Mario's angst

The main hall of SMG4’s Showgrounds castle was unusually quiet, a phenomenon that occurred only when the red-clad catalyst of chaos was nowhere to be found. SMG4 himself was slumped on the sofa, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, while Tari and Meggy engaged in a half-hearted game of cards. Bob and Fishy Boopkins were arguing over a bag of chips in the corner, and Melony was dozing off against a pillar. Saiko sat nearby, sharpening her hammer, looking bored enough to start a fight with the furniture.

"It’s weirdly peaceful without Mario around, isn't it?" Meggy remarked, tossing a card onto the table.

"I’m actually getting work done for once," SMG4 muttered, though his eyes were glazed over. "No spaghetti explosions, no naked screaming, no humping the appliances. It’s a miracle."

"Yeah, but it’s kind of... dull?" Tari offered a small, hesitant smile. "I mean, I like the quiet, but it feels like the energy is just gone."

Suddenly, the massive monitor mounted on the wall flickered to life. It wasn't the usual meme-filled broadcast or a glitchy notification. The screen hissed with static before settling into a grainy, home-movie style recording.

"Hey, SMG4, did you start a stream?" Boopkins asked, looking up from his chips.

"No, I didn't touch it," SMG4 said, sitting upright and reaching for the remote. "The hell is this?"

The video showed a small, cramped kitchen. A young boy, barely more than a toddler but unmistakably Mario, was sitting at a wooden table. He looked small—too small—and his iconic red hat was oversized, drooping over his eyes. He was trying to reach for a piece of bread on the counter.

The sound of a door slamming echoed through the speakers, making Tari jump. Two figures entered the frame—Mario’s parents. Their faces were blurred by the low quality of the footage, but their voices were crystal clear, dripping with a venom that made the air in the castle feel suddenly cold.

"What did I tell you about touching the food without asking?" a man’s voice roared.

The young Mario flinched, his entire body trembling. "I-I was just hungry, Papa..."

What followed was a scene that silenced every person in the room. The man didn't just scold him; he lunged. The gang watched in paralyzed horror as the young boy was knocked to the floor. The verbal abuse was a torrent of hatred, calling him a failure, a waste of space, and a mistake. Then came the physical reality—a brutal, relentless beating that seemed to go on forever. The boy didn't even scream after the first few hits; he just curled into a ball, trying to disappear into the floorboards.

"Turn it off," Meggy whispered, her voice shaking. "SMG4, turn it off!"

SMG4 was frantically pressing buttons on the remote, but the screen wouldn't budge. "It’s not responding! It’s like it’s hardwired into the system!"

Beside them, Luigi had gone deathly pale. He wasn't looking at the screen. He had his knees tucked to his chest, staring at the floor with tears streaming down his face. He knew. He had always known fragments, but seeing it laid bare was a different kind of torture.

The video didn't stop. It began to fast-forward through the years, a horrific montage of a childhood spent in shadows. Every clip showed a slightly older Mario, his clothes becoming more tattered, his eyes losing their spark. In one clip, he was being locked in a dark closet for hours. In another, he was being mocked by his parents for his weight, for his intelligence, for his very existence.

They saw him as a teenager, sitting alone on a curb with a black eye, staring at a discarded pizza box like it was a treasure. They saw the moment he began to act "stupid"—a desperate, subconscious defense mechanism to mask the pain, to make people laugh so they wouldn't hit him, to be the clown so he wouldn't have to be the victim.

By the time the montage reached the era where he met SMG4, the room was filled with the sound of muffled sobs. Melony was crying waterworks, clutching Boopkins so tightly the fish-man could barely breathe, though he didn't complain; he was crying too.

Saiko had stopped sharpening her hammer. Her hands were clenched into fists so tight her knuckles were white. Meggy had her face buried in her hands, her shoulders heaving.

"We... we did that too," Tari sobbed, her robotic arm sparking with her distress. "We call him an idiot every day. We hit him when he’s annoying. We... we treat him like a punching bag."

"I thought it was just a gag," SMG4 whispered, his voice cracking. He remembered all the times he’d kicked Mario out of the castle, all the times he’d screamed at him for being a nuisance. "I thought he was too dumb to care. I didn't know... I didn't know he was already broken."

The screen finally went black, leaving the gang in a heavy, suffocating silence. The realization hit them like a physical blow: Mario’s "stupidity" wasn't just a trait. It was a shield. And they had been chipping away at that shield for years without a single thought for the man underneath.

The heavy front doors of the castle creaked open.

"Okey-dokey! Mario is home!"

Mario skipped into the room, his belly bouncing and a goofy, vacant grin plastered on his face. He was covered in what looked like spaghetti sauce and glitter. "Hey, why is everyone so quiet? Did somebody die? Is there a funeral? Can Mario eat the funeral ham?"

He stopped in the center of the room, his smile faltering as he took in the scene. He saw Meggy’s tear-streaked face, SMG4’s look of pure guilt, and Melony’s inconsolable sobbing.

"Uh... guys? Why you looking at Mario like that?" He let out a nervous, high-pitched chuckle. "If this is about the microwave, it was an accident! The fork wanted to go for a ride!"

Before he could say another word, he was hit by a literal wave of people.

Meggy was the first, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shirt. "I’m so sorry, Mario! I’m so, so sorry!"

Tari and Melony followed, sobbing into his shoulders. SMG4 walked over, looking like he wanted to disappear, and placed a hand on Mario’s arm, his eyes brimming with tears. Even Bob and Saiko stood close, their usual bravado replaced by a somber, protective aura.

"Whoa, whoa!" Mario flailed his arms, looking genuinely panicked. "What’s happening? Is this a prank? Am I being fired from the show? I can be smarter! I can read a book! Just don't kick Mario out!"

"No, Mario, never," SMG4 said, his voice thick. "We saw it. The video. We saw... everything."

Mario froze. The goofy, wide-eyed expression he always wore didn't just fade; it vanished. It was as if a mask had been ripped off, leaving behind a man who looked suddenly, devastatingly tired.

His eyes drifted toward the darkened TV screen. The silence in the room became deafening. Mario’s breath hitched. His knees buckled, and he sank slowly to the floor, the weight of a lifetime of hidden scars finally becoming too much to carry.

Meggy didn't let go. She sank with him, holding him as if he might shatter into a million pieces.

"You saw?" Mario’s voice was different. It wasn't the high-pitched, exaggerated tone of the Italian plumber they knew. It was quiet, raspy, and filled with a raw, ancient hurt.

"We saw," Luigi whispered, finally moving toward his brother and kneeling beside him. "I’m sorry I didn't do more, Mario. I’m so sorry."

Mario looked at his hands, his fingers trembling. A single tear tracked through the spaghetti sauce on his cheek. He looked up at the group—his friends, the people who were supposed to be his family, the people who had spent years laughing at his expense.

"Mario just..." He choked on a sob, his chest heaving. "Mario just wanted to be loved."

The words were so simple, yet they cut through the hearts of everyone in the room like a jagged blade. He wasn't asking for spaghetti. He wasn't asking for money or fame or adventures. He just wanted to be loved.

"You are loved, Mario," Meggy cried, clutching his red shirt. "You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I’m so sorry I was mean to you. I’m so sorry I didn't see you."

"We’re all idiots, Mario," Saiko said, her voice unusually soft. "We were the blind ones. Not you."

Mario let out a long, broken wail, finally collapsing into their collective embrace. He wept—not the loud, comedic crying he usually did when he lost a coin, but deep, soul-shaking sobs that spoke of decades of repressed agony.

For the first time in his life, Mario didn't have to be the joke. He didn't have to be the "stupid" one. He could just be Mario. And as his friends huddled around him, forming a protective circle of warmth and genuine affection, the shadows of his past seemed to retreat, if only by a few inches.

They had a long way to go to make up for the years of neglect, but as SMG4 sat on the floor and pulled his best friend into a firm hug, he knew one thing for certain.

The cameras were off. The memes were gone. And for once, Mario wouldn't have to face the darkness alone.