over the lack of bagged ice was palpable. As the hostility grew, an older gentleman seated at the slot machine by the entrance was having the time of his life as coins loudly fell into the hopper at a rate to make the entire store envious.

"That's what I like to hear, baby. Empty those pockets!" shouted the old man as everyone around him rolled their eyes.

The slot machine didn't stop spitting out coins until over a half-hour later, which saw the old gambler stand up and walk towards the counter with a large bucket of coins filled to the brim.

"Hey, big man," said the happy winner to W.

"Hell of a haul you've got there," said W, though he was quite unimpressed with the pile of quarters.

"Yup, and I've come to spread the wealth."

W's interest in the money changed significantly. "Hey, if you're offering, then I'll gladly accept."

"Alright, then. Gimme two of those dollar hot dogs."

It took all of W's strength to not roll his eyes. "You want chili or cheese with that?"

"It wouldn't be a dollar dog if you add 75 cents to it."

W grabbed a pair of plain hog dogs and handed them over to the cheapskate in front of him. Much to W's pleasure, the old gambler returned to the slot machine, lost a chunk of his coins and left bitter.

At 5:30pm, W clocked out and started the 10-minute walk from the gas station to La Casita, the motel in which he lived. La Casita consisted of 12 rooms split between 2 floors and seemed to cater exclusively to locals looking for long term, no frills housing on the cheap. Instead of going straight to his room, W entered the main office to talk to Carlos, the motel's landlord.

"How're the girls treating you?" asked Carlos in his heavy Mexican accent.

"Terribly. Thought you were going to do something about that," responded W.

"Blame the establishment on that one. She wants no part of the States. For now, at least," said Carlos.

"Don't blame her," said W without much disappointment. "Got a completely unrelated topic that I want to speak on."

"Go ahead."

"How many people you got in the room above me?"

Carlos sighed. "About nine."

"How much money got dropped on your doorstep to go along with that?" asked W, knowing that Carlos frowned upon such massive groups in a single room.

"Literally a chest of gold coins," replied Carlos.

"Who isn't hitting it big on the slots this week?" asked W, somewhat annoyed.

Carlos shook his head. "The coins aren't from here."

"Then how do you know that they are real?" challenged W.

"I've been around the block long enough to know," fired back Carlos.

"Anyway, I don't like flapping my gums about anyone, but that group makes a hell of a lot of noise. I'm talking tractor pull levels."

"They'll be gone by tomorrow," said Carlos with a wave of the hand.

"You aren't doing anything about them today?" W wasn't exactly happy with the response.

"Have you seen them?"

"No."

"I think they're part of a cult or something. They're all in these expensive costumes that make them look like overgrown turtles."

"Turtles?" scoffed W. "Maybe if I buy them some pizza, then I'll actually get some sleep tonight."

Carlos shrugged, not understanding the reference at all.

Without any other words, W left the office and went to the second floor of the motel to confront at least one of his many new temporary neighbors. The moment he exited the stairway, W spotted what appeared to be a large child wearing pink shades that added the finishing touch to an elaborate costume that mirrored Carlos' description. The burly child, who was leaning on the balcony's rail, flashed an expression of minor panic upon seeing W.

"For a minute there, I thought you were someone that I had a whole lot of problems with in the past," said the strange being in clear, unaffected English.

"No, I'm just a man with a noise complaint," responded W, trying to make sense of what was talking to him. "What's your name, pal?"

"My name's Roy. I've got a heavy step, but I know for a fact that it didn't bring you up here. My youngest brother Junior, on the other hand, drives his kart down the halls as if we need more attention on ourselves."

"Ah, okay. I'm known as W, and that's one hell of a costume you have on."

Roy smiled. "It isn't a costume, man. There's no way to explain the situation without making it look like I hit the pipe too many times this morning."

"Where do you come from?" asked W, genuinely curious.

"I was told to say that I come from a barely habited island in southern Japan. There isn't anyone here to call me out on it, so I'll just admit that we come from a place called Dark Land that doesn't exist on Earth."

"I wish that was the strangest thing that I've heard this week," replied W, who in no way believed that Roy came from another planet.

"That's why we spend summers here," said Roy. "People just roll with things. It's great."

"I'm going to get ready for work. Not sure when your family is coming back, but tell them to keep it down," said W.

"Gotcha," replied Roy.

A number of hours after his chance encounter with utter nonsensicality, W changed clothes and hopped a taxi to Club Modern Epic, a swanky establishment at which he was the sole bouncer. Every night, regardless of how little tourists were in town, W had to deal with drunkards, idiots, creeps, and psychopaths, and they all wanted to fight. When he wasn't prying his fist out of faces, W had to made sure that those who entered the club were of the ludicrously high standards dictated by the ugly slob that owned the place. If W didn't make so much money from standing outside the club's door, then he would have left long ago.

"Excuse me, miss. I'm going to have to see your ID," said W as a particularly young-looking girl approached the entrance.

The girl, in layers of makeup and clothing that was far too short, brazenly handed W her high school identification card.

"Brownie points for honesty," said W with a chuckle. "It isn't getting you in here, though."

"Just let me in. You know you want to," said the girl after quite the dramatic eye roll.

"Not happening, kid. Go home," stated W with authority.

The girl took a step back, swiped her hand across her mouth and awkwardly lurched towards W with an outstretched right hand. After a smooth, sharp series of movements from the bouncer, a razor was ejected out of the girl's hand before the back of her head bounced off of the concrete. Not knowing how close W was to serious injury, a tall man rushed the entrance from the back of the line and started throwing haymakers at his face. After taking a few mighty blows, W unleashed an explosive punch of his own that knocked the assaulter unconscious and left the guy's face in a state that required extensive surgery.

"Damn it all to hell! No one is getting in!" shouted W, nearly blinded by all the pain and rage he was experiencing.

"I came all the way from Miami to get in here and see DJ Classy!" said an individual deep in line.

"I was nearly killed twice in the last two minutes!" bellowed W. "Let me get myself together, and maybe then you can see your precious DJ Classy!"

After far too long, the club door swung open and the scene was graced by the presence of Max Hayden, the owner of Club Modern Epic. He looked at the carnage on the floor and shook his head.

"That's one wicked ass razor," said Max. 'Which one had it?"

"The girl," said W.

"You get sliced?"

"Nope, but the other guy got some good punches in on me,"

Max laughed. "Not good enough. Look, I'm going to take over for a while and have you chill in the back. Don't get too comfortable, as you know how chatty the authorities get."

After yet another chat with the police and a thankfully uneventful remainder of his shift, W rode a taxi back home and took a long, hot shower. Surprisingly, there was no noise from the scaly characters upstairs. Eventually, W sat in front of the television and watched a few minutes of an old movie before muting it to pay attention to some commotion by his door.

"This the guy's room?" said a booming voice that wasn't even somewhat muffled by the walls.

"Yeah," said a voice that W remembered as Roy's.

There was a thunderous pounding at the door that shook W out of his sofa. He approached the entrance of the room and stopped himself from turning the handle.

"Who is it?" asked W.

"It's me," replied Roy.

W opened the door and gasped loudly not at Roy, but the eight-foot tall costumed behemoth beside him.

"Sup?" asked Roy. "Told pops about what happened this morning and he wanted to check you out."

W had no clue how to respond.

"I don't come from these parts, but I've got eyes all around," said the massive individual. "You put on a clinic at the club. It was beautiful."

"I wouldn't call it that," said W, craning his neck to look into the tall creature's eyes. "I sent a girl to the hospital."

"Your people have a saying: play stupid games, win stupid prizes. She deserved every stich on the back of her head."

"My people?" asked W. "I don't know if what you guys are doing is a hobby or what, but you sure as hell are dedicated to it."

The large fellow smiled briefly. "Let me give you the rundown. I'm Bowser, king of the indigenous creatures of what is known as the Mushroom World. Earth and the Mushroom World share many unexplained, inconsistent connections that have brought tens of thousands of humans to my world. The one stable connection was crafted by my trusty mage after years of research, and it takes us from Dark Land to wherever on Earth we want to be. This is our fourth time in Las Vegas. Our second time not fully under a magical mask."

"Sounds interesting," said W, still not believing any of it.

"It is," responded Bowser. "Want to go back with us?"

W nervously laughed. Even Roy seemed taken aback by the proposition.

"I'm serious," said Bowser. "Plenty of use for an ox like you in Dark Land."

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll stick to what I've been doing. I don't love it, but it's been working," said W, scratching the back of his neck.

Bowser nodded and handed W a large, folded card.

"If you want to take me up on my offer, then follow the directions on this card. There's a lot more to this universe than Las Vegas, let me tell you."

"I'll be on a one-way trip to Dark Land the second things start going south here," lied W.

"That's what I want to hear," said a pleased Bowser.

After some parting words, W closed the door and tossed the oversized card from the oversized being into his trash can.