Mario's backstory

The Showgrounds were uncharacteristically quiet. Inside the grand, eccentric castle of SMG4, the air was thick with a rare, heavy boredom. There were no world-ending threats, no eldritch horrors trying to rewrite reality, and, perhaps most notably, no Mario. The red-clad plumber had announced earlier that morning that he was going to "do some important business," which everyone collectively assumed meant he was passed out in a pile of spaghetti somewhere in the city.

SMG4 sat on the sofa, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. Bob and Fishy Boopkins were arguing over a pack of trading cards in the corner, though even their bickering lacked its usual fire. Meggy was sharpening her Splat-shot, her brow furrowed in concentration, while Saiko leaned against the wall, tuning her guitar with aggressive snaps of the strings. Melony was curled up in a nearby armchair, half-asleep, clutching her pillow.

"It’s weirdly peaceful without the fat Italian breaking everything," SMG4 remarked, breaking the silence. He stretched his arms behind his head. "I might actually get some editing done today."

"I don't know, it's kind of boring," Tari said, looking up from her handheld game. "It feels too quiet, doesn't it?"

Suddenly, the massive television screen mounted on the wall flickered to life. It didn't start with the usual colorful YouTube logo or a glitchy meme. Instead, the screen remained static-heavy for a moment before settling into a grainy, washed-out video feed.

"Hey, who turned that on?" SMG3 asked, walking into the room with a suspicious glare. "I didn't touch the remote."

Everyone gathered around as the footage cleared. It showed a small, cramped kitchen. It looked like a house from the Mushroom Kingdom, but older, more dilapidated. A small child, no older than five or six, was sitting at a wooden table. He wore an oversized red cap that flopped over his eyes and a pair of stained overalls. He was trying to piece together a broken plate with shaking hands.

"Is that... Mario?" Meggy whispered, her eyes widening. "He looks so tiny."

"Aww, look at the little guy," Boopkins chirped. "He was actually kind of cute!"

The sentiment was short-lived. A heavy door slammed open on the screen, the sound echoing through the castle speakers with a violent crack. A tall, shadowed figure—a man who bore a haunting resemblance to Mario but with a face twisted into a permanent snarl—stormed into the frame. A woman followed close behind, her voice a shrill, piercing screech.

"You stupid, worthless brat!" the man roared. Even through the low-quality audio, the sheer hatred in his voice made Tari flinch. "I told you not to touch anything!"

The young Mario scrambled backward, his chair clattering to the floor. "I-I was just trying to clean it! I'm sorry, Papa! I'm sorry!"

What followed was a scene that drained the color from everyone's faces. The man didn't just yell. He lunged. The violence was sudden, visceral, and relentless. The screen showed the young boy being thrown against the wall, the heavy thud of his small body making Melony gasp and wake up fully, her eyes darting to the screen in horror.

The mother didn't stop it. She stood by, shouting insults, calling the child a mistake, a burden, a waste of food. It wasn't a comedic slapstick routine. There were no cartoonish stars or sound effects. It was the raw, ugly reality of a child being broken by the people supposed to love him.

"Turn it off," Saiko said, her voice low and dangerous. Her hand was gripped so tightly around her guitar neck that the wood groaned. "SMG4, turn it off now."

SMG4 was frantically pressing buttons on the remote. "I can't! It’s not responding! It’s like it’s hard-wired into the system!"

Luigi, who had been standing at the back of the group, suddenly turned away. He slumped against the wall, his face buried in his hands. He wasn't crying yet, but his shoulders were shaking violently.

"Luigi?" Tari walked over, reaching out a hand. "Did you... did you know about this?"

Luigi didn't look up. "I stayed in the basement," he whispered, his voice cracking. "They... they mostly ignored me. But Mario... Mario would always make a noise or break something on purpose so they’d come after him instead of me. I heard it every night. I just... I hid."

The video jumped forward in time. Mario was now ten. He was sitting under a bridge, shivering in the rain. He had a black eye and a split lip. He was holding a single, dirty cracker, staring at it as if it were a feast. He didn't look like the cheerful, chaotic plumber they knew. His eyes were hollow, devoid of the spark of madness they usually carried. They were just... empty.

The montage continued, a horrific highlight reel of a life lived in the shadows of abuse. They saw him being kicked out of the house in the middle of the night. They saw him working back-breaking jobs for pennies, always wearing that same red hat to hide the bruises on his forehead. They saw the moments where he tried to make friends, only to be mocked for his weight or his slow speech—traits that, they now realized, were likely the result of years of trauma and malnutrition.

"We... we call him stupid every day," Meggy said, her voice barely a breath. She looked down at her hands, the Splat-shot forgotten on the floor. "I hit him... I hit him when he annoys me. I thought it was just... just how we played."

Bob, usually the first to make a joke, was uncharacteristically silent. He stared at the screen where a teenage Mario was being laughed at by a group of strangers while he tried to fix a leaky pipe with his bare hands.

"That's messed up," Bob muttered, the lack of his usual synthesized flair making the statement feel heavy. "Even for me, that's messed up."

The footage shifted again. It showed the day Mario first arrived in the Mushroom Kingdom. He looked older, more like the Mario they knew, but his movements were hesitant. He stumbled upon a plate of spaghetti left out for a festival. The way he looked at that plate—the desperation, the sheer, unadulterated joy as he ate something that wasn't scraps—made Melony burst into tears.

She sat on the floor, her knees tucked to her chest, sobbing into her pillow. "He just wanted to be happy," she wailed. "He’s always trying to make us laugh, and we just... we're so mean to him."

SMG4 felt a cold knot of guilt twisting in his stomach. He thought about all the times he’d used Mario as a human shield in his videos, all the times he’d screamed at him for being an idiot, and all the times he’d ignored Mario’s genuine attempts to help because they were "annoying."

"He’s not stupid," SMG3 said suddenly, his voice surprisingly soft. "He’s... he’s just trying to forget. All that 'stupidity,' the memes, the obsession with spaghetti... it’s a shield, isn't it? He made himself into a cartoon so he wouldn't have to be a person who hurts anymore."

The screen showed one final clip. It was recent. It was a hidden camera shot from inside the castle, taken only a few weeks ago. It was late at night. Mario was sitting alone in the kitchen, eating a cold slice of pizza. He wasn't acting crazy. He wasn't shouting. He was just sitting there, staring at a photo of the whole gang together. He traced the faces of his friends with a dirty thumb, a small, sad smile on his face.

"I love you guys," the Mario on the screen whispered to the empty room. "Thanks for letting me stay."

The TV flickered and died, leaving the room in a deafening silence.

No one moved. The air felt heavy, suffocatingly so. The "annoying" Mario, the "fat" Mario, the "stupid" Mario—he was a survivor of a hell none of them could imagine. And he had chosen to respond to that hell by trying to fill the world with laughter, even if that laughter was often at his own expense.

"We have to find him," Meggy said, standing up. Her eyes were red and puffy, but her voice was firm. "We have to find him right now."

"And say what?" SMG4 asked, looking at his feet. "Sorry we've been treating you like garbage for ten years?"

"It's a start," Saiko said, grabbing her hammer. She didn't look angry at Mario anymore; she looked like she wanted to find whoever had filmed those videos and erase them from existence.

Just then, the front doors of the castle creaked open. A familiar, slightly waddling silhouette stepped into the foyer. Mario walked in, carrying a small, crumpled paper bag. He looked tired, his overalls a bit dustier than usual.

He stopped when he saw the entire group standing in the main hall, staring at him. He blinked, a nervous grin slowly spreading across his face.

"Oh! Uh... hey guys," Mario said, his voice its usual high-pitched self. "Mario is back! I, uh... I went to the store. I got some chocolates. They were on sale because they were expired, but hey! Free chocolate!"

He held out the bag tentatively. When no one moved or made a joke about him eating trash, his smile faltered. He shifted his weight, looking at the floor.

"Is... is everyone okay?" Mario asked, his voice dropping an octave. "Did Mario do something wrong again? I’m sorry. I can go back outside if you’re busy with a meeting or... or if I’m being too loud."

The way he immediately assumed he was the problem, the way he offered to exclude himself before they could kick him out, hit the group like a physical blow.

Melony was the first to move. She didn't say a word; she simply lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Mario’s waist, burying her face in his red shirt.

Mario froze, his arms hovering awkwardly in the air. "Uh... Melony? You okay? Did a melon die?"

Then Meggy was there, grabbing him in a fierce hug from the other side. Tari joined in, sobbing quietly against his shoulder. Even Saiko stepped forward, placing a heavy, uncharacteristically gentle hand on his head.

"Whoa, whoa!" Mario laughed nervously, though there was a hint of genuine confusion in his eyes. "What’s going on? Is it Mario’s birthday? I thought it was in October!"

SMG4 walked up to him, looking his friend in the eye. He saw the scars now—not just the physical ones, but the way Mario’s eyes scanned the room for exits, the way he flinched slightly when SMG4 moved too fast.

"Mario," SMG4 said, his voice thick with emotion. "We... we saw. On the TV. We saw everything."

Mario’s entire body went rigid. The goofy, carefree mask didn't just slip; it shattered. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, naked terror that made Luigi let out a sob. Mario dropped the bag of chocolates, the sweets spilling across the floor.

"You... you saw?" Mario whispered. He looked like he wanted to run, his legs twitching. "I... I didn't mean to... I tried to delete those files. I thought I hid them..."

"Mario, don't," Luigi said, finally stepping forward and pulling his brother into the group hug. "Don't apologize. Please, don't ever apologize for that."

Mario stood there, surrounded by the people he considered his family, and for the first time in years, he didn't try to make a joke. He didn't try to run away. He felt the warmth of his friends, the people who had seen the darkest parts of his soul and, instead of turning away in disgust, were holding onto him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

A single tear tracked through the grime on Mario’s cheek. Then another. He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders finally slumping as he gave in to the embrace.

"It... it really hurt, guys," Mario sobbed, his voice small and childlike. "It really, really hurt."

"We know," Meggy whispered, tightening her grip. "But you're not there anymore. You're here. And we're never letting you go back."

In the middle of the castle, surrounded by the chaos of their lives, the gang stayed like that for a long time. They knew they couldn't undo the past. They knew they couldn't erase the scars. But as Mario finally let himself cry, held up by the strength of the people who loved him, they knew one thing for certain.

The plumber wasn't alone anymore. And he would never have to be silent again.