5 years ago
There he lay. His red cap overturned on the ground near his resting head. His arm crossed his chest, his other outstretched to his side. His palm to the sky, a set of orbs, half white and half red, scattered, empty. His breath had left him. Body scorched, residue of soot lined his clothes.
The officer knelt next to his son. He did not budge for an hour, silently staring, silently crying. The night shadowed the skyline, overwhelming the clouds. The wind had died and all had stopped.
After light had gone, the officer eased his trembling hand to feel the body. It was stiff and hard. He lost control and fell over his son, sobbing. No warmth, no life. The tears flowed incessantly.
There was a voice.
"I apologize for this." Its voice was deep and reverberated in his ear drums. Dark and mysterious like the night sky above him. Looking around, the officer flinched upon seeing a floating white hand. It was larger than him and was illuminated by a white glow.
"Y-you…" he managed to sputter out.
"I, yes." It spoke without a mouth, without restrictions. It was levitating, freely.
The officer did not reach for his gun. He was distraught and felt it pointless. He stared on at the phantom in front of him for a time before speaking again.
"Wh…what are you doing?" with a tremble in his voice.
"Observing." Its voice had rested in the officer's head, formulating words from nothing.
"For…what?" The officer felt his hand inching toward his weapon.
"For that."
The officer's hand froze. He felt completely exposed, his greatest enemy was just a few feet in front of him and he was defenseless. But he felt nothing. No fear, no anger, no feeling. Apathy.
"It is a natural inclination, I understand," Its voice numbed his pains.
The officer positioned himself between his son and the illuminated hand, as if to protect. He was kneeling.
The hand lowered, its fingers planting onto the soil. "We should talk."
The officer stared on through the hand. His eyes looking not out, but inward. The hand could notice.
"See, that is the problem with you soldiers. Men like you live in glass houses. You can see the world outside, but you stay inside. And then when someone throws a rock and shatters that glass, you get upset. We open you up, so you can walk amongst the living. We break the barrier. And what do you do? You rebuild your walls, this time in wood. And when we burn that down, you protest and rebuild in metal and concrete. You build up your walls so heavily, you cannot even see the world any more. You begin to focus on your own little world. The world you've created."
The officer flashed a look of half confusion. The hand spoke again.
"This is not what it seems, you know."
"My son…is dead. This is what it is," the officer replied back, icily.
"Of course. There is that. But what happened here, that is what you need to question."
"My son is dead…I don't care what happened here! My only son is dead!"
"And now you are allowing your emotions to take control."
"What are you doing here?" he viciously spit out, "Are you trying to mock me?"
"Why am I here? That is a curious question. Why are you there? Why are you letting me speak? Maybe you are distraught and want answers, but you know I cannot have the answers you want. No, you have been conditioned to believe my words as false because I am a simple enemy to the universe. But inside of you, what makes you human wishes for truth in my words. What makes you human hopes for something more. You are unsatisfied." The hand glided closer to the officer, now only a couple feet away. The officer leaned back to guard his son's body.
"You are building up walls, of the steel and concrete kind. The anger is blinding you." The hand hesitated, as if in thought. "As for if I am mocking you, I cannot say that is the truth. The truth for me, at least. You might believe the truth that I am here to ridicule your loss. But those are the notions you must throw away, my friend. Do away with your preconceived notions. Truth is not indisputable. Truth is subjective."
"Stop…"The officer said, with tears forming in his eyes.
"The boy is no more. You must understand staying by him longer can only hurt you more."
"Nnng…"The officer spun around and fell onto his son's stiff body.
"Look at yourself," the hand watched as the distraught man slowly raised his trembling body. He was in a fit of rage and sorrow and confusion. Too angry to stay silent, too forlorn to scream.
"Listen to me, now. I have no desire to speak further with you. If you want to believe the truth your military will have you to believe, it is your choice. However, I want you to reach into the boy's jacket and remove the Poke Ball."
The officer did as he was told, for a reason he did not know. He found the capsule clutched in his boy's hand under the jacket. He released it from his son's rigid grasp. He held it in his palm, examining it closely. He could feel the force inside.
"Now follow me, if you would," the hand turned and proceeded to glide away.
The officer rose to his feet. After a glance at the orb in his hand, he quickly pocketed it and croaked, "I'm not going with you."
The hand simply continued on his path. The officer heard his voice, "And that's the truth?"
In a minute, the illuminated figure disappeared under the cover of night. The officer stumbled forward. It was pitch black. He could feel the soil beneath his feet, but could not see it. He walked on.
Onett, Safety Zone
They were looking at him. All of them. He could feel it. The boy held his head low and maneuvered his way through the crowd of refugees. They were chatting nervously with each other, partially comforted in the advertised safety of the refugee camp. Nothing protected the settlement but the few armed guards near the gate. No roof sheltered the civilians, and a shoddy mess of sheets and wooden posts gave the camp a perimeter enclosure. There were hundreds of people crowded in the camp. Most were pushing and shoving their ways to the transport ships near the back.
The boy knew he had to get on one of those ships if he wanted to keep his promise. He had to get off Onett. He headed toward the transportation hub. A throng of people were between him and the station. They were shouting and thrusting angry hands into the air. He waded and squeezed into the crowd, all with attention focused toward the station. The boy bumped through arms and legs, and finally emerged on the other side. There was one ship grounded behind a wired fence, three times the height of the official stationed at its gate. He was signaling for the crowd to settle down.
Someone pushed into the boy from behind. "I've got family on Corneria!" An old, rough, and angry looking man stood pointing an accusatory finger at the official. The wind began to pick up, blowing the man's disheveled hair back and forth.
The official half surrendered his hands up in front of him. "Regardless, I can do nothing. This last ship is reserved for…" His voice trailed off.
"No, don't stop; tell us why we can't see our families! Tell us who is more important than us!"
"Look, I can't let you on this ship," the official was beginning to sweat. Things were spiraling out of control and he was not equipped to fend off a mob of refugees. "If you would please just step back in line, I'm sure there will be transports arriving momentarily."
"We can't wait any longer! Haven't you noticed that we're being invaded!" The wind began to howl, sweeping in the direction of the official.
The man rushed forward and grabbed at the official's collar with both hands. Confusion and terror washed over his captive's face.
"What are you doing?" He sputtered, "I'm not…I'm just…"
The shouting grew louder. Desperation echoed in the refugees voices. The wind strengthened, whipping through the air. They began inching forward, pushing the boy aside. The boy tried to look through the crowd, but they were overtaking him in multitude. He could no longer see the official, nor hear him, over the perturbed refugees. They began bumping into him, and then more aggressively. He was knocked to his knees as one after another they pushed their way to the front of the gate. He opened his mouth to speak out, but he began sweating. Twice he felt his words stop short at his throat. His mind assured him it was not terror but logic that restricted his voice. He was told there was nothing he could do. The point was futile. Reasoning tried to comfort him. Betray him.
He was on his hands and knees, paralyzed. It was not logic.
Someone took hold of the boys arm and jerked his body backwards. He was not pulled up, but down. He had to crawl awkwardly off his palms and toes to keep himself from being dragged on the ground. Through the forest of legs he was led. Like trees, they were browned with dirt and soil, the trunks rose high. The torso-canopy blocked out the sun, the frondescence swayed along to the wind. Their roots shook the ground, stealing the sustenance of the earth. Their leaves strongly fixed off their unjustly branches. The bark, stiff and stubborn, covered their being, shielded them. Blinded them.
Sunlight.
"Lucas?" The boy was released. They had emerged from the forest.
Lucas looked up at the figure that had carried him through. He wore, oddly, an off-white space suit begrimed with dust and fire burns. His head was encompassed by an ovular glass helmet with a kind of drooping antennae sprouting up from the center. He addressed the boy with a suspicious glare.
"Where's Ness, kid?"
Lucas fixed open his mouth and shook his head. He had seen this stout man before. Briefly, five years ago. His name was Olimar.
"Well?" Olimar looked impatient, and was coaxing Lucas to speak up.
Lucas's mind froze. His thoughts stopped. He had seen this stout man before. Captain Olimar. An arms dealer.
"Look, you had to have seen Ness. Do you even remember me?"
He had sold supplies to all sides in the first war. His discretion was lacking.
Olimar rolled his eyes and picked Lucas up. He grabbed his hand and led him away from the transport ship.
"I saw you back there. I know you heroes like to try to intervene in situations like that, but now is not the time," he checked back at the crowd, chaotic in nature. "When people get like that, there is no changing of minds. You'd have ended up mincemeat."
The two walked among the tents scattered across the camp. Fires were arranged, slowly cooking or boiling what little the refugees had. There were many lying famished or injured or dying. The wind began to subside.
"Yup, good thing I spotted you. Although, by the looks of it, you really don't look like you'd have said anything. You can speak, right?"
"…Yes."
He had only seen the captain once before. He had heard his name more. He was the reason why the Super Smash Brothers were able to repel the White Hands, and the reason the White Hands became a force to begin with.
"Then where's Ness? He called me a few minutes after the first ship touched down on Onett," The space captain pointed to the sky, miles away, above the city of Onett. It was enshrouded in a cloud of transgression. "He's lucky I was here, too, I was leaving yesterday but my ship started falling apart on me. The shock absorber flattened out, the starboard ionium jet was clogged, the omega stabilizer got dented somehow…hell, even my radio is bugging out."
Lucas was lost in thought. He was thinking back to Ness. The collapsed subway tunnel. The fire and the gun shots. The message Ness sent into his brain…
Olimar grabbed his attention, "Hey? Lucas?" They stopped walking, reaching the entrance of the Safety Zone.
Lucas reverted back to the captain. Ness had transmitted the thought, among many, to "trust the captain". He looked at the off-worlder with fleeting suspicion.
"We were separated…" Lucas immediately said, "Ness. I don't know where he is."
Olimar only nodded his head.
"I need to…Mario. I have to help him. And Link, and Fox…and Pikachu…"
Olimar raised his brow, "And Ness?"
Lucas shook his head in a rare display of confidence, "He did not tell me that."
Olimar shrugged, "Okay. My ship's over that hill there," He said, motioning past the gate. "Let's get going, Mushroom Kingdom is a day's travel from here."
Lucas followed the arms dealer. He did not trust him. But he trusted Ness.
The Halberd, sleeping quarters
He heard it again. He woke up from a short sleep to the sound of malicious laughter. Pigma.
Fox got up from his cot and walked over to the sink to wash his face, to clear his mind. Pigma's laugh was haunting him.
"Hey furball, we will be entering Pop Star airspace in ten minutes," Officer Vul had poked his head in. "Meta Knight wants to see you before we get there, so get a move on."
Fox glared in his direction and grunted. He picked up a towel and dried his face. He sighed and walked out of the room. A short walk down the hall and up the elevator, Fox entered the bridge. He passed Officer Vul standing tall aside the elevator door. Meta Knight was at the glass, overlooking the ship.
"It will be dangerous," Meta Knight said, turning to face Fox. "There is strife on Pop Star, much like there was five years ago."
"I'll be fine," Fox heard himself say.
Meta Knight nodded. "ROB is nearly fixed. We were able to extract data he received before he was damaged. He downloaded files relating to Pigma Dengar."
Fox shuddered at the mention of his name.
"There is a list of locations he has been in the past few days, as well as the last contacts he has met with."
"He must have searched them up right before Pigma…destroyed the Great Fox.." Fox commented sadly.
"Tell him what were in the files!" Vul chimed in eagerly, "…Sir."
Meta Knight took a moment's glare at his officer, enough to disturb his ego.
"What we found, Fox, were six other names, among others. We know these men, and they have associated themselves with Pigma recently."
"Who?"
"Bowser, Wario, Ganondorf, Mewtwo, Captain Falcon, and Luigi."
"So…so what? What does that mean?"
"It means Pigma has spoken to them. That is all." Meta Knight said, sounding unconvinced. "While we cannot prove anything definitively, there is a connection. We know nothing else."
"Traitors!" Vul squawked, "Seven deadly sinners, that's what they are!"
"Vul," Meta Knight turned to the bird, "Wait outside."
"But.." In a fit of embarrassment, the officer nodded angrily and stepped out of the bridge.
Fox shook his head, "As crazy as it sounds, Vul could be right. We don't know what to expect."
"No. We also cannot speculate to what ROB was unable to obtain before his process was disrupted. But these names prove my suspicions. This war is not restricted to our planets, but across the galaxy. There is no doubt we will meet our old compatriots yet again. But we must be careful who to trust."
"And who can we trust?"
Meta Knight turned back to the glass. "I do not know. I plan to assist my planet, however. Then I will go to Earth."
Fox looked worried. He sensed the answer to his question before he asked it, "Why Earth?"
"Snake."
Before Fox could express his concern, Officer Vul rushed in. "Sir! We just picked up something on the radar! Sensors indicate a large concentration of ships…there's a lot of radio chatter, sir. Something seems to be going on down there. Something big."
"Take us in, officer. Prepare for combat."
Officer Vul gulped, and saluted his captain, "Sir!" He ran back out.
Fox stepped up next to Meta Knight. "Are you sure about this?"
Meta Knight did not say anything. The Halberd headed into the unknown.
Pop Star Airspace, The Evangelizer
Pichu frantically stumbled through the shuttle. It was dark and the docking bay was lit with a dim flashing red light. Kirby and Pikachu lay motionless in a dark pool of blood. Jigglypuff was slumped against the back wall. He was trembling, from the fear and the cold. He crawled through a doorway into the cabin.
The dashboard was lit up with bright colored lights. Dials and switches littered the control panel. Pichu had no clue as to how to operate the ship and begun to panic. "The red dial…to your left" a voice coughed out from behind.
Pichu spun around to see Kirby hunched on the metal door frame. Blood was oozing out of his left shoulder, and his mouth was spattered with the same. He wheezed and coughed and pointed again toward the control board, "The…the left one!" He slumped down on the floor. Pichu spun the dial quickly and looked back to Kirby lying on the ground. Pichu heard a mutter from his collapsed body over the roar of the engines firing up. "Big…red.." Pichu scanned the board for the biggest of the red buttons and slammed his hand on it. It did not budge.
"Kirby! It's not working, it's not working!" Pichu frantically turned to Kirby, now crawling across the floor, staining the metal with a trail of blood. "Pull it…pull!" His voice scratched up his throat.
Pichu did as he was told, and the ship shook. The floor quaked and Pichu could feel the elevation. The ship was hovering. Pichu felt Kirby raise himself off his body. Kirby grabbed Pichu's hand and placed it on the throttle. "Drive." Kirby whispered into his ear, before pushing off his trembling body. Kirby stumbled back through the door and fell to the ground next to Pikachu. It took all his strength to pull his friend upright. They sat, Kirby holding Pikachu, leaning against the side wall. Pikachu's eyes opened weakly. They were flickering.
"I've…gotta…" Pikachu winced, "I…don't have long...do I?"
"You're fine," Kirby was breathing heavily, "You're going to be fine."
He glanced down at his friend. There were new bullet wounds trailing up Pikachu's chest.
"Time to talk…then…" Pikachu was struggling to breathe, and tried to slow himself down. "What's bothered me all these years was that whenever the crystal shards were mentioned or depicted…in my research I mean…the phrase 'edge of power' followed… I never thought anything…about it until now…What if we made a mistake…what if the crystal shards were something more…" Pikachu's eyes widened with terror, "what if they're found…?"
Tears trickled down Pikachu's cheek. The wound was worse than Kirby thought. Pikachu didn't have long.
"Pikachu…!" Kirby swallowed hard, trying to push back his emotions. Kirby closed his eyes. He couldn't bear to witness the true real fear reflected on Pikachu's face. His friend was about to die, and all he could think about was how appalled he was by it. By him. Kirby embraced his friend, sobbing, helpless.
"Kirb..y….I need to…tell you s…something now…okay?" Pikachu grimaced in pain, eyes slowly drooping down.
"Y..yeah, I'm ready…"
"I…tempt…the elm…foe. Mewtwo is…" Pikachu coughed up blood, his words barely audible now, "he's listening..." Pikachu slowly, weakly rose his arm to point to his head, "Help Pi..chu help y..ou…Sor..rry...I couldn't…help..mo…"
He trailed off; he closed his eyes.
"It's okay…it's okay," Kirby couldn't let go of his hand. He couldn't let go of his friend.
