It was Christmas at Smash Mansion, and for most of the Smashers it was a time of celebration and bonding. Everyone went about their day as if everything was normal – the Melees came and went as usual, the Smashers joined their friends and had a good time, and Crazy Hand went around poking his "nose" in places where it didn't belong. After the Melees finally concluded at the day's end, they gathered in the cafeteria for a hearty Christmas meal, complete with Master Hand adorning the giant Christmas tree with the star. All of the Smashers – especially the High-Tier Clique – enjoyed themselves immensely.
Well, all of the Smashers that attended, that is.
Master Hand immediately noticed something off. Only 18 of the seats in the cafeteria were filled; 7 were empty. Pulling up the roster to identify the missing seven, he methodically made his way down the list, identifying each Smasher that wasn't and was present.
Some of the names didn't surprise him, but some definitely did. He could understand Mewtwo and Bowser not wanting to come, but where were Kirby, Ness, and Roy? He'd thought them to be the most outgoing, friendly, and boisterous Smashers, and yet they weren't even here celebrating Christmas with everyone else.
Somehow, he'd completely forgotten that these seven Smashers were the exact same people who had constantly bugged his work every day for weeks, bursting into his office and reporting a bullying incident again and again and again only for him to dismiss them with a wave of his hand.
"Mario," he called. Sitting beside Peach and Luigi with a plate of spaghetti in front of him, said plumber turned in his seat to face his superior.
"Yes, Master Hand?"
"Would you mind going to check on Kirby, Ness, and Roy? Something tells me that something's wrong with them if they're not here at the Christmas dinner."
"Give me just a moment, Master Hand. I'll go when I finish this plate. I don't want it to get cold."
"Of course. There's no need to rush," Master Hand assured.
He was wrong.
"Oh yeah, baby! Cheers to our continued success in Smash!"
"We'll be winning these Melees just by standing there!"
"Yeah! Luigi's not the only one who can win by doing absolutely nothing!"
"Those low-tiers better run for their life!"
"Hear! Hear!"
Low-tiers. It was a word that, for better or worse, was the most commonly spoken word among the High-Tier Clique, all of whom were now gathered drinking beer at the Christmas party; none of them fully drunk, but all of them laughing hysterically.
"Oh yeah! I think it's about time we pranked those low-tiers again!"
"Yeah! They think they can hide from us in their rooms? Oh, boy, we are really going to teach them a lesson now!"
"I wonder which of those low-tiers we should target this time?"
"I think we should prank Kirby again! I'm sure he won't be mad at us, with how gullible and forgiving he is."
"Or Pichu!"
"Or Ness!"
"Or Roy!"
"Or Bowser! We'll really give him a taste of his own medicine."
"Hmph. Why not all of them? They all deserve a little bit of fun," suggested Ganondorf with a smirk.
"Then what do you suggest we do, then, Mr. Always-Loses-to-an-Elf?" Fox jeered.
Ganondorf betrayed no emotion at Fox's snide remark, but he took great pleasure in delivering a hard kick to the space animal's shin from under the table, sending him reeling and falling out of his chair in pain. "It's simple. Tonight, we'll go ahead and capture them and lock them outside in the cold."
Five evil laughs came from the table in harmony, but, drowned out by the Christmas music and their own chatter, none of the other Smashers or Master Hand were aware of what was going on. Besides, none of them cared anyway.
"All right, we'll put this plan into action tonight. Fox, you take care of Mewtwo. Falco, you'll take Roy. Marth, take Ness, Kirby, and Pichu. Falcon, you take Bowser. As for myself, I think I'll take it upon myself to kidnap the princess. A little bit of personal revenge, on my part. Let's go get 'em now: swoop in, bring them outside, tie them up together, and laugh at their faces while we go inside and lock the door."
"Like right now? I haven't even finished drinking," whined Falco.
"Shut it, fly guy. The longer they freeze out there, the better, and Master Hand will be distracted by the party."
"Ha! Perfect. Those low-tiers won't know what hit them," finished Captain Falcon.
After exchanging a knowing glance between each other, the King of Evil and the four newly-converted villains stood up from their seats abruptly, before briskly walking out of the cafeteria in a single-file line. Nobody noticed them leave.
About three minutes later, Mario finally finished his plate of spaghetti and left to check on the Smashers that weren't present.
He was two minutes and fifty-nine seconds too late.
Only a few weeks ago, Roy's room was never quiet. He constantly had friends over playing Melee, or some other random video game, or even his favorite board game from home, chess. They would put some rad tunes on Roy's speaker, preferably at max volume, and jam out to all sorts of music while they messed around. It was sometimes hard for other Smashers to fall asleep because Roy would constantly be partying and having the time of his life in his room until midnight, all day, every day.
Needless to say, once the High-Tier Clique got their hands on him, Roy's room became eerily, uncannily quiet. None of his friends – Falco, Fox, Captain Falcon, and Marth included – wanted to come to his room anymore. In fact, they all wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. They had been swallowed whole by the low-tier bug, and where they had once made him happy and shared memories with him, their only mission now was to make his life as miserable as possible. Granted, they were nicer to him than the others – the worst thing any of them ever did to him was deleting his Melee save – but the betrayal destroyed him. There was nothing left to salvage of their old relationships.
Gone were the days of the Smashers trying to fall asleep to Roy's partying, replaced overnight by the Smashers trying to fall asleep to the deafening silence. And that included himself sometimes, because it was just that difficult for Roy to fall asleep when he lay in bed at night, tormented by the memories of everything he once had; memories of everything that he might never have again because of the tier list.
The goddamn tier list. The bane of his existence, the root of all his troubles. The very thing that destroyed his life at Smash.
I almost managed to save myself, he affirmed. Almost. At least that was what he believed, anyway. In reality, he hadn't even come close to righting the ship before it capsized.
Because when he'd broken into Master Hand's office the day the tier list was released, it was as if the appendage just knew exactly what he was going to ask.
The door burst open with a bang. Master Hand jolted up from his desk quickly, and when he tilted himself upright to look at the intruder, he came face-to-face (hand-to-face?) with a very angry Roy. His red hair seemingly burned a shade brighter than usual, his eyes betrayed hurt and frustration, and his fists were balled up at his sides. He just looked like he was about to explode with a fully charged Flare Blade.
Master Hand kept his cool. He had an inkling of exactly what Roy was here for, because he'd already been confronted by Ganondorf, Young Link, and Donkey Kong that morning, all wanting – nay, demanding to know why they hadn't been ranked at least five places higher on the tier list than they actually were.
He sighed internally. If one more Smasher came to him complaining about the tier list, he would've probably lost it.
"Roy, if you're here to debate your ranking on the tier list, then no. It is final."
Roy stopped dead in his tracks. So Master Hand knew he was coming? How dare he act so casual about the whole thing!
It's no big deal, he thought. Surely I'll be able to convince him.
He took a step forward, practically touching Master Hand with his nose, his eyes fixed into a hot, fiery glare.
"But what about my effectiveness against Fox and Falco? If they're both top-tier and I'm really good at fighting them, then how come I'm so low?"
"I'm afraid the tier list is strictly based on your win-loss record, Roy. I've said it many times already."
"Nobody cares that I lose to those…those other low-tiers! I have a fantastic niche, and I think that alone warrants at least a top-10 ranking!" Years later, Roy would realize the hypocrisy in these words, but for now he was still convinced he was right. And, suddenly noticing the other presence in the office, he turned to face it, hoping that it would be a sympathizer to his plea. "Right, Crazy Hand?"
Unsurprisingly, the other Hand was taken aback by the question. "Uh, say what again?"
Roy mentally facepalmed. He was starting to lose his patience already. "Crazy Hand, don't you think I deserve to be much higher on the tier list because I counter Fox and Falco so well?"
On his part, Crazy Hand couldn't have cared less about Roy or the tier list, but he figured angering his twin was a good idea. "Oh! Um, yeah, I really think you should listen to him, bro!"
Master Hand sighed. He was no stranger to Crazy Hand's antics, but he knew how to get out of the situation easily. Turning to his brother, he made a thumbs down gesture with his body. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Crazy," and, turning back to Roy, he said, "and Roy, I'm afraid you've gravely committed the error of hindsight bias. You see, you certainly cared about beating the low-tiers before the tier list, but now that the tier list is out, your matchups against the low-tiers are suddenly insignificant in your eyes."
"That doesn't matter!"
"Oh, yes it does. Even if you're good against two Smashers and bad against twenty-three, it doesn't matter who those two Smashers are. Fox, for example, is good against all twenty-five Smashers, and that's why he won the most matches and placed first."
"Well, if I counter the two best Smashers, I think it warrants a better placement than if I countered the two worst Smashers, right?"
"Are you dumb, Roy? Fox and Falco were not the so-called best Smashers until the tier list came out, just like how Kirby and Bowser were not the so-called worst Smashers until the tier list came out."
"That's a load of crap, Master Hand, and you know it."
Now Master Hand chuckled and raised his thumb and pinkie as if he were shrugging. "It is not, I'm afraid. You're just, uh, what is the word again? Spicy? Wait, no. Salty. Yeah, that's right. You're salty about the tier list and so you think you deserve to be an exception. Rules are rules, Roy, and I'm afraid the rules are that the tier list is based strictly on win-loss records. Instead of arguing for a better ranking, you could try and, you know, improve against the other low-tiers. Based on what you just said, they should be easy opponents to beat next time, no? Just win more matches, Roy, and you'll be ranked higher on the next tier list."
Roy wasn't listening. He'd already stomped out of Master Hand's office, slamming the door behind him. He went straight back to his room and roared profanity into his pillow, true to his moniker as the Young Lion.
He wasn't even close to prepared for what was to come in the following weeks.
A knock on the door brought Roy out of his reverie. He didn't bother getting up from his bed.
"Hello?" he said quietly, but just loud enough so that the unexpected visitor could hear him.
"Roy? It's me, Mario." Spoke a decidedly unusual voice.
Roy huffed in frustration. He really did not want to get up right now, but Mario needed him for something, and he had long decided that he didn't want to make any more enemies than he already had. Grunting as he rose, he trudged to the door and opened it…
…and then he was immediately grabbed by his collar and carried off down the hallway.
"Wha – hey! What's wrong with you, Mario? Put me down!" Roy struggled against his captor, but to no avail. He was a low-tier, after all.
"Ha! I was so prepared to break down your door, Roy, but it seems you were too gullible to realize that I don't sound like that pesky plumber at all."
And suddenly, Roy realized. Indeed, the voice he'd heard at his door wasn't Mario at all, but rather…
Falco.
The anger erupted from him just moments after.
"You!" he shouted. "I never thought you an honorable guy to begin with, but since when were you willing to stoop this low just because I'm some low-tier, huh? What the hell is wrong with you, Falco?"
"Hey, man," Falco replied casually. "I'm just doing what I've been told to do, and that's to bring you outside by any means necessary. Of course, I highly doubt you'd willingly just leave with me after what's happened these last few weeks, so of course I had to find some other way to get you out of that dungeon you've been stuck in."
"You piece of crap! You think this is funny? I thought we were friends!"
"Well, not anymore! I'm finished with you, low-tier!"
"What's so wrong about that, huh? Since when did low-tiers make bad friends?"
"Low-tiers are weak! They don't deserve to be friends with high-tiers. They're only going to rely on the high-tiers to protect them."
"You think just because I'm a low-tier that I can't protect myself?"
"You bet I do!"
"And why are you making my life miserable?"
"Because you need to learn a lesson! You need to learn how to defend yourself!"
"And why do you care?"
"Because I want to be your friend!"
"You said you were finished with me!"
"Because you're not strong enough yet to deserve my trust!"
Roy was totally floored. But more than that, he was slowly shattering into a million pieces. Falco was being delusional now, and completely out of his mind. Here he was, deliberately sabotaging his attempts at blissful solitude and basically kidnapping him in the name of friendship. And if Falco did it, then there was no doubt in Roy's mind that Fox, Falcon, and Marth were also going to do the same.
And soon, it dawned upon Roy that his friends had never trusted him after all. Everything that they had ever done with him, all the memories they had shared together, all the games they'd played together to while the evenings away, were pointless. The entirety of the past year was pointless.
His entire existence was pointless.
It took all of his willpower not to cry in front of Falco. The bird was right about one thing, after all: he needed to learn how to defend himself.
"All right, boss. The last one's here."
Falco shoved Roy onto the ground outside unceremoniously, the redhead faceplanting into the snow and shuddering as his entire head smashed into the frozen water vapor. He hadn't bothered to take his armor off since the Melees ended, meaning he was still in his short-sleeved tunic with only white leather pants and thin blue boots. It was, to his dismay, extremely cold outside, with a sharp howling wind piercing his exposed skin and the snow on him melting into water that siphoned his body heat. It was freezing, to be frank, and he didn't have his sword either to make a fire.
Faintly aware of Falco watching him still, Roy gently pushed himself off the ground and got up, doing everything in his power to not shiver. He couldn't afford to show any weakness to the high-tiers. Standing up from the ground, Roy looked up to see all five members of the High-Tier Clique, each and every one of them with their arms crossed and sporting smug expressions on their faces.
"Ugh…you bastards…" said someone from behind him.
Whirling around, Roy came face-to-face with perhaps the one Smasher whom he'd not said a single word to the whole tournament: Mewtwo, lying on his side in the snow, eyes narrowed with murderous intent. And behind the Legendary Pokémon were the other low-tiers, all looking very defeated.
Lying face-up in the snow with a glossy, empty gaze was Pichu, his ears drooping at an impossible angle and his fur a ghastly pale yellow; beside him, Kirby sat with a frightened expression, nearly blue from the cold, arms hugging himself, shivering badly; Ness sitting cross-legged on the snow, looking down into his lap, his arms pulled up into his sleeves and into his shirt; Zelda, looking more disheveled than one could ever have imagined her, warming her hands with a fireball; and Bowser, his shell badly scarred, lying on his stomach with tears threatening to come out of his eyes.
Ganondorf took a step forward, and the low-tiers' eyes widened. What was he going to do to them?
"Your report, Mario?"
"None of them are in their rooms, Master Hand," stated Mario simply. "Maybe they went out together?"
"I see. Yes, it seems like a likely explanation. Then that is all, then. You are dismissed," Master Hand replied.
In his mind, he dismissed the possibility of something possibly being wrong with any of the low-tiers. He figured that they could handle themselves in a pinch, anyway.
He couldn't have been more wrong. The low-tiers were now completely on their own from now on, and he didn't even realize that he'd totally just left them out to dry.