A/N: For reference, the two Wii Fit Trainers are referred to as Jerry and Delilah, because male Wii Fit Trainer and female Wii Fit Trainer is way too much to type for my fingers on an iTouch.

I wanna first apologize for the lateness of this entry. I had a busy day and never got the chance to touch my iPod until it was late at night, and even then it needed a hasty editing. I apologize.

This story is approximately posted at 23:30, June 30th, my timezone for future reference.

Most importantly, enjoy.

Jerry had always looked up to the heroes of the West. People like Captain Falcon, the former Union officer who went to the frontier to fight outlaws, always inspired him with the stories of his courage and his determination to do what was right. Falcon's aim was legendary; he could hit a man riding a horse a hundred yards away with a lowly pistol. His legends became dime novels and plays up in the North. Captain Falcon was truly one of the greats.

Jerry, however, was not.

The sheriff of Smash Town jolted awake with a huge headache reverberating in his head like a tumbleweed bouncing off the walls. As Jerry sat up, the whiskey bottle cradled in his arms fell down, luckily surviving the impact on the wooden floor of his office. Rubbing his unshaven pale face, he yawned as he recollected his memories.

He was in the sheriff's office, leaning against the wall in his wooden rickety chair. On his desk piles of paper were stacked up in a disorderly mess of reports and wanted posters. To his right, the door outside was wide open, letting in both the dusty taste of the west and the bright harsh sunshine inside. Through the cracks of his eyes, he could see the rusted bars of the vacant jail cells across from him. Lazily, he stood up and adjusted his brown leather hat on his head.

"I hate mornings." He grumbled, scratching his face again. "It's always too early to do anything."

"It's not morning, my friend." A voice chuckled. Like a flash of lightning, Jerry pulled out his shotgun and pointed it directly at the front entrance, only to find the ever-so-smug Dark Pit relaxing on his from banister. "It's actually late afternoon."

"We ain't friends..." Jerry relaxed at the sign of his corrupt compatriot, sitting back down in his seat. "And it certainly doesn't feel like the afternoon."

"The truth sucks, compadre." Dark Pit laughed, walking inside. He was wearing his usual decorated suit and his signature gold-etched black hat. "You ready to leave?"

A couple of days ago, Dark Pit had approached him, telling him about an "opportunity" to gain some cash. Jerry had been hunting the Dark Angel Gang for weeks, only to discover their location was in his own town. When Jerry had confronted Dark Pit about it, the Dark Angel of the West proposed a deal: if Jerry left the town on July 2 (which was today), he would get paid— handsomely. At first, the sheriff was horrified by his offer and nearly arrested him right there and then. But then... Jerry remembered his debts. They were stacking higher than Devil's Tower and faster than his horse, Yoshi. He had started to become a little bit of a drunk, and quite frankly he didn't earn enough to support his drinking habit. At this rate, he was the one going to jail, so after hours of deliberation Jerry accepted his offer. After all, if he was gone, how could he know what Dark Pit was doing?

"Yep." replied Jerry casually. "I just need the location of that hideout you want me to hang out in."

"It's all in here." The Dark Angel of the West told him, throwing a folder on his desk. "Not like you deserve a paid vacation; I'm the one doing all the work, making your fake papers so you can leave."

"Yeah yeah," Jerry waved him off. "But that's the price you pay if you wanna get me outta here. Whatever you do from there ain't my problem."

"Shut up and take your papers." Dark Pit motioned to the folder on his desk.

"What excuse did you come up with for me today?" Jerry mused, opening it up. "Ah... let's see. 'Hired gunman on the loose. All sheriffs are advised to stay alert.' Wait... this paper is real."

"Yep." The outlaw laughed. "Luigi got it in yesterday. No need to worry; that there hired gunman's one of my men. All you gotta do is say you got a lead that he's hidin' out in the old coal mine outside of town and that you're going to investigate— alone. That means your friend Alph stays behind."

"Alph?" The lawman recalled his nitwit deputy. "Don't worry; away or here, no way he's causing trouble."

"Trust me, if he gets in the way, he'll be sorry." Dark Pit growled darkly. "No one stands in the way of the Dark Angel Gang."

"Hey, that ain't the deal." Jerry stood up to intimidate his shady partner in crime. "Alph's off the table; got it?"

"Yeah yeah..." Dark Pit rolled his eyes. "Let's face it, Alph will probably lock himself up in a jail cell before it comes to that. You got the plan?"

"Yup." The sheriff was still tense, but he didn't question him. "The money's all there?"

"Yup; just gotta ride outta town." Dark Pit cackled his greedy laugh. "Let me tell you: I'm going to have fun with this town today! Woo hoo!"

"Yeah yeah, whatever." Jerry grabbed his shotgun before leaving. Just before he exited the door, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Partner," said Dark Pit in his slow eerie draw. "you forgot your papers." He held it out over the sheriff's shoulder until it was tickling him in the nose.

"My mistake." Jerry ripped it from his hand. "Trust me, it won't happen again." Begrudgingly, he walked away.

"Come again soon!" Dark Pit cackled, taking off his black hat and waving goodbye. "I need more men like you!"

Fortunately for the corrupt lawman, he had left Yoshi at Zelda's Hotel, giving him a chance to see Zelda before he rode off. Unfortunately, that meant walking to the other side of town, right through the town square and in front of his "cheering fans."

Jerry kept his hat low over his face as he walked under the shade of the buildings. It was a hot and arid July, but luckily a cool northern breeze was coming in today, making the tall grass move back and forth like a rocking chair. He had barely been outside of his office for more than a minute before sweat started pouring down from his neck. Reluctantly, the sheriff of Smash Town rested in front of the barber's shop, patting his head with his handkerchief and looking around town for anything interesting. Not like this place was interesting though; it was drier than Luigi's personality.

He could see Lucas, Ness, and Popo playing in the street after school, joyously playing some new sport that was taking the North by storm, something called "baseball." News travelled slowly, so whatever it was wouldn't reach the rest of Wyoming for a while. Behind him, he could hear Luigi in his telegram office, tapping away like a madman. Jerry would never understand the timid scribe, jumping at so much as a horseshoe, but Luigi was kind. He would learn soon enough the hardships of the world and that people like him couldn't exist. Shulk was still sweeping up after the party, brushing aside the broken glass bottles on the front of the saloon. Strangely, the one person he hadn't seen all yet was...

"SURPRISE!" A voice behind him yelled. Alph came jumping out of nowhere; Jerry flinched in surprise. "Hey there Jerry!"

"Hey Alph..." Jerry had always disliked the town's deputy due to his eccentric personality. The sheriff would always avoid the peculiar man at every turn, whether it was an invitation to his birthday or some strange made-up holiday. "What are you doin' over here?"

"Mario's drunk again." Alph motioned over to the old barber, who was sitting on the bench in front of his shop with a hungover expression lathered on his face. "I'm going to take him to jail before he gets himself hurt again."

Mario was perhaps the closest thing Jerry had to a friend. When he had arrive here two years ago, the town was still small and he was still a rookie fresh out of Washington. Mario had taken him under his wing, showing him the ropes around Smash Town. The barber was old, and after he had lost his wife Peach he had started to become senile and strange. Many days he would find the barber washed up in the water trough in front of Shulk's saloon. But before then, before all the financial troubles and the carelessness, Jerry and Mario had been as close as dogs.

But then again, in those days he had Delilah.

"Good, good..." Jerry recalled his mission. "Hey Alph, I gotta leave town; I got a lead on that outlaw lurking around here. I'm going to investigate."

"Great!" Alph smiled. "I'll lock up Mario and then I'll grab my hors—"

"Yeah, about that..." Jerry leaned in closely. "It's going to be a risk, and I kinda want to do it alone. With the Dark Angel Gang running around, I thought it might be best if you stay behind and take care of the town."

"Me? Take care of the town?!" Alph's eyes lit up like the sunrise. "Why Mr. Jerry, you've never asked me to take care of the town before!"

"Really? I mean, uh— yeah, I know." The sheriff of Smash Town scratched the back of his head. "You make sure nothing bad happens, alright?"

"Why— Why yes sir!" Alph gave off a salute, making Jerry chuckle a bit. "No one's going to get hurt on my watch!"

"Yeah..." Jerry scratched his head, a pang of regret in his heart. "Anyways, I gotta go..."

"It's been a wild couple of days." Alph stepped in front of him, blocking his escape route. "Brewster and Isabelle sold their shops. That Dark Angel Gang is really scaring off the Smash townsfolk. I've been here since it was small." Alph took a deep breath. "I wonder what they're going to do with this place..."

"Me too..." realized Jerry quietly. It was strange for a gang of outlaws to hanging out in a small town like this, scaring off the townsfolk just to buy some old rundown buildings. Then again, it wasn't his concern. The only thing that mattered was that he got out of here and got his pay. "Well, I wish I could stay; duty calls. I won't be back for a while. Have a nice morning— er, afternoon Alph!"

"You too, Mr. Jerry!" Alph waved a hearty goodbye before returning to escorting the drunk. Jerry shook his head, guilt rising in his heart, before taking off to retrieve his horse.

"Great doing business with you." said Zelda, passing Marth his check. "Y'all come back here again next time you're back in town."

"See you around, Zelda." Lyn, the rancher's wife, nodded. "Your cooking blows me out of the barrel every time."

"Thanks guys!" Zelda smiled, her eyes peering past them and straight into Jerry's face. Immediately, she put her head in her hands, rubbing them down her face. "Oh no, not this fool again..."

"Zelda!" Jerry called out, walking inside the hotel. "How's it going?"

"It was fine, until you showed up." She joked. "What you doing here?"

"Breakfast." Jerry partially lied. "Some scrambled eggs and sausage should have me good."

"Breakfast?" Zelda laughed. "It's three o'clock in the afternoon!"

"I was hoping you might have some extra sausage or eggs for the road." said Jerry, watching as she headed back into the kitchen. Because the town was still so small and a hotel wasn't really necessary, Zelda doubled her establishment as a restaurant to get some extra cash, and boy could she cook. "I'm going off again!" He yelled into the back room. "Another outlaw to deal with!"

"You expecting another party or somethin'?" Zelda replied. "Why are you telling me?"

"Small talk." Jerry lied again. Quickly, he added, "You know, this guys really dangerous... I could die out there."

"Uh hmm..."

"Just saying. He's dangerous. A known killer." Jerry cracked his knuckles, trying to sound brave. "It's going to take all of my skills to catch him."

"Trust me, you probably will." Zelda came walking out of the door with a small tin can. "Here's all I got leftover from breakfast. You want it?"

"Why thank..." Jerry reached over to grab it, but Zelda pulled it away from his reach.

"That'll be a dollar and seven cents." She smiled. "No short changing me this time, cowboy."

"Well... shoot." He grumbled, pulling out a couple of quarters. "I thought I could get away with it again..."

"Too bad, so sad." Zelda's eyes lit up, giving him the proper change. "Anything else, or are you just here to bug me?"

"One last thing," Jerry hastily intervened. "So... I'm just saying... it's going to be a long while before I return and when I do, I wanna... you know..."

"Go on a date with me?" interrupted Zelda.

"Umm... yeah."

She leaned forward over the countertop right in Jerry's face with a huge smile. The lawman closed his eyes, prepared to meet her lips.

"Not a chance, cowboy." She smirked, leaning back and returning to her work. "You spin tall tales, but you're going to have to do more than that to impress me. And anyways, Delilah was my best friend." Her face got dark. "I... I don't know if she'd approve."

"Oh." Jerry winced as he scratched the back of his head. "I... I understand."

"Thanks." She mumbled, walking back in the kitchen. After a moment, she called out cheerfully, "After all, I wouldn't want to distract you with the prospect of a date. That's called a reward. You wanna go out with me, you gotta do your job first."

Jerry smiled, relieved to be distracted. "Well then, looks like I got a criminal to catch!"

Jerry had spent an hour following the map, searching for this "hidden valley ranch" that Dark Pit spoke of. The Wyoming landscape of tall grass and dust didn't help him much in navigating the unclaimed frontier, but eventually the land receded back into the earth, giving an indication of the secret hideout. As he rode into the crevasse, he could see a tattered old building sitting idly in the center with a little barn off to the side. A broken down fence guarded the place, moss growing on the side of it. The ransacked house was in poor condition; the ceiling looked like it was about to collapse at any moment. One of the walls was decayed, leaving a gaping hole in the side.

Even though it was beyond old, the corrupt lawman liked the place due to its low key quality and quiet atmosphere. It was defiantly older than most places around these parts; he assumed that it was previously own by a failed rancher or retired couple. Who knew? All that he cared about was that his cash was there on time and he could relax his cares away in a soothing bottle of whiskey.

As he tied Yoshi to his post, he pulled out a flask and took a huge gulp. "Nothing like 1854 whiskey to get the burning going." burped Jerry after swallowing the alcohol awkwardly. "Woo, that's a treat! This is a great year. I wonder where Alph got it from... Probably just didn't realize its value before he gave it to me." Laughing, he headed inside the old wooden shack.

The cash was impossible to miss; it was sitting right on the table in a brown leather bag as Jerry entered. Chairs and dust and debris littered the floor, but that didn't bother Jerry much. He wasn't the clean type anyways. He could hear the sound of the wind scraping gently on the rafters above him, mimicking a nonchalant whistle. It was almost as if someone was watching him. Trying to ignore the increasingly annoying noise, he grabbed the bag and opened it.

"WHAT?!" He cried out, jumping back. "It's gone! The money's gone!" Panicky, he started searching everywhere: in the kitchen, the bedroom, even the outhouse. It was as if the money had flown off or burnt up in a fire: there was no trace of it. Each time he look, Jerry prayed that it would be there, maybe some slimmer of cash or coin sticking up from the floorboards. Maybe Dark Pit lied to him. Maybe he betrayed the sheriff in an attempt to finish the job he had started in town.

After his third check, Jerry stomped back inside the small foyer and slumped back into one of the rotting chairs. With a look of angst, the defender of Smash Town shook his hand angrily. "When I find Dark Pit I'm going to—"

"Are you really surprised?" A dark gruff voice said. Before Jerry even had a chance to move, he felt a gun poke the back of his skull. "Best you stay seated before it gets messy."

Reluctantly, Jerry obeyed, holding his hands up innocently. "Good." The voice laughed. "In all honesty I expected you to resist."

"Who are you?" Jerry growled. He didn't like this mysterious man looming over him or the gun pointed to his head. "You're not making a good first impression, by the way."

"Ha!" The man chuckled. "Like I'd need to, Jerry." The corrupt Smasher clenched his fists at the mention of his name. "Are you really surprised? Of course I know your name; you're the sheriff of Smash Town, for Pete's sake! It took me a while to find your 'hidden valley ranch,' but you are too predictable."

"Who are you?" Jerry repeated.

"I am Master Hand." The man introduced himself. "I promise you this: I mean you no harm. It may appear that way because I have a gun pointed to you head, but you know what they say."

"No, no I don't."

"Me either." Master Hand laughed almost manically. It was off putting in all honesty, especially since this was a classic hostage situation. After the kidnapper had finished his spout of glee, he got surprising calm fast. "But let's get serious here for a moment. Jerry, I'm only here because you needed me to be here. I am what you call a vigilante."

"Is that what you're calling yourself?" Jerry snorted, trying to ease his nervousness. "I usually call people like you scum."

"Brave words for a sheriff, the physical embodiment of the law, who is taking a bribe." Master Hand retorted. "Mr. Jerry, it seems you need some actual leverage if you want to insult me."

"What do you want?"

"Well, it's simple really." Master Hand chuckled. "I want you to ride back into town and take care of that menace Dark Pit. Today is the day they die!"

"You're... What?!"

"Let me tell you a story, Mr. Jerry." Master Hand said casually, as if he didn't have a gun pointed to Jerry's head. From behind him, the sheriff could hear the vigilante pull up a chair and sit down. "Let me tell you a tale of a man who used to have something great, something fantastic, something grand. And then he threw it away for money.

"He was a sheriff. He used to be feared throughout the land as the bringer of justice and the herald of the law. He used to mean something to people. Then something drastic happened. His wife, Delilah, died one day. Some unrecognized disease that plagued her. The doctor didn't know what to do; he was only just a barber. The sheriff grew angry, pushing away the people around him and curling up inside his office for hours and hours upon end until the people who cared for him thought it to be their fault for his pain, that it was their fault for his suffering while all the while the sheriff only blamed one person: himself. Seasons passed, and that sheriff found himself moved away from the office and into the welcoming arms of a whiskey bottle. His legacy faded into legend, and in order to retain respect amongst the townsfolk he began spinning tall tales of his glory, maybe in an attempt to gain sympathy or joy.

"Now he is just a shell of his former self," Master Hand finished, "sitting in a run down house with a gun pointed to his head. Makes you wonder what he could've been, huh? Makes you think that maybe he could do something that would make Delilah proud, maybe make her happy." He could hear Master Hand sigh. "But hey, that's just speculation. What do you think?"

The whole time he had been talking, Jerry had been slowly inching towards his pistol, holstered safety in his pocket. But when he mentioned Delilah, he froze, as if hit by a thousand punches. "How... how do you know about Delilah?"

"Isn't it obvious?" said Master Hand sadly. "Isn't it clear as the night sky overhead or the lush color of the river? I'm—"

Before he had a chance to finish his sentence, Jerry stood up and whirled around with his revolver in his hand. To his surprise, six bullets replaced his captor in the chair, perfectly aligned in a row. Above him, he could hear footsteps of someone running away, creaking on the old beams.

"Think about what I've said, Jerry." Master Hand called out to him, his voice echoing throughout the house. "And maybe you can be something more again."

Jerry looked back at his gun, then to the bullets, and back as his gun. Opening the cylinder, he was surprised to see six bullets missing from where they usually rested.

"Well son of a bitch." Jerry mumbled to himself.

Many knew the legends of the outlaw Ganondorf. Rare would the townsfolk utter his name due to his reputation. Sheriffs would run from town if they even got whiff of any news that he was nearby. A former Confederate Corporal who went rogue after the war, Ganondorf was known for his ruthlessness and persistence. Once he got whiff of you, it was only a matter of time before he found you and shot you dead. Sometimes there wouldn't be a body. Many brave men died hunting him down, only adding to his exceedingly large reputation. To fight Ganondorf surely meant death, and no one was tempted to risk fate and confront this behemoth.

You can imagine the feelings as he strolled into Shulk's bar that evening.

"Good evening." He smiled, tipping his grey Confederate Hat to Rosalina as he entered. "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Ga— Ga— Ga—" Wario, the town drunk, managed to stutter before making a dash for the door. Ganondorf easily swiped him up in his hand, pulling the short man to his face.

"Why, leaving so soon?" The outlaw chuckled, the stench of alcohol rolling off of his tongue. "Why, how mighty rude of you. Join me for a drink, why don't you? Of course, you're paying."

"Y— Y— Yes sir Mr. Ganondorf." Wario managed to breathe. "Shulk?"

"We don't serve your kind around here." The brave Brit said, although fear was obviously vibrating through his accent.

"No worries, Shulk." grinned Ganondorf, Wario still in his hands. Turning to the townsfolk still brave enough to stay, he bellowed, "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm just here for a couple of days, just until a few... disputes are settled for my friend The Dark Angel. Then I'll be off on my way." He walked up to the countertop, looking over Shulk. "I'll take the finest you got."

Reluctantly, Shulk grabbed a bottle and gave it to him. "It's a vintage 1834. It took me a fine horse for that bottle."

"Well, then I should drink it like a king!" Ganondorf laughed, his voice echoing throughout the saloon. "You chose wisely." Popping the bottle with his thumb, he began guzzling it down.

"Ganondorf!" Dark Pit entered the saloon, walking up to his partner in crime. "How are we today?"

"Good." He burped, wiping his face with the arm that was still holding Wario. The little man only could shudder as he tried to writhe from his abnormally firm grip. "Mighty fine town you got here."

"I got an eye for places like this." Dark Pit smiled. "Mind if we talk? Without your drinking partner here, of course."

"Fine." He threw Wario to the ground like a rock over the lake. The drunk immediately dashed for the door, running as if his life depended on it. "What do you want, Dark Pit?"

"Well, it took a blue moon," The Dark Angel of the West began, "but I finally got rid of the sheriff. He's down in the valley house, where you're going to be staying while you're here."

"He shouldn't be a problem." Ganondorf chuckled. "You say there's no one around there? Trust me, no one will even know he's gone. It'll be easier than sweeping the porch."

"Good, good." said Dark Pit casually. "He's been a thorn in my side anyways. Getting rid of him leaves us with one less problem." He pulled out a crudely drawn map and placed it on the countertop. "The buildings that are crossed out are the ones we've already scared off. The smithy, the department store, and the hotel are the last places we need to before we're done. Roy has been dead set about keeping the smithy, but now that you're here he should have no problems sellin'. Palutena just came up to me with an offer, so I think we're good on that front. The only real problem is that Zelda's been so adamant. My men have been running all over, scaring off customers, firing shots through the windows, so on and so on, but nothin' seems to scare her."

"She hasn't met me yet." replied Ganondorf, finishing his bottle. "Barkeep, I demand another!"

"I'm a huge fan, by the way." Dark Pit told him. "You've been a inspiration to us all over at the Dark Angel Gang."

"I'm not surprised." deadpanned Ganondorf. "I'm good at what I do."

Dark Pit raised his eyebrow at the Confederate's vanity, but he didn't question him, worried that he might upset his greatest asset. "Anyways, once you get them to sell their properties we'll control the whole town! When the railroad strolls around here we'll be able to sell this land for quadruple for what we've bought it for!"

"Be quiet; you're like a child." commanded Ganondorf. "Don't spout your plan in public. I assume that my cut is the same as last time?"

Dark Pit was about to say something else when the hinges of the saloon door squeaked open. Both of them turned around in surprise as Alph came walking in the door, carrying a shotgun practically twice his size.

"Hold it right here, Mister!" Alph said courageously. "Ganondorf, you're under arrest!"

"My my, and what do we have here?" Ganondorf chuckled. "Has the town sent a boy to stop me?"

"I'm— I'm twenty-four, I'll have you know!" Alph squeaked. "And I don't take kindly to your words!"

"Neither do I." Ganondorf stood up and started walking towards the petite lawman.

"S— Stop right there!" Alph demanded, his voice getting shakier with each step. "I— I'll shoot!"

"Don't be foolish." Ganondorf chuckled. "You've never shot a gun before in your life. I can feel your confidence being sapped from you like a faucet." He was now looming over the deputy, practically twice his size and weight. "Now scram."

"Mr. Jerry entrusted the town's safety with me," Alph spoke defiantly, "and I plan just to do that!"

"Ha! Haha! HAHAHAHAHA!" Ganondorf broke out into a hearty laugh that echoed throughout the saloon. "You have your eyes at the wrong role model, kid. Now scram, before my boot meets your face." With that, he began walking away.

BANG!

Alph fell to the floor after he had fired the shotgun. Ganondorf just stood there, frozen and dumbstruck. Turning around, he started patting himself frantically until he finally reached down and took of his hat.

"My hat..." He breathed. His signature grey hat was now ridden with bullet holes. "You shot my hat. MY HAT!"

"I— I—"

Before Alph even had a chance to react, Ganondorf punted him out the door, sending him sprawling on the dirt. Ganondorf whipped out his pistol and took aim. "This is going to feel good." He glowered. "Three, two, one—"

The outlaw felt a tap on his shoulder. "What is it now, Dark Pit?" Ganondorf growled, turning around. To his surprise, a strange man stood in his place wielding Alph's shotgun like a baseball bat.

"Smash." Jerry smiled, slamming the butt of the gun in his face. Ganondorf cried out in pain, falling to the ground and dropping his weapon.

"Who are you?!" Ganondorf roared, squinting in the darkness in order to see his attacker.

"I'm the sheriff of this town." Jerry retorted, flipping the gun around into the proper position. "And you're not supposed to be here."

"Now now, Mr. Jerry." He felt a gun poke the back of his head. "Let's not be too hasty to shoot him." Dark Pit instructed. "After all, I'm not the person you should be after."

"That's a lie and we both know it." Jerry spat. "I should've killed you the moment I saw you."

Ganondorf stood up, wiping the blood from his nose. "What are you waiting for?" The former confederate asked. "Shoot him!"

"In case you haven't noticed, that pipsqueak has your gun." Dark Pit growled, motioning towards Alph. The deputy was wielding the outlaw's pistol, shaking violently. "It's seems we're in what the Texans call a Mexican standoff, gentlemen. If you don't mind, may I offer an alternative?"

"Go ahead." Jerry mumbled.

"Right now, we have two of the greatest gunman in the west standing here in Smash Town, ready to blow each others heads off. If you don't mind, I'd like to arrange a duel between Mr. Jerry over here and Mr. Ganondorf. Nine o'clock tonight— sharp. That way only one of us has to die."

"Sounds good to me." Ganondorf smirked. "Jerry?"

"I've never refused a duel before." said Jerry. "I'm game."

"Mr. Jerry, you've never been in a duel before!" Alph cried out annoyingly. Jerry put his face in his free hand, exasperated at his nitwit associate.

"Well well," Ganondorf smiled. "Looks like it'll also be his last as well." He wrenched the gun from Alph's hands before returning into the comforting arms of the saloon.

"See y'all later." Dark Pit smirked, letting go of Jerry. Before he retreated, he whispered in the sheriff's ear, "Last chance, hero. You walk away from this fight and I'll give you all the cash you need to repay those debts."

"I'll take my chances." The lawman growled. Dark Pit only laughed before swaggering away.

Jerry slumped into his office, his expression exhausted and frightened; he too knew the legends of Ganondorf. Some unholy power had made him accept the duel, and he knew that this was his final moments on Earth. Taking a seat, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and stared dumbfounded into space.

"Mr. Jerry?" He heard a voice asked from inside the cells. "Is that you?"

"Mario?" Jerry exclaimed, watching the barber crawl out of bed. "Is that you?!" He remembered that Alph had brought his friend inside the jail earlier today, but for some reason it hadn't registered with him yet.

"Well I hope so." Mario admitted, stretching his arms. "I'm not really sure who else it could be." He laughed, but his friend's solemn expression said it all. "Hey... what's the matter, man?"

Jerry began to explain everything to his Italian companion, from the debt he was stuck in to Master Hand to the duel. Mario sat their politely, taking in each word as if his life depended on it. When Jerry had finished, he said, "As you can see, I have no idea what to do, and the duel is only five minutes away! Even if I get out of the duel, I could get charged on corruption charges if Dark Pit reports me! I'm screwed!"

"Jerry." Mario sat straight up and looked at his friend. "You're going to be fine."

"But—"

"You're going to do this." Mario told him. "Your secrets safe with me; I promise. The heart does desperate things when it is lonely, and that's a lesson we both know through experience. But you're forgetting something too: il cuore è il muscolo più forte."

Jerry shot him a confused look. "It's a saying my mother used to say." Mario explained. "It means 'The heart is the strongest muscle.' Son, you're fighting for the people around you, the town that you love, and the law that you live by. Your heart," He pounded his chest as he said that, "is the most powerful tool you got. Use it. They don't understand it. They misuse it. They abolish it into the ground. When you lost your way, when your heart failed you when Delilah died, I knew what I had to do. I had to show you that strength you had within your heart, the same one you used when Delilah was around. And that, son, is why you will win. Today, today is the day they die."

Jerry froze, his heart stopping. "You're... you're Master Hand."

Mario held up Alph's keys, his eyes twinkling. "Back in my day, they used to call me Captain Falcon." Mario smiled, a bit of pride in his voice. "They've spun tales of me, but I am him, all the same."

"Mr. Jerry," Alph said, opening the door to the office. "It's time."

Jerry stood up, removing the creases in his pants. "Thank you Mario," He said. "I owe you."

"All you owe me is this victory." Mario told him. "Go do this."

.o0O0o.

The night was cold and quiet. The only thing disturbing the thin vale of silence was the wind stirring up the dust below his feet. Jerry aligned himself across from Ganondorf, both men fingering their holster. Dark Pit stood off to the side, watching the two men with a huge grin. Alph stood next to him, carrying his shotgun just in case anyone tried anything funny. People were gathered by Zelda's hotel, watching in anticipation as they witness their first town duel. Dark Pit took a step forward and began.

"Welcome everybody," Dark Pit's voice reverberated throughout the town, "to the death of the sheriff! I am your host to this wonderful death day! I will count to three, and then you'll shoot! It's as simple as it!"

"Good luck, partner." Ganondorf smiled. "You need it."

"Thanks." Jerry smiled. He shot a look at Zelda, who only returned a reassuring smile. But that wasn't enough, or at least, if he was to die he couldn't let his conscious go unresolved. Mustering his courage, he turned to face the crowd that had gathered for the bloodbath."Before we begin, I want to make a confession out in front of all of you. Today, I was gone. I had disappeared because I was about to do the unthinkable: betray all of you." The town gasped, exchanging glances with each other. "I was about to sell my soul to that Dark Angel. But let me tell you something, folks. Tonight, I fight for all of you. I fight for the justice I should be, not the coward that I am. I can only hope to apologize for my mistakes right now."

"Well shoot, and I thought I had the prettiest speech." Dark Pit said as he stepped forward. Pulling on his pants, he shouted, "On my mark, and then we will begin. Best of luck to both of you.

"One!

"Two—"

BANG!

Ganondorf shot his pistol, hitting Jerry straight in the heart. The sheriff flew backwards, hitting the ground without a sound. The town fell silent, the only noise breaking the silence was crickets in the distance.

"No..." Zelda breathed.

The Confederate broke out into a spree of laughter, smiling a huge grin."That was easy." Ganondorf yelled out. "Who's next?"

BANG!

When the smoke cleared again, the patrons of Smash Town gasped in awe as Ganondorf fell to the ground, dead. Multiple bullet wounds had permeated his chest, bright red crimson bleeding out of them. Alph stood there, his hat blown off by the recoil. He too was in awe at what he had just done.

"Holy crap!" Dark Pit shrieked, gasping his hat on his head. "You shot him!"

"I did? I— I did!" Alph cried out in disbelief. Dark Pit whirled beside him in a flurry of anger, pulling out his pistol.

"You son of a bi—"

BANG!

Dark Pit stopped moving. The Dark Angel of the West looked down at himself, his own blood drenching his clothes. Turning around, he was shocked to see Jerry standing there, clutching his chest with one hand and a pistol in the other. The last thing Dark Pit could do was breath a surprised cry of anguish before meeting the same fate as Ganondorf.

"Jerry!" Alph gawped, even more confused. "How—"

Jerry fell to his knees. "Can you let Mario out of his jail cell?" He asked feebly. "I need medical assistance."

Alph quickly dashed away to the office, kicking up dust as he flashed by. Zelda and the rest of the civilians who had been watching ran up to their fallen hero, murmuring amongst themselves. Zelda got there first, sliding over to Jerry.

"How... but... Jerry?" She barely managed to sputter. He grabbed her hand and brought it up towards the left side of his chest.

"Funny story," Jerry smiled, his old self emanating from the shell before her. "I'm a bit of a drunk." He used her hand to pull out the whiskey flask he had been carrying all along in his vest pocket. "That's one hell of a tall tale to tell the kids, huh? I got shot in the chest by Ganondorf. They'll ask how I made it out alive."

"Because you had a whiskey flask?" Zelda smiled at him, her eyes filling up with all the love and affection she could muster.

"Because," Jerry returned her expression. "I had something to live for."

A/N: Shoutouts:

Flame Falcon: Thank you so much for hosting this contest. This is a genre I have grown up with all of my life, and I really appreciate you expanding the archive's western genre.

Paradigm of Writing: Your stories have been a huge inspiration these past couple of weeks, and I just want to say thank you for adding me to your Internet family. I can't describe how appreciative I am.

The Judges: Thank you so much for wading through all this cheese. I apologize, but I've lived on this genre forever, so it's kinda hard not to spread it around.

And you, the reader, for bearing this far: I appreciate your support. For those who have kept up with me silently, thank you for that. I appreciate you, even if you can't say that you do. I know what that's like, so don't worry, I know you're out there.

Anyways, have a nice night, and don't be a stranger around these parts!