He had his Arsenal. He could already smell victory! Full accoutrement of grenades. Energy sword. Shotgun. This little Italian (and fat) plumber would never stand a chance.
Szzzheeenk. His energy sword was out, glowing dimly, showering his green, iridescent armor in white light.
Booiiing. Booiiing. Hmmm, sounds like a cheap video game.
A round, red, tubby being landed heavily beside him, and leapt up again with speed and height master chief knew he could never match. Never mind that. Did that turtle slayer have a shotgun?
He fired and…
Missed! Darn. Where was he? Master chief shook his head, then felt something touchdown on it, then saw black…
Mario shook his head sadly and wiped the Spartan blood off of his boots. When would these new kids learn that Old School wins every time?
