"MASTER HAND? IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG?"
ROB and the Hand of Creation were sitting inside of Master Hand's office, discussing the upcoming tournament schedule when the phone began to ring. But what Master Hand had heard from the other end almost seemed surreal, almost fake. As he hung on the phone, ROB could sense his shock.
"MASTER HAND?" The robot repeated. "ARE YOU—"
"ROB." He said softly, barely audible. "I'm going to have to cancel this meeting. Something drastic just came up. Call in Crazy Hand."
"... YES SIR." The robot left without another word, closing the door gently behind him. A couple seconds later, Crazy Hand came bursting through the ceiling, carrying what looked to be three bats.
"Hey brother!" The Hand of Destruction said. "I just learned about something amazing called combat juggl—"
"He's dead." said Master Hand flatly. "He passed away."
His brother got surprisingly quiet, dropping the bats. "Oh. What happened?"
"A tumor." Even though he didn't have a throat, it was obvious that the hand was choking up. "On his bile duct. I... I don't know what to say... He was there at the beginning. Together we made Mario and Link and Donkey Kong. We even made it through the 16-Bit War. When he was appointed president, I had never been so proud to call him my friend. I was there to see his rise to CEO. But now... He's just another name in a long list of the dead." At this point, Master Hand could barely breath another word.
Crazy Hand stood silently, reflecting in silence at his fallen comrade. The Hand of Destruction had known him too; after all, Crazy was the one who got to add all the blow-y-up-y mechanics. He had never treated Crazy Hand differently, and for the rest of eternity the Hand of Destruction would never forget that.
Crazy Hand approached him, patting his back in an attempt to comfort him. The room hung in a limbo of silence; neither brother dare to speak. Finally, the Hand of Destruction managed to mutter, "He's not dead. No, sure, he's dead, but he's alive at the same time. Bro, I know you can't just poof him back. But he's not dead. It's not his body nor his name that defines who he was, but rather how many lives he touched during it. Sure it was short, but he did something everybody dreams of doing: making people truly happy. He lives a very rich life right now, and I'm jealous that I'll only get to do half of what he does daily. And maybe his name is another name on a list in a crowd, but you're forgetting something: one day those people he touched will touch other people, and they'll touch other people, and they'll repeat the cycle world over. His life is a truly wonderful one. I wish I was half the man he was."
Master Hand turned towards his brother, a small strain of pride emanating from him. "Sometimes I forget that you're sane, Crazy Hand." He said.
"Please," Crazy Hand scoffed, waving him off. In the process, he smacked the desk, smashing it in half. "It's because I'm crazy that I see so clearly. A little dose of insanity might do you some good sometime."
"... Thanks anyways." replied Master Hand. "Call ROB back in; I need to complete the meeting."
"No problem, bro!" Crazy Hand saluted. "You know where to find me!" With that, he flew upwards, smashing another hole into the ceiling. Master Hand chuckled, returning to his work.
"I'll never understand him." Master Hand mused. "But I sure do love him."
In memory of Satoru Iwata, 1959-2015.
Thank you for touching the world.