The Trophy Collector

a Smash Bros. story

The trophy collector stepped back from the display table to admire its newest addition. The holder of wisdom, yes, he could easily see the three trademark triangles decorating the back of her right hand. Even in death, she was stunning, her regal features framed by flowing hazel tresses and an ornate headpiece. The trophy collector gently brushed a small speck of dirt off one of her shoulder pauldrons.

"R.O.B., could you please come here?"

The trophy collector's assistant wheeled itself over. Its eye-lens focused on the one unlabeled trophy lying still on the display.

"Name tag for the new trophy, sir?" R.O.B. inquired.

"Yes."

The robot nodded in response, pulling open a drawer and plucking from it an empty gold plate, no wider than both his mechanical thumbs put together. R.O.B. stuck the plate in his "mouth." Machinery whirred, and after a few seconds he took out the plate, now with little words engraved into it. When the collection was complete, the drawer would be empty, and the display board full.

R.O.B. aligned the plaque below the trophy's tiny booted feet and drilled its four corners into the sturdy wood of the display. "There you go, sir."

"Thank you, R.O.B." The trophy collector hunched over in his wheelchair, eyes scanning for maybe the millionth time over his treasured display. He ran a finger over the glossy plaque, the outline of the inscribed letters.

They read Zelda, Hyrule's Wise Princess.

The trophy collector's lips curled upwards into a content smile. He was just about to leave, call it a night, when two little figures caught his attention.

It seemed two trophies he'd been searching for had wandered right into his reach. The princess in pink, and the second PSI user. They were cowering behind a mug of pencils, mesmerized by the wise princess's body on the table. Excellent, he wouldn't have to strain his cracking limbs going after them. The trophy collector leaned down and, with surprising dexterity, snatched up the taller of the two into his gloved hand.

XXX

"Miss Peach, watch out-"

"Huh-?"

"Miss Peach!"

"LUCAS!"

They called him G-Dub.

He was an elderly creature, dressed in black from head to toe. Not an inch of skin was exposed. His face remained shrouded, and the only deviation from his uniform attire was the pair of clean white gloves on his hands. The Smashers could only guess what lay beneath the ever-present layers of clothing.

He communicated with his robot through beeping. Piercing, shrill noises that hurt Lucas's ears. He knew and dreaded the mechanical BEEPS! that indicated the approach of the master and his servant. BEEPS! that screamed, HIDE!

So Lucas would. He and all the rest of the Smashers that were trapped in this dungeon.

The trophy collector's workshop was an expansive place. It could probably fit the entirety of the Palutena's Temple stage inside it and still have room to spare. The circular walls were lined with shelves carrying everything from books to paintings (was that… a picture of a pink marshmallow?) to stuffed birds. The roof overhead was domed by clear glass, through which could only ever be seen an infinite sea of stars. A huge window on a section of the wall showed the same thing. There were no discernable days or nights; the only way time could be kept was with the multitude of clocks decorating the walls. There were no doors, either. Lucas had never seen G-Dub leave the workshop.

Littering the floor was a mishmash of keepsakes, collections, and random junk the trophy collector had accumulated over the years. They seemed to have no order, but they did make good hiding places.

In the center of the workshop lay the trophy collector's prized possession: the wooden display board, with rows and rows of bodies, Smashers, fallen prey to his wrinkled claws. Condemned to an eternal afterlife as little more than another successful catch in this grand game of cat and mouse. The hunter and the hunted. In which the prey could run, hide, but never break free.

XXX

Lucas had seen it many times over, and heard it more. The screams returned to him in the night hours and robbed him of what precious little sleep he could get. They served as a constant reminder to keep on his toes, hide, never stop. The trophy collector always knew your whereabouts. To stop meant to die.

It happened to Mac, after he was cornered and couldn't jump high enough to escape. Then to Miss Zelda. And, most recently, to Miss Peach. Dead. All of them, dead. And at the hands of the trophy collector.

In one fell swoop it began. G-Dub, or his robot assistant, would catch his unsuspecting prey. And in the same fell swoop it was already over… Escape was an impossible dream.

Peach struggled against the suffocating fingers, screaming bloody murder, desperately banging a frying pan against them, but to no avail. For they had her in their grip, and the grip would not be relinquished.

From there, G-Dub would take the delicate little body in his sterile, gloved hands and arrange it on the display board (or, as Lucas thought of it, the execution table). Each and every one of the Smashers already had a specific spot to be placed on the board. Lucas had crawled up when G-Dub was (presumably) sleeping and glimpsed his own grave…

The gloved hand set Peach's body on the execution table, between an empty space (another person not yet caught) and the King of the Koopas. Peach wriggled, still punishing the fingers with her pan. They seemed not to feel the beating and kept her locked under their iron hold, no different from prison bars for a man on death sentence.

Lucas could think of no adequate words to describe a mad old man(?) who would go stabbing people for fun. And then collect the corpses. Yes, that was what he did.

They were dainty things, the "pins" he used, slender metal rods with one end tapering to a deadly point and the other capped with a color-coded button, labeled with a specific symbol. A pink mushroom, only fitting for the fair lady. They were more like skewers than anything. G-Dub would meticulously select a pin and position it directly over the heart of his unfortunate victim. Then, with unerring aim, down came the guillotine.

And after that, the hammer.

Lucas turned his head away, but Peach's screams rang long and loud in his ears. Only when they ceased did he dare to look. Even then, they never fully faded from his mind.

The trophy collector would give the pin a few taps on the end with a small mallet, to anchor it in the wood. Sometimes even while the body was still alive...

Peach's body was stuck straight through, pinned to the display board like a grotesque version of a butterfly in a museum. Then- a thought came to Lucas. Maybe, if you were on the butterflies' level, this was no worse.

And the bloodstains would be casually wiped away.

Such was the way of the trophy collector.

XXX

A new trophy, a new plaque. This one, another princess. Peach, Princess of Toadstools. Her acquisition nearly completed his Mushroom Kingdom set. Just one space in the set was still empty, the one reserved for the green-clad plumber… It seemed that the plumber's years of cowardice were paying off now, as the trophy collector had not seen him once. No matter, they would all come to him eventually, one way or the other. He did prefer them not to struggle, though. It made their deaths so much more difficult…

Oh! As he wheeled through his museum of antiques, he spied a diminutive tail wagging as it disappeared behind a crate of decades-old Wii games. The trophy collector spun his wheelchair after it.

There, sitting on a GameCube, was the dog and his duck. The duck nudged her canine companion, telling him Watch out, the old man's getting closer.

"Come here, Hunter! Boomer!" he called to them. "C'mon, don't you remember your old pal G-Dub? I used to throw the clay pigeons for you…"

The dog's only response was to dart away.

"Don't be like that," the trophy collector sighed, giving chase.

He knew the area better than they did. The piles of junk would seem to be haphazardly placed to the common observer, but no. They were structured. They all had a purpose. They were walls of a maze, and he was Daedalus in the Labyrinth. (He'd read that story in one of the old books.)

The trophy collector wound through stacks of old game memorabilia, herding the duo along as they tried to flee. Within minutes, he had the dog trapped between a life-size cardboard cutout of a certain hero in green and a box of Pokemon figures. The pitiful dog was shivering, with his ears back and tail miserably tucked between his legs. The duck tried to fly away, but the trophy collector easily plucked her out of the air. He swept up the dog in his other hand.

"R.O.B.!" he called, as he had no way to move his wheelchair with both hands occupied. "Quickly." The dog was now whimpering, and the duck pecking fiercely at his fingers.

Dear friends, do you no longer recognize me?

The thought saddened him.

But it didn't stop him from nailing them to the display.

XXX

The clocks on the wall signaled the tenth hour. Whether it was day or night, Lucas couldn't know. The stars outside the roof and window never moved.

Lucas wandered aimlessly, not sure where his feet were taking him until he ended up at the center of the workshop, overlooking the execution table. He noted, with dejection, that G-Dub had caught someone else since he'd last been here… two someones, actually: Hunter and Boomer. More commonly known as the Duck Hunt duo.

Grief filled his eyes with tears. They'd always been so nice… Lucas couldn't imagine what kind of sick brute would want to do this to such kindhearted animals. His gut wrenched when he saw the expression of pure, undiluted terror written plain upon Hunter's face. It was an expression that should never have to be made by an innocent hound dog. Lucas's being flared white hot with abhorrence for the trophy collector. He scowled, hoping G-Dub felt the consequence of his actions every time he looked upon that poor animal's face.

Now that he thought about it, almost everyone on the execution table had their faces twisted into unsightly, tormented grimaces. He hadn't noticed it before, somehow.

I hope that horrible, disgusting man suffers for every single AWFUL-

The squeaking of wheels jolted Lucas out of his thoughts.

He whirled around to find the horrible, disgusting man himself, coming at him in his wheelchair. G-Dub was after him.

Needless to say, he turned tail and hauled ass.

G-Dub pursued.

Lucas pounded his feet against the shelves, scrambling over the books and other whatnots in his way; he didn't bother paying attention to them. Rather, he was more focused on emerging from this chase alive.

The most primordial instinct of fear surged through his veins, fueling his limbs and telling them RUN. Still the trophy collector gained on him. Jeez, could that old man move when he wanted to!

Adrenaline drove his legs faster, but he'd never been the most athletic of people. There was only so far he could go before he'd either be cornered or run out of steam. The walls became a blur as Lucas turned every hidden corner, took wayward paths through the junk, and, just when he thought he'd gotten loose, found only the imposing, gloved hands instead of freedom.

At this point, running out of steam seemed all too real.

Fatigue began trickling into his calves, despite his efforts to ignore it. His breath became heavy in his lungs. He was slowing. Too much.

The hand of the trophy collector reached towards him.

And the fingers closed… around empty air.

"I've gotcha, Lucas!" said the newcomer, flashing a toothy grin. He flicked his ears good-naturedly and sprinted through the workshop, far faster than Lucas could have ever gone. His tail was a banner flying behind him.

Lucas had been yanked out of harm's way in the nick of time by none other than Fox McCloud.

XXX

The trophy collector pursed his lips as he stared at his empty palm. He was so sure that he'd had the boy… Then that blasted fox had to intervene! He knew he'd never catch the fox on open ground; the beast was too swift.

No, it's no matter. He shook the failure from his head. There would be a next time.

In the meantime... He noted the direction in which the fox had carried the boy away. They didn't know this place perfectly, but he did.

"R.O.B.," the trophy collector said. "Be watching. Fox and Lucas might be coming your way."

XXX

"Thank you," Lucas puffed.

"No problem," Fox said, only slightly out of breath. "Couldn't have very well left you hanging there, now could I? It's our Smashers' duty to be looking out for each other. Right?"

Lucas nodded.

"Now, I don't know if you've been traveling alone or not, kiddo, but it's dangerous flying solo for a little guy like you. Where's your crew?"

"Oh..." Lucas blinked a few times. "Uh, well… I actually wasn't traveling alone, but my friends… Miss Zelda and Miss Peach… G-Dub got 'em."

Fox hissed in sympathy.

"And then he almost got me, too. And then you… Thank you again...!"

"Please, you're making me blush, kid. But seriously, it's nothing to be thanking me about. Just doing my job."

"But Fox-"

"All right. Now, I… I had a friend with me, too. Marth. You know who he is, right? Yeah, well, he got…" Fox winced. "Caught, too. But, at nights, we used to tell each other stories of the old times to get to sleep. How's that sound?"

"...I think that'd be nice."

"Okay, I'll start today. Then tomorrow, you'll get to tell the story. Okay? Okay. Ahem…"

A long, long time ago, before the sky went dark, there was a world where a great Sun rose every morning to replace the stars. It was called the World of Trophies. In this world, people who turned into trophies could be revived, and legendary fighters, named Smashers, fought each other for sport in tournaments of honor. These tournaments were called the Super Smash tournaments, and the Smashers became known as the Super Smash Brothers. They were celebrated across the land as heroes. All of them lived in the magnificent Smash Mansion, and they lived in harmony, for they had no collectors to fear...

XXX

"Kid."

"Hmmhh.. wha-?"

"Lucas, get up." Fox's voice was soft but stern.

"Sorry…" Lucas sat up slowly, yawning. "How long has it been?"

"Hurry! Kid, we have to go. Now. It's only been about four hours, I don't know why it's up at this time… it shouldn't be…!"

"What?"

Fox pointed. Lucas followed his gaze to find a huge, humanoid hunk of metal and gears staring him down. The trophy collector's robot. And it was coming towards them.

"That's what, Lucas. let's run." Without waiting for a reply, Fox bolted down the rows of tables, dragging him along by the arm.

Of course, the robot went after them.

This is getting old, Lucas thought, struggling to keep up. But the robot was many times faster than the trophy collector and, before long, had closed the gap between it and Fox.

"No!" Fox yelled at it, pouring on the speed and veering full tilt around a miniature marble statue of some Japanese man contemplating a banana. His grip on Lucas's arm slipped just the tiniest bit.

Lucas's short legs weren't enough to keep up with one of the fastest Smashers, either. In his haste, his arm slipped out of Fox's hand as he tripped over his own shoes and fell face flat on the unforgiving wood.

"NO!" Fox shouted.

The robot was upon Lucas in an instant, a starving vulture that had just found a fresh carcass.

Its cold hand closed around his body.

Lucas's stomach lurched as his feet were lifted off the ground. The hunter had caught him. Caught him. Swept him up in its talons to be taken back to its den.

I am going to die.

The robot's limbs clanked as it, having caught its prey, began to walk away with long strides.

"Kid!" Fox yelped, leaping for him. He knew it was already hopeless- Lucas saw it clear in his eyes. But he had to try, whipping out his blaster as he sprinted after the robot.

"No! Don't!" Lucas screamed. "It'll catch you too!"

Fox only raised his arm, aiming his blaster right at the robot's head.

In desperation, Lucas threw a PK Fire at him, forcing him to halt unless he wanted to be incinerated. A pillar of fire bloomed up at his feet, blocking him from view.

"Yow! ...Wait, kid! Lucas!" he wailed from behind the wall of flames.

Fox, I'm sorry...! Lucas whispered into his palms.

"LUCAS!" A last keening howl pealed out into the air as the robot quickly left the slightly singed Fox behind.

I'm so sorry!

"PK Thunder!" he sobbed in utter desolation, but he knew the stolid robot would feel neither his fire, ice, nor thunder as it carried him back to its master.

Lucas put his head in his hands and let the tears flow free, but what was the point? It was over. He was a dead boy. Dead, dead, dead. What an ugly word. Dead.

The clocks on the wall slowed down. Lucas felt every second left in his brief life tick away as he was carted back in the robot's clutch. Worthless jewels cascaded from his eyes and stained his cheeks with salt. They dripped to the floor, beading into perfect, twinkling hemispheres that reflected the stars.

All of them, worthless!

Dead, dead boy...

G-Dub sat waiting in his wheelchair. His expression, as always, was indiscernible.

He extended his palm, open upwards. BEEP!

The robot beeped in response and extended the hand with Lucas in it. Its iron grip loosened gradually.

The wind whispered sweet goodbyes in Lucas's ear as he tumbled through the air, descending from the fingers of the servant to the palm of the master.

He felt the calloused hand, the glove, and knew the end was upon him.

Lucas was a rag doll in the trophy collector's grip. Distantly, he watched the world move around him as he was taken to the display board in gloved fingers. They placed him down. His head knocked hard against the wood, but it didn't matter. He was beyond feeling. Meaningless tears streaked down his cheeks.

G-Dub singled out a pin, the one capped with a yellow button and a symbol of the world.

The point, like a sword, was positioned above Lucas's heart for the killing blow.

Hold still. He could have sworn he heard it.

But the world was silent, and the pin came down.

He made no move to resist. Swiftly, cleanly, it pierced through cloth, skin, and flesh until it hit wood.

And as it did, Lucas caught a glimpse of the trophy collector's face under the shroud. Numbness turned to ice in his bleeding veins.

"Mr. Game and Watch…" he murmured.

The trophy collector spoke. In BEEPs, as usual. Although, under the beeping, Lucas thought he heard an undertone of words, in a voice he might have once known. But that voice belonged to a man, not a monster. Not this…

"Lucas." Remorse, clear in the trophy collector's voice. Yet no mercy.

"This is your final destination…"

The hammer fell.

The boy had not screamed. Had not even made a sound. But the look in his glistening eyes, the intense betrayal, hatred… That was enough. The boy's death, for the trophy collector, was no easier than the deaths of the ones who went kicking and screaming. He almost felt something resonating within the hollow husk in his chest that might have resembled a heart long ago.

Almost.

But the trophy collector did not linger on such thoughts.

He meticulously aligned the boy's limbs, arranged his hair into place, and swabbed up the blood. He summoned R.O.B. to affix the newest plaque.

There. The trophy collector leaned back to admire his collection.

Beautiful.