Author's note: Behold the first chapter of my first fanfiction in quite a long while. Summer brings out the best of my writing talents, feeble as they are. Anyway, this is obviously still a work in progress, and the ratings, themes and even the title may be modified as I go along. Though it isn't meant to be funny, some of the scenerios could be so proposterous that you just might find them humourous, which is fine by me (just don't crush me with your insolence in your reviews, please). One more thing, in case you missed it, the summary warns of mentions of drugs and mild language. Read at your own risk. Thank you so very much for doing so, and please feel free to post all and any comments you have in a review. I would be most appreciative.
The Broken Contract
Prologue
The entrance hall to Smash Bros. HQ was just a peek at the splendour or the living quarters hidden beyond the eight doorways spaced evenly along the continued wall, and that was saying a lot.
Everything in the room had been specially picked out of the most expensive and high quality production available, from the immense riverstone fountain lined with cushioned benches in the centre of it all, to the seemingly simple glass globe lamps at short intervals along the wall. Each piece of furniture, every decorative plant and work of art was unique and so fitted in with the lack of conformity of anything else around it. Everything was designed for maximum comfort and style, and the entire room worked, in modern style, in practicality and in grandeur.
After all, this was to be expected from the makers and sponsors of what was reportedly the hottest media craze of all time: The Super Smash Bros. Tournament.
Andrew Pechman, renowned worldwide as the man behind the magic, sat at his ease in a smooth, red leather sofa, designed to follow the curving walls of the circular room. A well-aged man in his early forties with short spiky black hair greying at the temples, he wore nothing but a simple black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He was one of those people that were even beyond bothering to look the part if great success, so confident in their power, they knew they'd be worshipped no matter what they looked like. The permanent look fixed on his face did not deny it.
He glanced at the gold-rimmed watch on his right wrist. The competitors would be arriving any moment now, and what had now become almost a religious holiday across the globe would officially begin the following evening. A self-satisfied smirk was plain on his face as he recalled the statistics announcing this year's tournament to be the biggest one yet. Andrew had worked hard to make it so, what with release of countless promotional paraphernalia, including posters, magazines and comic books, all manner of flags, stickers and clothing depicting a favourite contestant, even a highly anticipated video game that had topped the charts faster than any other ever released, and stayed at number one for months. His grin widened, and he shook his head the peculiarity of the world. The more money you had, the easier it was to make more. After this competition, Andrew would have more than even he would know what to do with.
The thought, strange as it was, almost crushed his good mood. What fun was business when you'd reached the very top and had nowhere else to go? The likelihood of falling back down was absolutely inconceivable with the way things were going. It almost made him wish something would go wrong, just to stir up a challenge. Almost.
Andrew stood when the glass double doors paned in flawlessly smooth gold swung open, admitting what appeared to be at first glance a pink ball in a white baseball cap, a shimmering blue basketball jersey and brand name red sports shoes. It tugged off the hat to rub at a smooth, doughy-looking head before fitting it back on, glancing about the room like a dog returning home after a long absence. Spotting Andrew to his left, its face broke into a smile and ti headed over to see him, somehow making it half waddle seem cool and easy-going.
"Andy!" Kirby exclaimed, reaching up to give him a good-natured punch in the arm (which, due to Kirby's surprising strength, hurt much more than Andrew let on). "You're looking crueler and more heartless than ever! Must be the goatee."
"Yes I find in it quite devilish myself," agreed Andrew, stroking the new sliver of facial hair smugly before switching the subject. "I'm glad to see you're keeping in shape."
Andrew had picked very one of his contestants very carefully, and each one was selected to attract a wide range of devotees to the tournament, to take in as many fans as possible. He'd strategically chosen Kirby for his active involvement in the sports industry. Sports fans and athletes alike now idolized him for his killer kick, powerful throw and startling speed on the sports field and the battlefield.
Before Kirby could reply, the doors opened once more from the powerful swing of a brown-furred gorilla decked out all in black with the dur on his head oily slicked back from his face. The powerhouse, DK was nothing but pure girth and power, and for that he was admired by many, on top of having the most badass attitude of the group. Andrew greeted him in kind and struck up conversation. He couldn't give his competitors their talk until all of them had arrived
Which all of them did in the expanse of the next twenty minutes. Andrew believed that some of them had purposefully shown up fashionably late, just to annoy him. They could afford such luxuries, because they knew as well as he did that he was ruined without them, if he ever chose to be rid of even one of the players.
Yoshi was third to arrive, in an easy Hawaiian shirt that he had somehow made look good by donning a pair of shades. He owned the second largest car dealership in all of Japan, and was respected as a great businessman. In that way, he attracted the interest of adults to the tournement.
Mario popped in moments later, wearing clothes almost as casual as Andrew's. Being the founding father of everything video game had its definite perks, as he was one of the most popular players on that fact alone. He was also a widely known computer genius, and owned an independent gadget store somewhere in Greece.
Link and Fox showed up ten minutes late, and looked to have gotten a ride together rather than simply arrived coincidently at the same time. Those two had been friends from the start. While Link had cleaned up relatively well after taking a leave of absence from his college courses in San Francisco, having just turned nineteen and being the youngest member of the team, Fox came in looking as dishevelled as ever. He looked positively terrible beside his friend, who'd fixed himself up in a blue plaid shirt overtop a white tee and some khaki jeans. It made Fox look even worse when one considered that he was several years Link's senior and hadn't even made an effort to smooth down his rumpled fur. Traces of a hangover were evident.
Samus was a minute later, looking to have been headed for the gym in her blue yoga pants and a white tank top and her long brown hair brushed straight away from her eyes. While Fox and Link were Andrew's girl magnets, Samus was his man magnet. A lot of guys found a shapely beauty with a kick-butt mannerisms fiercely attractive. Even some strong-willed women thought of her as an inspirational character, a lone yet confident female succeeding alongside the toughest male fighters of today. Those three were his most popular competitors, being generally top players, and young and sexy to boot.
Pikachu known as Chuey by his familiars, got in ten minutes after everyone else, wearing nothing but his trademark black shades too big for his face and the usual cigarette in his mouth. He didn't seem to care that he was disobeying Andrew's caution to the teammates not to smoke right in front of the man, as Andrew had given up telling him to pitch the cig. If there was one player that he wanted to get rid of, it was Pikachu. The little yellow critter, while adored by thousands of kids worldwide, was giving Andrew a lot of trouble, what with all the bad press he was receiving about his various drug addictions and appalling drinking habits. The fact that he didn't care what happened when the mothers of all those children spotted a picture of their son's or daughter's favourite fighter smoking up in the paper was even more frustrating.
Andrew gave them all a few minutes to catch up before claiming their attention. What most people didn't realise was that although they beat the shit out of eachother on the battlefield, they were actually all quite good friends with one another, with a few exceptions. Once he started talking, however, they quieted almost instantly to listen. Like him, they were people of business, and though they'd been hearing what he had to tell them for three years before this, they knew it was never wise to ignore instructions or bits of information they could use later on. Details could change as quickly as blinking.
"Well, guys, welcome to another Super Smash Bros. Tournament. I trust you've all kept to your contracts, stayed fit"-at this, he paused to glance meaningfully at Pikachu, who just stared levelly back at him will puffing on his cigarette-"and gone through your required training program. I don't think I need to remind you that it's in your best interests as well as mine to keep in shape for this competition.
"You all know where your rooms are. They've been fitted out to serve their purpose for the duration of the tournament, but if you do need anything, you can call in to the number by the phone. Room service will come in to make your rooms up everyday between 10 and 12. I'm sure you know where the gym and the dining room can be found. You aren't required to use those particular facilities but you must check in to your rooms every night before 3 o'clock A.M." The trace of a glare lingered most on Fox and Donkey Kong, who'd both spent entire nights out at least twice and had caused a good deal of trouble at the office.
"Your schedules will be delivered to your mailboxes by tonight. Please follow them exactly and do not be late for any of the events. I'd like to remind you of the opening ceremony tomorrow night, beginning at 7. You are required to wear your costumes, which can be found in your closets, freshly washed. If you want them to be cleaned between battles, you can leave them in the hamper by the door along with anything else you want done."
He clasped his hands in front of him and did something between a nod and a bow, though it showed no traces of deference. "I believe that's all, you are now free to come and go as you wish from now until 3 to 8 tomorrow morning. Thank you."
Once the formalities had been dispensed of, Andrew mingled into them and became once again their friendly employer. There were benefits to being familiar with your associates, that and he enjoyed their conversation. They were an interesting lot.
He spoke to Mario first, the oldest member of the group and only in his mid thirties. He had had the tabloids chasing after him for years and seemed never to have had problems with them, but they'd recently been spreading rumours about a more intimate relationship between him and Peach than just co-workers. Andrew knew better than to bring it up, and instead engaged him in gadget talk and current projects for upcoming video games, movies or even television shows.
"I'm always under big demand, you know," said Mario without a trace of vanity. That he was among the hottest stars was a simple fact and everyone knew it. "Nintendo's been pulling my leg to sign a trademark contract."
"Oh really?" Andrew asked, suddenly doubly interested. It was the first he'd heard about it, and he'd just this year dealt with that company about the Smash Bros. game.
"Yep," Mario sighed gruffly. "It's looks like a good deal so far, but I wonder what I'd be giving up." Noticing the other man's slightly worried look, he waved a hand along with the shake of his head. "No no, it won't interfere with the tournament. There was a clause in it to protect the competition rights." That was good news. Conflicting contracts always meant loads of bother and paperwork, on top of endless court appearances. "I just don't want to be missing out on any better offers that may come around in future."
It also paid to listen to others' conversations. Every once in awhile, Andrew would tune out whoever he was speaking with to focus on another's words nearby. He caught a snatch of dialogue between Kirby and Pikachu, who, while having nothing in common aside from their age of 27, got along very well and spent more of their free time between battles with eachother than with anyone else. The contrast was almost too unreal to even be funny: Kirby being a strong and fit athlete and Pikachu the notorious drug-addict of the gang.
Donkey Kong and Fox, too, seemed to enjoy the other's company, a pair a bit easier to swallow than the last, but not by much. While they both were famous for their knack for trouble making, (one for considerably more serious reasons than the other) Fox was all quickness and agility, all boasts and unfortunately at times terrible immaturity, and DK was slow but deadly powerful, and had a very limited sense of humour, usually a sombre, dangerously quiet kind of guy that exploded with tremendous force when provoked. DK had had to be bailed out of jail on more than one occasion for losing his cool and starting a fight or even sometimes a riot. These things happened when you dealt with illegal substances. No one was supposed to know of that, but Andrew had made it his business to know as much as he could about every contestant before he'd hired them. He'd been willing to take the risk of getting into a little hot water with the authorities if it meant having the great Donkey Kong as a competitor. All businessmen had a side job as gamblers.
About a half hour later, someone made the suggestion of going out for a drink at their favourite pub. It was a well-known establishment just a few blocks away from headquarters, and the team had been there many a time to kick back and enjoy a night out. Everyone agreed whole-heartedly, but Andrew was forced to decline when asked to come along. There was a lot of work to be done between now and the opening ceremony the following evening. Besides, he would never let himself be seen in such a common bar.
So he waved them on their way through the ornate front doors and into the limos they'd had ordered up, watching as his eight money-making machines drove off for a night on the town.