Rolling in the Deep

He was slumped on the sofa, staring slack-jawed at the TV. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Just seconds ago, a simple announcement blew his world apart. His year was over. Finished. Kaput. Without so much as a by-your-leave, they ripped the Year of Luigi from him. He was back to being the overshadowed little brother.

"No—no, this can't be happening," he muttered, dumbly, switching off the TV. He couldn't look at it anymore. It grabbed at him, trying to drag him down into a sinkhole. But he wouldn't let it. He'd clear it from his mind, and maybe he'd wake up to find that all of this was a nightmare.

A chill crept into the air around him, and at that point, he knew that this was no nightmare. This was real.

"My year—it's over—all over," he gasped. "How could they do this to me?"

At least he was still returning for the new Smash tournament this year. At least he was a starter, rather than a secret character. At least the heads of said tournament gave him the coveted Thumbs-Up. At least…

At least he still had his brother and his friends.

He found Mario at the gym, brushing up on his moves. Mario turned at the sound of footsteps and smiled. "Hi, Bro!" he piped up.

"Hi, Mario. You want to spar?"

Mario nodded. He, too, had discovered the news. "Sure."

Luigi was fired up, and so was Mario. Long after sunset, they were still going hard at each other. They were interrupted by a call from Master Hand, extending his sympathy for this turn of events. Luigi assured him that he was okay, that he would survive, before the reality started to get to him, and he hung up. Then, the sparring continued as if they'd never been interrupted.

Close to midnight, the brothers finally called it quits. By then, Luigi was too exhausted and sore to even think. He flopped into bed and slept without dreaming.

The weight of the shell was in Luigi's palm, sending pulses of wickedness through his nerves. A mischievous look crossed his features as he gained on the racer up ahead. Gripping the steering wheel of his cart with one hand, he'd never felt so alive or powerful. In one swift motion, he heaved the shell at the other racer, watching as it found its target. The other racer screamed piteously as he spun out of control. As Luigi thundered past, he turned to look at the victim, the mischief gone from his face, replaced by something darker.

His radio was tuned to a hip-hop station. "Ridin' Dirty" by Krazie Bone was his siren song. As he maneuvered his kart down the tricky raceway, he happily released the tension which had followed him since that fateful March day. During the final heat, he noticed that all of the racers were pretty terrified of him now, and he only justified their terror each time he threw bananas and Bob-ombs in their path or hit them with shells, all the while searing them with malevolent eyes. Over the chaotic sounds of screeching tires, crashing carts and crumpling metal, over cries and shrieks of agony and affright, the rap song entered him, filled him, and became him. He was an artist, creating black and red-orange nightmares of warped remains of karts and battered and sometimes broken bodies, of pleas for mercy and wailing sirens. No one dared to challenge him now. And he crossed the finish line first without any difficulty.

Once his prize was won, Luigi was contrite towards his fellow racers, soothing their fears and apologizing for scaring them like that. But he knew that Nintendo was watching, and that their rash decision to end his year was hitting them hard. They were not the ones to decide when it ended—he was! And the Year of Luigi was just about to heat up…

Later still, as he demonstrated his fighting prowess at a combo exhibition, the same thought ran through Luigi's mind. He'd show them. He'd show them all. They weren't going to push him around anymore. They thought they put the cap on a special year, but they were dead wrong. They started an era—the Era of Luigi.

And that would never end.