The Death of Mario

The hospital room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic life Mario had led for decades. There were no explosions, no screaming Teletubbies, and no flying pingas. Instead, there was only the rhythmic, agonizingly slow *beep... beep... beep...* of the heart monitor. Mario lay propped up against the thin pillows, his belly—usually round and full of pasta—looking strangely deflated. His mustache, once vibrant and bushy, seemed to have lost its luster.

With a trembling hand that lacked its usual strength, Mario reached into the abyss of his cap. He fumbled for a moment before pulling out his smartphone. The screen was cracked, probably from the time he tried to use it as a coaster for a hot plate of ravioli, but it still flickered to life. His vision was blurring, the colors of the room bleeding into a dull gray, but he found the icon he was looking for.

He hit the group call button.

Over at the Showgrounds, the atmosphere was the polar opposite. SMG4 was hunched over his computer, frantically editing a video while Meggy and Tari argued over a round of *Super Smash Each Other in the Ass Brothers*. Saiko was tuning her guitar, and Bob was trying to convince Fishy Boopkins that anime was a tax write-off.

"Guys, shut up for a second!" SMG4 yelled, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "My phone is blowing up. Who’s calling at this hour?"

He pulled the device from his pocket and blinked. "It’s Mario. He’s probably stuck in a vending machine again."

SMG4 swiped the screen and put it on speaker, projecting the video onto the large monitor in the main room. "Mario, if this is about the secret stash of spaghetti under the floorboards, I already told you—"

The words died in his throat. The entire crew froze as the image stabilized.

Mario wasn't in a kitchen. He wasn't in a dungeon or a pit of lava. He was in a cold, sterile hospital bed, surrounded by wires and tubes. His eyes were half-lidded, his face pale.

"Hey... guys," Mario rasped. His voice was thin, stripped of its usual boisterous energy. "It’s-a me..."

"Mario?" Meggy stepped forward, her face turning white. The controller slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. "Mario, where are you? Is this a prank? This isn't funny, Red."

Mario tried to give a signature "okey-dokey" thumbs up, but his hand shook so violently he had to drop it back onto the sheets. "Not a prank, Meggy. I think... I think the doctor said my heart finally realized it’s made of ninety percent grease and ten percent stupidity." He let out a weak, wet cough. "I’m... I’m-a dying, guys. For real this time."

The room went deathly silent. It was a silence so heavy it felt like the walls were closing in. Bob stopped mid-sentence, his green eyes widening under his hood. Saiko’s guitar pick snapped in her fingers.

Luigi, who had been coming in from the kitchen with a tray of tea, dropped everything. The porcelain shattered, splashing hot water across his boots, but he didn't even flinch. His eyes were fixed on the screen, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

"Bro?" Luigi whispered, his voice cracking. "Mario? No. No, you’re Mario! You don't die! You just... you respawn! You always respawn!"

"Not today, Weegee," Mario murmured, a single tear rolling down his cheek into his mustache. "The life bar... it’s empty. And there’s no more 1-ups."

Melony, who had been napping on the couch, was fully awake now. She stared at the screen, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. To Melony, Mario wasn't just the resident idiot; he was the one who had looked after her, the one who had shared his wisdom (however questionable) and treated her like family when she was still learning how to be human.

"Dad?" Melony’s voice was a small, broken whimper. She scrambled toward the monitor, her hands reaching out as if she could pull him through the screen. "Dad! No! You can't leave! You promised we’d go to the park! You promised!"

She began to hyperventilate, her deity powers flickering uncontrollably, sparks of pink energy dancing around her eyes as she broke down into hysterical sobs. "Mario! Please! Please don't go!"

SMG4 was the first to snap out of the trance, though his hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped his phone. "Which hospital, Mario? Tell me which one!"

"The... the Mushroom City General," Mario whispered. "Hurry... I don't think I can wait for the credits to roll."

"We’re coming! Don't you dare close your eyes, you idiot!" SMG4 screamed. He turned to the group, his face a mask of desperation. "Everyone! To the van! Now!"

The journey to the hospital was a blur of illegal U-turns and shattered speed limits. SMG4 drove like a man possessed, ignoring sirens and traffic lights. Inside the van, the air was thick with grief. Luigi was curled into a ball in the passenger seat, rocking back and forth, muttering Mario’s name over and over. Melony was being held by Tari and Meggy, her cries echoing through the vehicle, a raw, primal sound of a child losing their world.

When they arrived, they didn't wait for the doors to fully open. They sprinted through the lobby, a chaotic mess of hats and hoodies, slamming through the swinging doors of the Intensive Care Unit.

"Room 404! He’s in 404!" SMG4 yelled, reading the chart at the nurse's station.

They burst into the room. The smell of antiseptic was overwhelming. Mario looked even worse in person. The light in the room was harsh, highlighting the grayness of his skin.

"Mario!" Luigi screamed, throwing himself at the side of the bed. He grabbed his brother’s hand, pressing it against his forehead. "Mario, I’m here! Luigi’s here! Look at me!"

Mario’s head lolled to the side. He blinked slowly, his eyes focusing on his younger brother. "Hey... Luigi. You’re... you’re getting water on the bed."

"I don't care about the bed!" Luigi wailed, his chest heaving. "You can't do this! Who’s going to protect me from the ghosts? Who’s going to eat all the food I cook? Mario, please, I'll give you all my coins! Just stay!"

Melony pushed past the others, her face tear-stained and red. She knelt by the other side of the bed, clutching Mario’s arm. "Dad... please. Don't leave me alone. I’m scared."

Mario reached out, his fingers brushing against Melony’s hair with agonizing slowness. "You’re not... alone, Melony. You’ve got the others. You’re a big girl now. A goddess... remember?"

"I don't want to be a goddess!" she sobbed, burying her face in the scratchy hospital blanket. "I just want my dad!"

The rest of the crew gathered around the foot of the bed. Meggy was biting her lip so hard it bled, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She had spent years training with Mario, fighting alongside him, and bickering like siblings. Seeing him like this—powerless—was a knife to the heart.

"Red," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You still owe me a rematch in Splatfest. You can't forfeit like this."

Mario looked at her and gave a ghost of a smirk. "I’d... I’d totally win anyway. I’m the... superstar."

Bob, usually the most cynical and loud-mouthed of the group, stood unusually still. He didn't make a joke. He didn't mention his merch. He just looked down at his blades, his glowing eyes dim. "This is garbage, man. This is total garbage."

SMG4 stood at the head of the bed, looking down at his best friend. His rival. His greatest headache. The man who had been the face of his channel and his life for over a decade. He felt a lump in his throat so large he could barely breathe.

"Mario," SMG4 said, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m sorry. For all the times I yelled at you. For all the times I got mad because you broke something. I... I wouldn't be here without you. None of us would."

Mario looked up at SMG4, and for a brief second, the old spark returned to his eyes—the mischievous, joyful glint of the man who once flew to the moon just because he saw a piece of cheese.

"Four," Mario whispered. "It’s okay. It was... it was a pretty good meme, wasn't it?"

SMG4 let out a wet laugh, tears finally cascading down his cheeks. "The best, Mario. The best meme ever."

The heart monitor began to slow. The *beeps* were getting further apart.

*Beep...*

*Beep...*

Luigi’s grip tightened on Mario’s hand. "No, no, no! Mario! Stay with me! Look at me!"

"Luigi..." Mario said, his voice barely audible now. "Make sure... make sure you wash the overalls. And... and tell the Princess... tell her she’s-a bit of a bitch for never giving me that kiss."

A small, weak chuckle escaped his lips, followed by a long sigh.

"I’m-a... I’m-a tired now," Mario murmured. His eyes began to drift shut. "I think... I think I smell spaghetti. Can you smell it?"

"Yeah, Mario," Meggy lied, her voice breaking as she took his other hand. "I smell it. It’s the biggest bowl of spaghetti in the world. And it’s all for you."

"Good..." Mario whispered. "That’s... so... good..."

The monitor emitted a single, long, continuous tone.

*Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.*

The line on the screen went flat.

The silence that followed was deafening. For a moment, no one moved. It was as if they were all waiting for Mario to sit up, laugh, and tell them he’d pranked them all for a slice of pizza. But he didn't move. His chest didn't rise. His hand went limp in Luigi’s grasp.

"Mario?" Luigi whispered, his voice small and hollow. He shook his brother’s arm gently. "Mario, wake up. The joke’s over. Come on, big brother. Wake up."

When there was no response, Luigi’s composure completely disintegrated. He collapsed against Mario’s chest, letting out a scream of pure, unadulterated agony that echoed through the hospital halls. It was the sound of a soul being torn in half.

Melony wailed, her head snapping back as she cried out to the ceiling, her grief manifesting in a surge of energy that made the lights flicker and pop. "DAD! NO! COME BACK! PLEASE!"

Tari hid her face in Saiko’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably, while Saiko simply stared at Mario’s still form, a single tear tracking through her makeup. Even Bob turned away, pulling his hood lower to hide the fact that he was wiping his eyes.

SMG4 stood frozen, staring at the flatline on the monitor. The world felt tilted, wrong, as if the very foundation of his reality had been yanked out from under him. He reached out, his hand hovering over Mario’s cold forehead, before finally resting it there. He leaned down, his forehead touching Mario’s.

"Goodbye, Mario," SMG4 whispered into the cold air. "Thank you for the sunshine."

Outside the hospital window, the sun began to set over the Mushroom Kingdom, casting long, golden shadows over the land. The castle stood in the distance, oblivious to the fact that its greatest hero—and its greatest idiot—was gone.

In the room, the crew stayed. They stayed through the night, huddled around the bed of the man who had brought them all together. They shared stories, through tears and broken laughter, of the times he had driven them crazy and the times he had saved their lives.

But the loudest sound in the room remained the silence of the man who had always had something to say. Mario was gone, and the world felt a little less bright, a little less colorful, and a lot more empty.

There would be no more spaghetti heists. No more "mamaf*cker" screams. No more accidental heroism.

The superstar had finally dimmed.