T Minus 28 Days

Be friends with someone long enough and you'd come to know them. I mean, really know them. If you were a Smasher, and you were in a Smasher's orbit long enough, then you'd be well-versed in that Smasher's strategy.

It started with twelve Smashers. They were the closest-knit of the bunch. The succeeding generations looked up to them as "the old pros". They were the spine, the glue, the superstructure. The Original Twelve had become a family, the bonds between them cemented years ago. Especially four of them.

The Formidable Four consisted of Ness, Captain Falcon, Luigi and Jigglypuff. They were hidden characters during the first go-round. Though times had changed, the name still stuck, and so did their deep friendship, despite some setbacks here and there.

Port Town Aero Dive currently hosted a bout between the good Captain and the man in green. Memories and emotions ran deep as Luigi flicked fireballs at the racer, and then moved in close for aggressive punches, straight kicks and flying kicks. Falcon pulled back and released his trademark punch. But his opponent wasn't down for long. The Falcon Punch set something off in him, and he decided to stop fooling around with this guy and show him that he was far from a n—b.

Oh, yes, did I mention that Douglas Jay Falcon once called Luigi, his supposed best friend, that name a long time ago? He did.

He also said he was "the last-place loser" and "the bottom of the food chain". Some friend.

Douglas was slammed to the floor and Ground Pounded seconds later, launching him. Luigi followed him with his eyes, short hopped and sliced into the other man with vicious f-airs. Then a flip kick, and then a downwards drill, and then—

The racer thought he'd gotten away, but he was quickly grabbed again. He'd seen Luigi's playstyle evolve from tournament to tournament, from his wavedash in Melee to his awesome hidden power in Brawl. But this—this came as a curveball to everyone, a throw allowing the green-clad hero to combo an opponent until neither could take anymore. Almost infinite combos. And now Falcon was tasting yet another of them.

His friends loved it. His enemies hated it. Smash players in the real world embraced it. And Luigi—he was always humble about it. He knew his combos would only be good through continued practice. You should hear him in the Training Room, with a Sandbag or a partner.

F-air, f-air, f-air. Breathe. D-air. Breathe. Mix-up. Bait. Read. Breathe.

He was showing Falcon his moves, all right.

There was a wicked cover of the Mute City theme on the loudspeakers, which was silly. They weren't in Mute City; they were in Port Town. But the rock anthem had Luigi's blood pumping. He wanted to tear up this racer. Douglas had broken free of a combo and knee-smashed him. Blood had squirted. Pain. Luigi fought defensively with his fireballs, but the racer still got a Falcon Punch or two in, plus a Falcon Dive and a heavy Falcon Kick. And to top it all off, the Heel of Shame.

He hated the Heel of Shame. He hated the Falcon Punch. He hated the Knee of Justice. And the d-air stomp. And the Falcon Dive and the Falcon Kick and the cocky smirk on Falcon's face and his "Show me ya moves!"

Sweating, breath coming fast, eyes promising Hell on Earth. None of this was lost on Captain Falcon. He remembered the great, big jerk he used to be to Luigi, the way he used to act over some list on a piece of paper. Pulling pranks, putting him down, insulting him, tying his shoelaces together, laughing at him. A bloody fistfight in the lounge, with Luigi winning. Falcon had changed, but his relationship with Luigi hadn't been the same since their reconciliation. Because the man in green could never forget, no matter how hard he tried.

Especially in a heated battle.

Luigi worked Falcon with mighty, brutal combos. He was breathing in those fierce whistles. He was surprised at the powerful anger he still felt. Sixteen years after the fact, and it had never dulled. In this moment in time, he hated this racer! Hated him! Hated him for what he did. Hated him for that stupid [bleep]-ing Falcon Punch and Falcon Kick and Falcon Dive. Hated him for the stupid [bleep]-ing Knee of Justice and the stupid [bleep]-ing Heel of Shame. Hated him for the way he continued to preen over the aforementioned moves while taunting opponents about showing their moves. Well, how about these combos, Falcon? Are they enough moves for you?!

Sweat. Aggression. Testosterone. Luigi made no move to hinder the flow. He allowed himself to think about the pranks, the name-callings, the snubs, the blow-offs and yes, the shoelace-tying. Yes, Falcon was sorry and their friendship was long since pieced back together, but the fact remained that the racer put the plumber through a load of [bleep] which left tiny splinters on his feelings for the racer. Hidden shards of glass which still cut deeply and bled heavily. And as Luigi battered his opponent with hand-poking attacks, leg sweeps, head butts and down throw combos, he stepped on the nasty shards, the hurt and resentment and fury lingering in the back of his mind, begging for release, and he released it all in torrents. His blows, harder and harder. His eyes, so dangerous. His breathing, so fast and so harsh and so flustered-sounding. His face, so flushed. He was bleeding, inside and out. Falcon's attacks didn't play, but neither did Luigi's. He made his lungs work harder and harder as he styled many fascinating combos. He purged his mind of memories and his body of adrenaline.

Once Luigi claimed the victory with a misfired Missile, the cuts from the shards healed, the bleeding stopped, and it didn't hurt anymore. The past receded, the rage dulled, and he found himself liking Douglas again. He smiled, shook his hand, told him he fought well. Falcon was reeling from the beatdown, but not salty. Part of him told him that he deserved it, and his Falcon Punch didn't make him better than everyone else. He congratulated Luigi and left him be, knowing that he need to cool off for a few hours. His past actions were a sore on his relationship with Luigi, and it would always be agitated, no matter what he did.

Little did he know that a spectator of the battle was out to take advantage of him…

1.1.1

Are you okay? the psychic Pokémon asked the racer.

"Yeah," Falcon said quietly. "Just battered a bit."

It's not fair, you know, mused Mewtwo.

"What isn't?" asked Falcon.

That you, the bearer of the mighty Falcon Punch, lost to a nobody.

Falcon whipped around, glaring at him. "Luigi is somebody," he snapped. "He's my friend, and he's a strong fighter. It's my fault I lost. I've slacked off lately, and I guess I need to get back to training."

You mean to tell me that you're not in the least bit humiliated by what he did to you out there?

"Why would I be? I kinda deserved it," sighed Falcon. "You know the way I used to act toward him."

Douglas, you did nothing wrong. You spoke the truth. Luigi is the n—b of n—bs, a stuck-up little insect, and a loser. You should be angry that he won over you. He's the inferior one.

"Inferior? Inferior? Tell me something, Mewtwo, was he inferior during Melee's Event 51? He was pitted against three fearsome villains, and yet he came out on top. You should know because you were one of the opponents. And furthermore, what are you getting at?"

I know three men who can help solve this problem, smirked Mewtwo, handing Falcon a card. Seeing you on one of your home stages with that plumber tearing you apart—I couldn't bear it. Look, I can read your mind. Despite your objections, I know you're seething internally over losing to that waste of skin. But I want you to know—you're not powerless. Something can be done about him.

Falcon shoved the card back at Mewtwo. "No. You're crazy," he spat. "There's nothing wrong with Luigi. I just need to practice. That's all. And you're lucky I don't tell on you about the things you just said. Good day, Mewtwo."

He turned and stalked off. Mewtwo stared after him like a child denied a piece of candy.

At least I tried, he murmured.

1.1.1

The doors of the pizza place opened, and in walked a man in a suit, escorting a Pokémon, an angel with red eyes and black wings, and a diminutive Mii with blue hair and gray eyes. They were led to the back room of the place, where the Bennigan Brothers and some fresh, hot pizza awaited them.

"Mewtwo," said Shane.

"Dark Pit," said Manny.

"Kyle," said Vincent.

The trio sat down.

I couldn't sway Falcon, said Mewtwo. Sorry.

"At least you compensated with two," said Vincent. "Now, let's discuss the terms of our arrangement."

"What's there to discuss?" Dark Pit broke in. "We convince the higher-ups that Luigi is broken, and they fix him."

"That's only part of it," said Shane. "You will be paid generously for your services. You will supply ammunition for our project by explaining why that down throw needs to be done away with. You will connect us with the higher-ups, including those higher than Master Hand. Your efforts will restore Luigi to his rightful place at the bottom."

"How much are we talking about?" asked Kyle.

"A starting fee of five figures," said Manny, "plus a heftier sum when the job's done."

"If we get you in touch with the higher-ups," said Kyle, "then will you get us in touch with people who can help us?"

"Of course," said Vincent.

"Then I'm in," said Kyle.

So am I, added Mewtwo. I can't wait to see him get what he deserves.

Dark Pit glared at the Bennigan Brothers. "I help power your machine," he said, "and you take me to Chuck-E-Cheese's every Friday and Saturday of the week."

"We can have that arranged," Manny said coolly.

Dark Pit smiled. "Count me in, too."

The three shook hands with the Bennigan Brothers before helping themselves to pizza.

Please R&R.