August 26, 2004
Hallways of Smash Mansion
It had been almost two years since the conflict began. As soon as the five members of the High-Tier Clique were back in action, their first thoughts were how to get back at the Low-Tier Clique for their humiliation. Pretty soon, shots were fired on both sides as the Low-Tier Clique fought back against the renewed assault. Kirby, for one, released the footage of the High-Tier Clique using him as a soccer ball to the other Smashers, and even showed it on the projector during dinner one night. Horrified by such awful treatment of their shining star and vowing never to leave one of their own to die ever again, they used the footage to publicly antagonize the High-Tier Clique, whom responded in kind by burning Mewtwo's tails on the fireplace in the lobby as a show of strength. As far as the high-tiers were concerned, they no longer cared about appealing to the other Smashers; the evidence was clearly against them, and so their only objective now was to attack the low-tiers at every single opportunity. But unlike last time, the low-tiers hit back, while the other Smashers really began to back up the Low-Tier Clique's defense as well. But more than that, the low-tiers had each other. Every single time one of them got battered, there were always six other people ready to jump to their rescue. The cycle of suffering, retribution and triumph became a perpetual theme of the entire tournament, and it did not go unnoticed by the community either. When Smash Blog opened in autumn 2003, the Low-Tier Clique released a joint statement detailing their ordeals immediately after the tier list's release, the High-Tier Clique's treatment of them, and Master Hand's unwillingness to do anything about the situation. They released the video footage and all evidence they could get their hands on, slowly but surely turning the general public to their side. The High-Tier Clique attempted to fight back with strong statements and call-outs, but the lack of evidence hurt their case.
These statements also brought Master Hand's authority into question, with many spectators denouncing him as uncaring about his Smashers and only focused on running the tournament. The twelve combined members of the High-Tier and Low-Tier Cliques all uploaded posts to the Smash Blog that more or less conveyed a vote of no confidence, and soon several other Smashers, followers, and even Crazy Hand jumped on the bandwagon, making Master Hand look like a complete fool. Cornered and totally helpless, he finally agreed to issue more severe sanctions to his Smashers in the future. This change actually caused a lengthy ceasefire between both sides as no one was willing to risk Master Hand's newfound wrath, but it was the High-Tier Clique that cracked first after five months, and Master Hand followed through on his promises by having the perpetrators' meals pre-determined for an entire week – and not just that, but the meals were absolutely disgusting, with no desserts or drinks to wash the taste away. Several of the high-tiers ended up throwing up in the middle of a Melee that week, which certainly didn't help them from the spectators' point of view.
Fox's conscience ultimately ended up catching up to him. Around the time that Smash Blog opened, he gradually stopped showing up to High-Tier Clique meetings and eventually dropped out entirely. He'd lost several Melees to the low-tiers, destroying his pride, and that had allowed him to finally come to terms with the truth: that he was wrong. He didn't have the honor to admit it and apologize, though. The next day, he didn't sit with the other high-tiers at breakfast, instead choosing to position himself as far away from both cliques as he could. This ended up placing him at a table with Yoshi and Mr. Game & Watch, who seemed mildly confused and a little bit wary at his sudden arrival. Still, he kept his head down and ate his food wordlessly before leaving for Melees. Then he did the same thing the next day, and the day after that, day after day after day until finally his presence at the table was close enough to being invisible. The low-tiers caught on that he didn't want to fight them anymore, although none of them ever went to confirm it with him. And the other high-tiers, for their part, didn't miss him all that much. They weren't really an actual clique, or even a team. More of an alliance, a guild more than anything. His absence wasn't going to detract from their mission, but then they realized they'd lost a fifth of their manpower, and they began to get desperate.
And so it was that the four remaining members of the High-Tier Clique gathered in the dark of night to launch a brutal attack on Ness while he was sleeping. They hadn't done anything noteworthy to the low-tiers in several months, figuring that they would be lulled into a false sense of security. They weren't. Ness immediately pressed a button next to his bed when he heard the high-tiers barging into his room, and pretty soon, the low-tiers all darted out of their rooms and into Ness's, and all hell broke loose. Several other Smashers, awoken by the commotion, also hurried to Ness's room to defend the low-tiers. The high-tiers fought like men possessed, and they actually managed to do some serious damage, unleashing all of their fury upon anything they could find. Being outside of the protection systems of Melee stages, their attacks were deadly and damaging, fueled by their mindless intent to hurt the low-tiers, and wanting nothing more than to make them suffer.
Finally, after several minutes of bloody, violent brawling, Mewtwo was able to knock Marth out cold by hurling him into the wall with his psychokinesis, rendering the last of the high-tiers unconscious. The Low-Tier Clique had won the battle, but not without a price. Ness hadn't been able to escape unscathed, sustaining several awful bruises from where Falco had barreled into him; Roy was knocked out cold from a blow to the back of his neck by Captain Falcon; and Bowser's hands were bleeding profusely from when he grabbed Marth's sword and threw it out the window.
Pichu was perhaps the most concerning case, however. In the middle of the scuffle, he'd noticed Pikachu getting knocked down by Ganondorf, who was bearing down upon his brother with menace. He saw everything happen in slow motion: Ganondorf concentrating dark magic and pulling his fist back, lips flared in a nasty snarl; Pikachu lying helpless on the ground, bracing himself for the impact; and then…well, nothing.
Pichu never realized that, by pure brotherly instinct, he'd hurled himself between Ganondorf and Pikachu, taking the Warlock Punch at point-blank range and flying straight into the back wall. He vaguely registered someone screaming, and then all was dark.
Several of his organs were ruptured by the sheer force of the punch, his ribs were shattered, and the dark magic seeped into his skin and slowly began to poison him. But it didn't hurt at all. Pichu felt…well…peaceful, and he considered the fact that maybe he was dying or something like that. But he didn't care about it too much, because he felt just fine.
He blacked out completely.
Moments later, Master Hand made his way to Ness's room to see the commotion. Along the way, he passed by Pikachu, frantic and distraught, carrying Pichu to the hospital wing as fast as he could.
"Wha…what happened here, Pikachu?" he asked.
Pikachu simply turned and glared at him in disgust. "Go to Ness's room and you'll see," he said quickly, before scampering off again.
Master Hand shrugged and continued on. When he arrived at Ness's room, he was greeted by incredibly stern looks from the conscious Smashers, as if they were trying to stare a hole through him.
He subconsciously shifted back just a bit. "Uh…so…what happened here?"
"The high-tiers tried to attack Ness when he was sleeping," Zelda started. "But thankfully he had the composure to ring the bell and alert us to his plight. We came as fast us we could and subdued them, but we sustained heavy injuries."
"I'm telling you, Master Hand, you're still not doing enough to stop them!" said Bowser. "They attacked little Ness with the intent to kill. Just look at the security footage! If we hadn't intervened, it's likely he would've died. They don't know when to stop, and that's all because of you! You, I say!"
"I'm gonna have to agree with them on this one, Master Hand," Mario said. "Once word of this gets out, the public is going to be furious. Smash may even get boycotted as a result."
"What? But…how? That isn't possible."
"It is, Master Hand," Mewtwo responded. "All we need to do is release the security footage on Smash Blog and they'll know. Which is why we're offering you one last chance to make amends."
"Uh…alright? I'm not really sure what's going on, but your terms."
"If you sufficiently discipline the high-tiers so that we deem it satisfactory, then we'll leave it be. But if you don't, we're going to release the footage. That is our final ultimatum for you. Take it or leave it."
Master Hand considered the situation at hand. He knew better than to risk his reputation over something he didn't care much for, but at the same time, he was getting tired of this whole conflict and wanted nothing more than to put an end to it. He was fairly certain that the high-tiers would only become more livid after this. And that would mean more disputes to settle, more punishments to dole out, and less time for him to manage the tournament. He really didn't want to deal with it anymore. He would've just expelled all twelve Smashers from the tournament, but that wasn't a good business move, but at the same time…
He must've slipped his guard a little too much, however, because all of a sudden Mewtwo had gotten into his head and was decidedly messing with his thoughts.
Oh come on, Master Hand. Surely you know better than to do that.
Master Hand nearly reeled back at the sudden shock of Mewtwo's voice blaring in his "head". How in the world did he get in there anyway?
What the hell are you doing in my thoughts, Mewtwo?
Mewtwo paused for a moment, and Master Hand could've sworn he was hearing the psychic contemplating his thoughts. It was a foreign feeling, of something wriggling around in his mind. He glanced at Mewtwo, who was blissfully ignoring him with a small smirk on his face. Master Hand sighed. He certainly had the power to eject Mewtwo from his mind, but he was still waiting on an answer.
And then…
Remember the boycott, Master Hand.
He gasped in surprise. Of course! The boycott. He'd almost forgotten it already. If he didn't do something, Smash would get boycotted.
He absolutely would not allow his precious tournament to get boycotted. Of course not! How could he possibly allow that? This was his life's work, his purpose, his vocation, his everything that he'd ever dreamed of accomplishing in life!
That's when he realized what he had to do.
"Yes, yes, of course!" he piped. "I'll make sure to do that. Don't you worry, Mewtwo, I won't let them get away with it." Then he left quickly, a little embarrassed that he had been coerced so easily by the threat of a boycott of all things.
Seeing his job was done, Mewtwo removed himself from Master Hand's mind and, dropping the smirk from his face, turned and left swiftly for the hospital wing. Zelda scooped up Ness and a shocked Kirby, Bowser picked Roy up in his bloody hands, and they followed, not quite sure what had just happened. It didn't matter. It seemed Master Hand had agreed to what they'd asked of him, which was fine with them. At the moment, they were far more concerned for their injured than any form of justice the high-tiers deserved for their criminal actions.
They found Pikachu alone in the waiting room, curled up into a ball on the couch. He was crying. No, scratch that, he was having a complete and utter meltdown. It'd only been a few minutes since he'd come here, and already his tears were piling up on the floor without end, threatening to drown him in his own sadness. He was sobbing so incredibly violently that they feared he was going to pass out from a lack of air. He was struggling awfully to stop; they all knew he was. It was vicarious and extraordinarily painful, hearing him trying so desperately to contain himself, to save his throat from agony, to save what little dignity he had left from imploding. But he couldn't stop. His emotions were overriding his physical free will. His throat sounded like it was shredding apart as he kept sobbing – and sobbing – and sobbing still. He sounded like he himself was in actual physical pain, as if someone was grabbing his throat and slowly crushing it between their fingers. It was absolutely heartwrenching.
Seeing his dear friend in such a state shook Kirby from his state of confusion. He couldn't bear to hear or see poor little Pikachu the way he was anymore, and so he immediately jumped down from Zelda's arms and joined the mouse on the couch. He hugged him tight, tears welling up in his blue oval eyes, and Pikachu grabbed onto Kirby desperately, accepting the physical contact with hunger. Both of them said nothing.
Zelda sighed at the sight. This conflict was beginning to wear everyone down, not just them and the high-tiers. The other Smashers had dutifully sided with them against the High-Tier Clique, but she could sense that even they were beginning to grow tired of this conflict.
She knew all too well what Ganondorf was capable of, even when untransformed. To eat a Warlock Punch point-blank was considered a death sentence back home. Even though its power had been intentionally lowered at Smash, when it came to a small, fragile mouse like Pichu, it was just as damaging.
So this was what the high-tiers had resorted to now? Assault and battery? Attacking with the intent to kill? Those crimes deserved a death sentence themselves. She only just realized now how truly awful things were getting. They could yet get worse.
She shuddered, briskly opening the door to the hospital wing and gently handing Ness over the wire frames. Then she left quickly, not sure where she was going. All she wanted was to get away from this…this nightmare.
September 8, 2004
Mewtwo's room
"Oh come on! Why isn't the Wind Waker doing anything? This game sucks!"
"It's not the game's fault! You're just stupid!"
"I am not!"
"Yes you are!"
"No I'm not!"
"Yes you are! You're supposed to use the D-pad, not the goddamn joystick!"
"What do you know? You're not even from modern society. You grew up with sticks and stones as your entertainment, Roy!"
"So what? You're the primitive fire-breathing turtle with a hopeless crush on a princess whom you've taken hostage umpteen times, is a human, and is taken!"
"That has nothing to do with my intelligence!"
"Yes it does!"
"No it doesn't!"
"Does too!"
"Poyo!"
"What? Kirby, you better stay out of this, please."
"Poyo! Poyo!" Kirby was practically jumping to get Roy and Bowser's attention.
"I said stay the hell out of this, Kirby!"
"Link poyo! Dead poyo!"
"What are you talking about?" Roy asked impatiently.
Ness interrupted him. "He's saying Link's dead!"
"WHAT!?" shouted Bowser and Roy and the same time.
Ness just sighed and pointed at the screen. "A Gyorg just jumped your boat and killed Link."
"They did what? No! Our progress! Now we're gonna have to start over! This is your fault, Roy! You got us into this stupid argument in the first place!"
"Hey! I wasn't the one who was so stupid I didn't know how to play the Wind Waker! This is your fault!"
"No, it's yours!"
"No it's not!"
"Yes it is!"
Ness facepalmed. Those two just always had to bicker over the dumbest things. Kirby just giggled.
"How are you feeling, Pichu?"
*sniff* "I'm cold."
"Oh. Do you need another blanket?"
"I'd…I'd like that. Thanks. And uh…can you also…hehe…"
"What is it? Please don't be afraid to ask for anything. You deserve everything for what you've been through."
Pichu's face flushed in embarrassment and he looked away. "Could you please warm my ears with your magic?" he asked quietly.
"Of course."
Zelda unfolded her Sheik shawl and carefully wrapped it around Pichu's body. Mewtwo helped out, suspending him in the air while she siphoned some heat into Pichu's ears to warm them up. He sighed in relaxation, and stopped shivering as Zelda tucked him back into Mewtwo's bed.
"There you go. Feeling better?" she asked gently.
Pichu managed to smile weakly. "Y-yeah. Thanks, you guys. You're the best."
Pichu had been sick ever since being discharged from the hospital wing. His organs had been repaired quickly and most of the poison had been neutralized, but residual traces lingered in his bloodstream and they could not be safely removed. The remaining poison would fade eventually, but in the meantime it was ravaging Pichu's body and it would be a long time – several years in fact – before he'd be healthy again. With no other cure to his disease but time, he was allowed to rejoin his friends. The entire tournament had been suspended for a month as everyone dealt with the aftermath of what had transpired in their own separate ways.
Master Hand, fearful of the leverage that Mewtwo and the low-tiers held over him, had finally gone ahead and doled out a deserved punishment: segregating the prosecuted high-tiers from the rest of the Smashers. They were now forced to live out the rest of the tournament in a remote house on the outskirts of Smashville, and were only allowed back into Smash Mansion to enter Melees. In addition, they were not allowed to leave their residence without express permission, and had to adhere to a strict curfew as well. Ganondorf also received his own additional punishment for nearly murdering an innocent Smasher: the promise that his power would be nerfed into the ground for the next tournament if he decided to remain at Smash. It was a humiliating indictment for all involved, not the least for Master Hand himself, whom felt slighted that the low-tiers had coerced him into essentially imprisoning some of his best Smashers.
Even the low-tiers themselves hadn't been happy. They'd wanted all of the accused to be expelled from the tournament for life, but Master Hand had begged them to let the high-tiers stay because he needed the profit from their matches. It took a full week of toiling negotiations before they eventually settled on the final solution, and they'd walked out of Master Hand's office that day with distinctly sour tastes in their mouths.
As always, however, they found their reprieve within each other. The first day after the attack was incredibly rough for just about everyone. The weight of the situation at hand was overwhelming, but it was not unbearable with so many hands to hold it at bay. The Low-Tier Clique gathered in the hospital wing to stand vigil over their stricken members, holding quiet but wholesome conversations with each other and simply taking solace in each other's company. The reality of the previous night had hit hard, exposing their mortality even in the face of Smash's safety measures, and as the day wore on, each member of this once-persecuted group began to strip away their walls and barriers, exposing their raw and tortured souls for all to see. For the first time ever, there were no dramatic blowups between Roy and Bowser, no sardonic comments from Mewtwo, not even the slightest bit of mischief from Kirby or Ness. There was only unity, and a feeling of belonging. They needed little else. For the six conscious members, it was a day in which they became more than just friends and playmates, but rather confidants and kindred spirits.
Ness and Roy were discharged the day after, though they stayed in the hospital wing with the rest of the Low-Tier Clique. Together, the six of them spent much of the first week watching over Pichu's unconscious form with Pikachu, whom simply stared at his little brother the whole time, blank-faced and unmoving. It was as if he were frozen in time, as if he wasn't even aware that they were there with him. The only signs that he was even alive were the occasional blink of his eyes and the barely detectable ebb and flow of his breath.
The low-tiers tried giving him the love they all knew he needed, but it was slow going at first. Kirby tried to hug him again like the night of the attack, but this time he was met with no physical response. Ness tried to get him to laugh with funny stories he'd made up spontaneously, but it was as if Pikachu couldn't hear him. Zelda attempted to converse with him as well, but she too was met with silence.
Thankfully, Mewtwo was able to physically provoke a response from Pikachu on the sixth day – by grabbing him with his psychokinesis and throwing him into the wall. It was crude, but it did what had to be done. Pikachu, out of pure instinct, attacked Mewtwo with his electricity and burnt him quite heavily. Then Pikachu saw just who he had attacked, eyes wide and surprised.
And then he broke down. Again. It was too much. He was barely able to contain himself just seeing Pichu's near-lifeless form. It was watching Mewtwo writhe in agony because of his own absent-mindedness that caused the dam to break once more.
The low-tiers sprang to give Pikachu every piece of emotional support they could. It was mostly Kirby and Ness jumping on him and squeezing him half to death, but it was enough. After close to half an hour of nonstop bawling, they'd just about started to calm him down when Pichu woke up. Years later, he'd confide to the clique that it was the sound of his big bro crying that had ultimately managed to stir him from his slumber.
Of course, many more tears were shed that night, but out of relief rather than hopelessness. Pichu weakly accepted everybody's hugs for what seemed like hours before he started having a coughing fit and everyone realized that they should probably give him some space. When Dr. Mario finally told them to leave, they all hugged Pichu again before departing hesitantly. They came right back in the morning with a bunch of chocolate donuts for his enjoyment.
The other Smashers and most of the community offered what little support they could, although a few diehard fans of the high-tiers continued to harbor resentment towards them for what had happened. Nevertheless, attendance for the low-tiers' matches were slowly on the rise, and they were beginning to resemble their pre-tier list levels by now.
Everything, it seemed, had finally returned to normal. The high-tiers were no longer a danger and the low-tiers were finally free of their tormentors. Smash had once more managed to overcome the aftershock of the tier list, albeit in a far more violent and lengthy manner than the first tournament. It seemed as though every last member of Smash Mansion was involved in this overarching conflict, from the high-tiers to the low-tiers to everyone in between to Master Hand and Crazy Hand to the entire Smash community. It had taken a countless amount of blood and bruises, many sleepless nights spent in agony, and devastating long-term effects to just about everyone's mental health, but at last, the crucible had reached its conclusion.
Perhaps not surprisingly, however, things would never be the same, especially not for the Low-Tier Clique. While their hearts were pieces of paper that had been crumpled into balls of anguish, the wrinkles still remained even after they were unfolded. The emotional scars of the past few years had cut too deep. They would likely never heal, and, as far as the low-tiers were concerned, they would remain for all eternity.
But maybe, despite all the pain and suffering they had endured for such a long period of time, despite all the injustice and hatred they'd had to overcome, despite all the trauma and nightmares that would follow, maybe – just maybe – that was okay.
Because if there was one thing they'd gained from the entire ordeal, it was the comfort in the fact that they were not alone. Indeed, the Low-Tier Clique had grown into quite the little motley band of Smashers over the course of the Melee tournament. And even if they would forever carry the weight of the tier list on their shoulders, they would never have to do it by themselves ever again.