Author's Note: Wow, this is quite a surprise. I hadn't expected to get a single review, let alone two positive ones. Perhaps I should continue this story after all. I feel a little bit uneasy about some of the character's portrayals, but I don't really think anything can be gained by delaying this chapter further. So, enjoy, anyone who might stumble across this.

September 4th

3:05 PM

Mushroom City, UMP

M.P.D HQ

Detective Hariyoshi Hirono slumped in his seat, earphones loudly replaying one of Jiggles Puamoto's recent conversations. He was part of a specially-selected group of investigators working with the NEAD to take out the Puamoto Yakuza in Mushroom City. Unfortunately, with the overblown plans commonly put into place at the M.P.D, virtually every detective was placed in a 'specially-selected unit'. It was often said that soon there would be more committees than criminals to investigate.

Most of the department was in a panic over the recent airport shooting, with good reason-terrorism had been a public paranoia ever since the attacks on the Peach Castle six years ago, when two stolen 'Bullet Bill' missiles were used to obliterate half of the iconic landmark, not to mention that tanker incident only last month. Naturally President Sears had been criticised endlessly for the incident, with his viability as a leader questioned further by the public. However, Yoshi remained at his desk, not being among those chosen to deal with the investigation; indeed, there were several committees that had been formed to deal with that, too.

This conversation, however, was slightly more interesting than the others.

As of late, the Oyabun had taken to conducting his operations via face-to-face meeting. Whether this stemmed from the knowledge that the MPD was tapping his communications, or that he simply had trust issues with his partners, Yoshi could not tell. Either way, for the past three weeks he had been listening to nothing but innocent calls to family with the occasional call from Puamoto's unfortunately still living mother. The ninety-something bag somehow found time to call every day, shrieking at her son in deafeningly loud Kanto.

This call was totally different. It had been relayed a few minutes ago, and the tracker showed a clear Mushroom Harbor location. It was unusual for Puamoto to use his cell at all, and now this…Yoshi leaned forward to replay the call, turning up the volume on the media player.

"Jiao. You know I won't let you go through with this." The tense opening line could only come from the Oyabun's second in command, a man which the MPD knew pitifully little about.

"I'm not going to be ordered around by that smarmy fuck. This ends today."

"From what we've seen of this man already, you of all people should know that this is suicidal."

"Suicidal? I've been running this city for fifteen years. He's the one who should be afraid. I'll get Hopip on him-it'll probably be messier than Birdo."

"He prefers to go by Birdetta now. Not that you gave him much choice."

"Heh. See? Let's see if we can give this Master Hand a wake-up call. Come meet me here."

"Jiao, wa-"

The call ended.

Yoshi didn't know whether it was a hoax, a play to get them out in the open. It was far too dangerous in any case. The head of the committee never followed up any leads without hard evidence, and with good reason-a Puamoto trap four weeks ago nearly exposed their mole in the yakuza, Pikawa Chao. Besides, it was near-impossible to get any police attention now that terrorists had decided to attack Mushroom International.

But there were more important questions to be asked, glaringly obvious. First of all, Master Hand. That was what had troubled Yoshi most about the call. The Puamoto Yakuza had never been employed by any other gang, never subordinated. If someone had the power to bring one of the UMP's most powerful organisations under his control, how come nobody had heard of him? Was he a NRD4-level threat? The notion amused Yoshi, that someone that dangerous would be under his surveillance. Master Hand certainly wasn't an international terrorist, a spy-film villain. Most likely, he was just some power-hungry, pissed-off enforcer, who would meet his brutal demise at the hands of Jiggles's sadistic liutenant Hopip.

Mushroom Harbor – 6:05 PM

The sun began to set on the cloudy winter's day as Jiggles Puamoto watched from a porthole in his converted cargo ship, the Cinnabar. It outwardly appeared a derelict hulk, but the interior, though dilapidated, had been fitted with all the latest security enhancements. There wasn't a single room of the ship that didn't have infrared laser tripwires, security cameras, pressure pads or, for more extreme cases, tear gas dispensers. It wasn't paranoia that drove Puamoto to put in as much security as the Peach House. It was necessity, although his eccentricity probably had something to do with some of the odder systems. The ship served as a stockpile of the yakuza's weapons and drugs, and so Jiggles had every reason to protect its cargo. It helped that the ship was also where he stockpiled a large amount of his personal karaoke CDs.

Behind him, the security buzzer sounded, indicating that someone was at one of the ship's many entrances, and more importantly, that they knew where to find the buzzer. Checking the three camera feeds from outside the door, Jiggles pressed a key on his laptop and let Meta Knight enter.

He had made his way up to the bridge in a few minutes, pausing as his retinas and prints were scanned. Meta Knight was relatively new to the organisation, having joined a mere two years ago. But he certainly was no inexperienced piece of cannon fodder like 90% of all the other relatively new members. Meta Knight was well known among certain circles for his intelligence and special operations work in the Eastern Federation, the Socialist Republic of Termina and the Hylian effort to restore peace to Ordony after the attempted invasion by Gerudo armed forces.

After that he had disappeared completely, resurfacing in the late nineties as a mercenary. Following six years of highly dangerous and lucrative contracts, Jiggles had recruited him permanently. He had to keep a very loose leash on him, unlike his other employees (due to Meta Knight's paranoia, of course) which unnerved Puamoto slightly, but he had never disappointed him.

Meta Knight had seated himself next to Jiggles's laptop, while the pink sphere paced with increasing agitation.

"How are you proposing to find Master Hand in the first place, Jiao?"

"I…I've got Morris."

"Somehow, I don't think the NEAD even know Master Hand exists."

Jiggles responded with a startled 'what?'

"Consider the man's overblown theatrics. He's almost like a singularity, drawing everything to him, bending it to his will. That shootout at the airport last month, the one that the press has been having seizures at and the government barely obscuring with lies…it was certainly his work."

Jiggles repeated his previous reply, causing Meta Knight to sigh exasperatedly and continue his exposition to the stunned Oyabun.

"You said that he was looking for fighters. Our NEAD sources, or more specifically source, tells us that a certain Nicole Bailey arrived from Onett mere minutes before the shootout occurred. It's obvious that one of the crime lords has chosen Samus Aran to be his representative for the Hand's game. I told you to be wary of what he's capable of."

"All he's got to his credit is a terrorist attack and some blackmail. I had the Rocket Mafia."

Meta Knight tapped his fingers on the laptop, frustrated.

"Everyone who was involved with Rocket is dead now, bar you. If you hadn't joined back up with your father's organisation when your scheme collapsed, you would be too. You were lucky he was so desperate for a successor."

"You…"

Jiggles never got to finish that sentence, as the lights cut out in the bridge and he jumped back with a surprised yelp.

"What the hell was that?"
"I assume the generator's failed. Either that, or a mouse has managed to trigger off one of your traps. Again."

Jiggles breathed heavily as he rummaged through a container for a flashlight. Meta Knight heard the clangs of various objects being tossed onto the rusted metal floor. Under the short, sharp noises, a rumbling bass could also be heard. As soon as the undercurrent had stopped, Meta Knight stood, gliding off his chair and retreating to a corner of the bridge. Then, the faint squeaking of leather gloves could be heard outside the door, followed by three practically inaudible beeps. But Jiggles was oblivious to it all. He held a blindingly bright heavy-duty torch in his hands.

"I found it!"

Then the world exploded. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Uniformed soldiers poured from the hole that the near-silent thermite explosive rent into the reinforced door, tearing it like rice paper. In the misdirected light of Jiggles' flashlight, he could just make out their gasmasks and night-camouflage uniforms.

A combat boot raised above Jiggles, before being brought down on him with maximum force. A moment passed, and then the confused Oyabun lapsed into unconsciousness.

Jiggles Puamoto awoke with a dry mouth and a painful bruise that restricted his breathing. He was in what was immediately obvious as the armory of the ship, stacks of crates containing everything from Bob-ombs to Fire Flowers and automatic rifles, stolen- of course.

But the other occupants of the room weren't concerned about the hundreds of black-market weapons. And Jiggles shared their focus; his eyes did not register his bonds, his surroundings, even the soldiers. For in that moment, all he could see was Master Hand.

"I must advise you never to try anything like that again. It might be detrimental to your health." Master Hand was unfazed by the Oyabun's attempted rebellion, standing coldly triumphant in the same urban camouflage uniform as the rest of the soldiers. Mask removed, of course. And he just had to wear that stupid white glove of his. He looked comfortable in it, somehow more at home. The thought slid away as the smug chessmaster resumed speaking.

"But your enemy here is not me, at least not yet. I think you will be particularly interested to know that the MPD have placed a mole in your organisation. He's risen up to quite a high rank too. Sloppy work, Jiggles. I thought better of you."

"Is…is Meta…"

Jiggles's voice was a mere rasp.

"Meta Knight is in our custody. I can't let you resume contact with him until after this little game is over. Now, Jiggles, I will allow you to leave. I just have one request. Stay off the Cinnabar until the sixth. Unless you would like to give your life for a property loan, I'd suggest you agree."

Jiggles's look was all the confirmation Master Hand needed. Motioning towards one of his soldiers to uncuff Puamoto, he walked over to a crate and began to casually examine a small red box. Several of the soldiers expressed slight alarm, but were professional enough to not let it show.

As Jiggles headed to the door, Master Hand gave him a final message.

"Jiggles, listen to me. You never will be able to eliminate me, outsmart me or bind me in chains. So stop trying."

Puamoto made the barest inclination of a nod, fighting every instinct he had to turn around and rip the cocky, superior bastard's face off.

He turned and walked out of the room.

September 5th

11:30 AM

Mushroom City, U.M.P

Mushroom Harbor

Keira let out a grunt of exertion as she carried the Pianta hitman though a rusted doorway. Mario Ficarotta had been captured earlier that day, shot with a tranquilizer rifle through the window of his apartment. He was, of course, the Don Salvatore's choice to compete in the first fight of Master Hand's tournament. In the three hours following Mario's capture, he had been transported to the 'arena', Jiggles's container ship docked in Mushroom Harbor, and redressed in an expensive Delfino suit. As part of the public nature of the tournament (or as public as you can get in the underworld, anyway), all of the entrants were to be wearing distinct and vibrant outfits. Keira was even sure there was some product placement involved.

Mario Ficarotta was laid out on a shining, sterile metal bed, his hands positioned under restraint. Keira laid out a weapon on the other piece of furniture in the room, an industrial table, and proceeded to retrieve other items from a duffel bag. The weapon was rather over the top, an organic, highly illegal flamethrower native to the region. The scientific name for the fatal plant was Phosphora miyamoto, but more casual users preferred a more self-explanatory name. Fire Flower.

Master Hand was positioned in an apartment facing the dock, the monitors lining the room showing feeds from the 50 high-definition cameras that had been placed n the ship.

"Keira, have the preparations been completed?"

"All done. The entrants have been placed and injected, and the ship is wired. I'm getting everyone out now."

"Perfect. We'll go on the air in one hour."

"Just a second. I've got one more question."

"You've been dying to say that, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Well, I was thinking that I'm going to get some credit for this too, right? And you can't exactly use my real name so…"

"Get to the point."

"I'd like some kind of codename."

"You're like a child. I'll think of something."

Keira let out the infuriatingly high squeak she called a laugh, and hung up.

Several blocks away, gloved fingers typed at rapid speeds as the MPD server was hacked into. The hacker's intent was not outright malevolent, rather manipulative. The soon-to-be attached video played in the corner of the hacker's screen in a window. Alert eyes flitted to it for a second, as the hacker weighed the consequences of this message once again. This would certainly get their attention.

MARIO FICAROTTA VS. TRIPLE D

The stylized lettering blazed on the video's splash screen, the well-designed promotional art depicting anime-influenced illustrations of the notorious Pianta enforcer and well-known K-Crew member in a back to back pose, weapons ready.

Anti-aliased lettering blazed across the screen, countdown evident.

Mario Ficarotta woke to a nagging pain in his wrists and ankles. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he had been captured. What was totally unexpected, however, was that he was dressed in a ridiculously expensive black silk suit, with a red tie and white shirt of equal value. Mario jerked his head around, taking in his surroundings. The rusted metallic room he was in couldn't be newer than twenty years, with flaky paint and gouged walls. The metallic bed he was being restrained on, however, was something totally different. Gleaming stainless steel offered a dramatic contrast to his dilapidated surroundings. It was like something from a sixties spy film. Only here, there was no open vent, giant laser, humorously inept guard or any other childishly obvious escape route.

A smooth, calculated voice began to speak from a hidden unit somewhere. The quality was excellent, so it couldn't have been here long.

"You have been…selected to participate in a competitive tournament. You will have one other opponent. The rules are simple. Either you will kill him, or he will kill you. It makes no difference…to me, at least. Finishing this round will allow you to progress to the next stage. If you lose…well, let's not get into that. The match begins in one minute. Prepare yourself, and good luck…the world is watching."

With a mechanical hiss, Mario's metallic restraints receded into the bed.

Rubbing his wrists, he slowly got up. What the hell was happening?

He had been sedated, redressed, bound and…armed?

A chipped brown pot plant lay ominously on the sole table in the room, flower bursting out of the wide rim.

It was instantly obvious what the weapon was- a Fire Flower-but it was the flower's presence here that worried Mario. Fire Flowers were expensive weapons, not in their growing, but in their genetic refinement and modification, which was necessary for them to become viable flamethrowers. Why would anyone go to that amount of trouble when they could pick up a cheap handgun from any one of hundreds of black market dealers?

He had been set up, obviously. Captured…but by whom? The Mushroom City Theatre Company? Was this a dream, some sick scenario conjured up by his subconscious?

The door slid open.

Uprooting the Fire Flower, Mario edged out into the rusted labyrinth that lay before him. No sooner had he gone a step, the electronic door slammed shut behind him, like something from a Legend of Oni game. He shuddered at the analogy. Here, there were no continues. Or cursed masks, but he'd rather not think about that. Tensely, Mario inched through the maze of containers that made up the interior. It was obvious he was inside a cargo ship. Was it in Mushroom City? He couldn't have been taken far… Out of the corner of his eye, Mario could see a ludicrous amount of cameras monitoring his every move from a plethora of angles.

'I wonder if they're going to release a DVD of this…'

A thunderous report sounded behind Mario, the .50AE Magnum bullet missing his tailored suit by centimeters, ruling a white-hot streak against his cheek.

He turned, glimpsing the gold-plated GMI Eagle of the man who could only be Triple-D. D and his handgun were notorious among the underworld, eliminating the enemies of K.B's empire. The handgun itself had always seemed a poor choice to Mario, but it had never failed the penguin.

Mario took cover behind an empty crate, doubtless placed for the match. His cut was a distraction, relentlessly leaking blood.

Another sonic blast rent the world in two.

Mario leant out from his cover, igniting everything between him and the squishy, blue menace that was trying to kill him.

Triple-D was running…sort of. Mario followed, racing after the colossal penguin. He couldn't let him get the advantage of higher ground.

Too late.

D was racing up a flight of metal steps, unloading his bulky gold-plated semiautomatic at the Pianta Family hitman.

It was a testament to his efficiency that every round fired seemed to end up inside the industrial set-dressing.

Leaping up the stairs two at a time, Mario aimed at the reloading penguin. Flames danced around the metal walls of the boat. Triple D ducked and weaved around the empty crates and shipping containers placed on the upper deck. Not a single lick of fire had hit its mark. Mario found himself short of breath. Exercise really wasn't his top priority anymore, as the growing paunch of his stomach showed. D rolled out from a shipping crate, the giant penguin brandishing his equally giant golden pistol.

Triple-D laughed a disgustingly hearty roar, peppered with nyahs of laughter.

"Come and get me, greaseball!"

Just as the thunderous barrage began, Mario ducked behind another pallet of doubtless empty crates.

'Whoever designed this scenery should work for WarioWare.'

Taking a chance, Mario dove from the disintegrating pallet, and fired a jet of white-hot flame at the penguin.

Time seemed to slow as the giant penguin caught fire, flesh and clothing blackening and withering as Triple D rolled desperately, screaming in agony.

It was over.

Panting, Mario stood.

Was it over?

He approached the bleeding, charred but no longer lit form of the penguin on the catwalk, Flower lowered.

Guard down.

As he stared mercilessly down at the dying gangster, Triple-D made one last effort.

Before Mario could react, he retrieved his –reloaded- Eagle from the rusted catwalk and pressed it against Mario's head.

Shock and self-loathing raced through Mario's mind. Here he was, about to be bested by a hip-hop stereotype with a glorified .50.

Triple-D squeezed the trigger.

The sound that followed could have been many things, but the one thing it was not was a gunshot. Triple-D stared in disbelief at his jammed pistol. It had never failed him before.

Mario snatched the Gerudo handgun from D's hands, met by little resistance.

Cocking the weapon and ejecting the jammed shell, Mario pointed the obese gangster's own weapon at his face.

The sound that followed could have been only one thing.

A gunshot.

Postscript:
Once again, some terms used in this chapter refer to:

NRD4 – The CIA equivalent

GMI - Gerudo Military Industries, a firearms manufacturer

Legend of Oni – Long-running RPG series from WarioWare, basically a mix between Final Fantasy VII, Majora's Mask and Devil May Cry.