Idk again

The sky of Copper-9 was a swirling abyss of toxic clouds and eternal winter, a stark contrast to the vibrant, chaotic halls of SMG4’s newly minted castle. Mario, however, didn't seem to care about the atmospheric shift or the fact that he had been abducted by a cosmic purple drain-hole. To Mario, this was just another Tuesday, albeit one with significantly less spaghetti and a lot more scrap metal.

He sat in the shadows of an abandoned landing pod, the hunk of rusted metal providing a makeshift workshop. The air smelled of ozone, stagnant oil, and the faint, lingering scent of a hidden pepperoni stick Mario had tucked into his overalls three weeks ago.

Before him lay the remains of the worker drone who had tried—and failed—to intimidate him. Mario hummed a distorted, low-quality version of the "Super Mario Bros." theme as he worked. His white-gloved hands, usually reserved for eating pasta or punching Bowser, were now covered in thick, viscous black oil.

With a sickening *clank-crunch*, Mario popped the drone’s left leg out of its hip socket. He held it up to the dim light, admiring the way the metal glinted.

"Ooh, very shiny," Mario muttered, his voice echoing in the hollow chamber. "Mama mia, these are some sturdy boots. Not as good as Mario’s, but they’ll do for a spare."

He tossed the torso aside like a discarded pizza crust. He didn't have a reason for keeping the legs specifically; he just thought they looked neat, like giant, metallic drumsticks. In his warped mind, he was basically a master craftsman. He reached into the void of his hammerspace—the magical pockets that allowed him to carry everything from fire flowers to heavy artillery—and pulled out a rusted, yellow gas canister that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Drain the juice, get the boost," Mario sang poorly.

He tilted the drone’s chassis over the canister, watching the dark, synthetic blood glug-glug-glug into the container. To any other inhabitant of this planet, this was a gruesome scene of robotic carnage. To Mario, it was just gathering ingredients for a project he hadn't even thought of yet.

High above, perched on the jagged rafters of the pod’s ceiling, two pairs of neon-yellow eyes flickered in the darkness.

Serial Designation J and Serial Designation V watched the plumber with a mixture of professional confusion and an inexplicable, simmering curiosity. They were used to seeing drones cower, scream, or try to bargain for their lives. They weren't used to seeing a portly man in red overalls treat a corpse like a DIY home improvement project.

"He’s... efficient," J whispered, her voice low and analytical. She adjusted her cap, her digital visor blinking as she zoomed in on Mario’s face. "Look at the way he handles the internal components. No hesitation. No wasted movement. It’s almost... professional."

V leaned forward, her tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of oil from her claw. Her sensors were spiking in a way they usually did during a particularly bloody hunt, but this felt different. There was a weird, raw energy coming from the red human. He looked stupid, sure, but there was a chaotic power humming beneath his skin—the kind of power that could survive a fall from the stratosphere or a direct hit from a tank.

"I like the way he threw the head," V chirped, her tail twitching excitedly. "He didn't even look. He just... *yeet*. Think he’d let me play with the leftovers?"

"Focus, V," J snapped, though her own gaze remained fixed on the plumber. "He’s an anomaly. He’s not a drone, but he’s clearly not a typical human either. We need to determine if he’s a threat or an asset to the Company."

Down below, Mario finished filling his canister. He kicked the remaining scraps of the worker drone into a pile and stood up, wiping his oily hands on his stomach, leaving dark streaks across his red shirt. He picked up the two detached legs, tucked them under his arms like bagpipes, and began to march toward the exit of the pod.

"Alright, time to find some-a spaghetti!" Mario announced to the empty room. "Or a bathroom. Whichever comes first."

As he stepped out into the biting wind of the frozen wasteland, he didn't notice the two Disassembly Drones dropping silently from the rafters behind him.

Mario trekked through the snow, his heavy boots making deep indentations in the frost. He passed frozen skeletons of humans and the shattered remains of buildings, completely unfazed by the apocalyptic scenery. To him, this was just a really depressing level of *Mario Kart*.

Suddenly, a sharp *whish* sounded through the air. A bladed wing slammed into the snow inches in front of Mario’s face, blocking his path.

Mario stopped. He looked at the blade. Then he looked up.

J stood there, her arms crossed, her wings flared out in a display of dominance. Beside her, V landed with a manic grin, her hands shifted into razor-sharp claws that sparked against each other.

"Halt, biological entity," J commanded, her visor displaying a stern, authoritative expression. "You are trespassing on a restricted demolition zone owned by JCJenson. State your name and your business on Copper-9."

Mario stared at them for a long five seconds. His eyes were wide, vacant, and slightly crossed. A small bead of drool escaped the corner of his mouth.

"Is... is you a toaster?" Mario asked.

V burst out laughing, a high-pitched, glitchy sound. "A toaster! Oh, I like this one. Can I keep his head? Just the head? I want to see if it makes that noise when I squeeze it."

"V, stay professional," J hissed, though she found herself strangely flustered by the human’s lack of fear. Usually, creatures were screaming by now. This man looked like he was trying to figure out if she was edible. "I am Serial Designation J, leader of this squad. You just dismantled a worker drone with high-level precision. Where did you learn those combat tactics?"

Mario tilted his head, the drone legs still tucked under his arms. "Mario just wanted the shiny sticks. They make a good *bonk*." To demonstrate, he swung one of the metallic legs through the air, narrowly missing V’s nose. "See? *Bonk*."

V’s eyes turned into yellow hearts for a fleeting millisecond before she corrected her display. "He’s got spirit! And he’s weirdly buff for a guy who looks like he ate a whole mattress."

J stepped closer, her heels clicking on the icy ground. She was taller than Mario, looming over him with an air of corporate superiority. "Listen, 'Mario.' We’ve been watching you. You’ve got a... unique set of skills. This planet is crawling with rogue elements. Perhaps you’d be interested in a temporary partnership? We provide the protection, you provide the... whatever it is you do."

Mario squinted at her. "Does the partnership come with spaghetti?"

J blinked. "I... I can probably find you some dehydrated rations in the bunkers? Or perhaps some high-grade industrial lubricant?"

Mario made a face like he’d just swallowed a dry bone. "Blegh! No! Mario needs the spicy meatball! Mario needs the sauce!"

He pushed past J, shoving her aside with a strength that caught her completely off guard. She stumbled back, her stabilizers whirring to keep her upright. She stared at him in genuine shock. No one—absolutely no one—pushed a Disassembly Drone.

"Hey! I wasn't finished with you!" J shouted, her hands shifting into submachine guns.

Mario didn't even turn around. He just kept walking, dragging the canister of oil behind him. "Go away, robot lady! Mario is busy! I have to find a way to make a stove out of this junk!"

V hopped over to J’s side, watching Mario’s retreating back with an intensified hunger. "He’s feisty. I love it. Are we going to kill him now, or are we following him home?"

J retracted her weapons, her mind racing. Her programming told her to eliminate any non-authorized lifeforms. But her curiosity—and a weird, fluttering glitch in her social processing chip—told her otherwise.

"We follow him," J decided, smoothing out her pigtails. "We need to see what he does with that oil. And... I want to know more about this 'spaghetti' he speaks of. It sounds like a high-priority resource."

Mario, meanwhile, had found a relatively intact storefront that once sold electronics. He smashed the front window with a single punch, stepped inside, and began clearing a space on a dusty counter.

"Okay," Mario said, setting the drone legs down. "First, we make the fire. Then, we see if the black juice tastes like soda."

He opened the canister and took a big, experimental whiff. He recoiled immediately, coughing violently. "WAAAH! It smells like SMG4’s room! Disgusting!"

Undeterred, Mario looked around the shop. He found a pile of old lithium batteries and some copper wiring. With the logic of a cartoon character, he began smashing the batteries together.

Outside the window, J and V watched from the shadows.

"What is he doing?" V whispered. "Is he making a bomb? Please tell me he’s making a bomb."

"He’s... I think he’s trying to cook," J said, her voice filled with disbelief.

Mario successfully created a spark, which ignited a small pile of trash he’d gathered. Within minutes, he had a roaring campfire in the middle of the store. He took the worker drone’s legs and propped them over the fire like a rotisserie.

"Mario is a genius," he congratulated himself.

He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled, slightly damp box of "Instant Spaghetti" he’d apparently been carrying since the castle. He looked at the canister of oil, then at the fire, then at the pasta.

"Well," Mario sighed. "It’s-a better than nothing."

He poured a bit of the drone oil into a rusted hubcap he’d found, set it over the fire, and waited for it to boil. As the black liquid began to bubble and hiss, sending out a pungent, chemical steam, Mario tossed the dry noodles in.

"Oh, gross," V muttered from outside, her visor showing a 'standard' expression of disgust. "He’s actually going to eat that?"

"Wait," J said, leaning in. "Look at the chemical reaction. The oil is breaking down the synthetic fibers of the pasta... it’s creating a highly caloric compound."

Mario pulled the noodles out with a pair of pliers. They were dripping with black sludge, looking less like food and more like something that would kill a god. He took a massive bite, his cheeks bulging.

His eyes went wide. His face turned several shades of red, then green, then settled on a pale yellow.

"IT’S-A SPICY!" Mario screamed, his voice cracking. He began running in circles around the store, steam literally shooting out of his ears. "HOO-HOO-HOO! MAMA MIA! THAT’S-A SOME GOOD OIL!"

He stopped suddenly, his eyes glowing with a faint, flickering light similar to a drone’s visor. He felt a sudden surge of energy. He looked at his hands, which were now vibrating at high speeds.

"I CAN SEE THE FUTURE!" Mario yelled at the ceiling. "I CAN SEE THE CODES! I CAN SEE... A STUPID RECTANGLE!"

J and V exchanged a look.

"Okay, new plan," J said, her voice trembling slightly. "We don't just recruit him. We study him. He just consumed raw Disassembly fluid and didn't immediately melt from the inside out. He’s... he’s a god."

V didn't respond. She was too busy watching Mario try to headbutt a refrigerator. "He’s perfect," she whispered.

Mario finally calmed down, his body smoking slightly. He sat back down by the fire, looking remarkably satisfied. He picked up one of the drone legs he’d been 'roasting' and gave it a experimental lick.

"Needs salt," Mario noted.

He looked toward the window, his eyes locking onto the glowing yellow orbs of J and V. He didn't look scared. He didn't look angry. He just looked... hungry.

"Hey, toaster ladies!" Mario called out, waving a greasy hand. "You want some-a spaghetti? It tastes like burning!"

J hesitated, her internal protocols screaming at her to stay away from the volatile human. But V was already through the broken window, landing gracefully on the floor.

"I’ll take a bite," V said, her visor flashing a mischievous grin. "But only if you promise to show me how you ripped those legs off later."

J sighed, adjusting her cap one last time before following her teammate inside. "This is a gross violation of Company policy," she muttered, though she sat down across from Mario anyway. "But... I suppose a field report on human-drone dietary integration is necessary."

Mario grinned, his teeth stained slightly black. "Good! We have a party! Mario makes the best food on the planet!"

As the three of them sat around a fire sparked by garbage, eating oil-soaked pasta in a dead world, Mario felt right at home. It wasn't the Mushroom Kingdom, and it wasn't SMG4’s castle, but it had metal, fire, and two weird girls who seemed to appreciate his 'cooking.'

"So," Mario said, leaning back and patting his stomach. "Which one of you is the boss? Because Mario needs to know who to complain to when the toilet breaks."

J looked at the flickering fire, then at the chaotic man in front of her. For the first time in her long, murderous career, she had no idea what was going to happen next. And strangely, she didn't mind.

"I’m the boss," J said, her voice softening just a fraction. "But for tonight... you can be the chef."

Mario cheered, throwing a handful of glitter—where did he get glitter?—into the air. "Wahoo! Mario is the master of the robots!"

Outside, the wind howled across the wastes of Copper-9, but inside the little shop, the heat of the fire and the smell of burnt oil and pasta created a strange, new kind of sanctuary. Mario was lost in another world, but as long as there was something to dismantle and something to eat, he was exactly where he needed to be.