Smash Games 2: CROSSROADS | Super Smash Bros.

8 - The Prophecy

Dr. Mario

"Hold her down!" Dr. Mario roared as he scrambled for the door. "I'm calling for help!"

Sarah and Little Mac struggled to obey, doing their best to keep a violently bucking Palutena down on the mattress of her bed. The woman was ash pale and slick with sweat, and her eyes were rolled back into her skull, giving her a zombie-like cast as her body involuntarily bucked and jerked in a crazy seizure. It was hard to believe that just moments ago, she'd been silent and serene in her bed.

The seizure was unlike anything Dr. Mario had seen up to this point - he'd given her twenty cc's of the sedative they'd had on hand, but it was as if Palutena's body was rejecting its effects.

Stumbling out of the doorway of the office, and into the clinic's lobby, he grabbed the phone that sat at the vacant front desk. When he'd started watching Palutena three or four days ago, the ROB that had abdicated the position to him had given him a number to call in case he needed any special medical supplies for Palutena's treatment. He struggled to remember the number now, even as he heard Sarah and Little Mac trying to restrain Palutena.

5...4...0...9...9...3? Had it been a three? He waited anxiously as an automated message played.

"Thank you for calling the Robotic Operating Buddy Central Command, where your needs are our jobs. Please enter your extension for the correct department."

Extension? Extension? Had the ROB given him an extension? He couldn't remember.

The ruckus grew worse from the back - Dr. Mario swore he saw flashes of light reflecting off of the mahogany walls.

"Extension," he panted. "Extension, okay." His finger hovered over the keypad. Nine... For some reason, nine came to mind. Nine, nine...eight?

"Hello, this is the Culinary Service branch of the ROB Central Command. Can I help you?"

Culinary services! Dr. Mario cursed and slammed down the phone, redialing and trying out the extension again. Nine, nine...three?

"Housekeeping Services. How may we help you?"

"Doc!" Little Mac grabbed his shoulder as Dr. Mario slammed the receiver down again. The kickboxer was pale and sweaty, his eyes wide and panicked. "Doc, she's going into cardiac arrest. You have to do something!"

What! Cardiac arrest? How? "Hold on," he said, fumbling to punch the numbers in again. Nine, nine...what? What was that last blasted digit?

"Doc, come on!" Little Mac shouted. "The phone call can wait!"

Nine, nine...seven? No...nine, nine, zero!

"Medicinal Services. How can I help you?"

He nearly sagged in relief.

"We've got a patient in need of medical attention down here!" Dr. Mario said into the mouthpiece as Little Mac continued to pull at his shoulder. "I'm not sure of what's wrong with her, but send whatever you think will work, and quick!" He ended the call without waiting for an answer and dashed after Little Mac back into the hospital room.

Sarah was bent over Palutena, who was once again docile, twisted up in the bedsheets. The woman was pale as death, and a stream of drool ran from the crack of her mouth. Sarah looked up in panic.

"Her heart's not beating," she reported. "And she's not responding to CPR."

Dr. Mario began rummaging through the drawers and file cabinets in the room, tossing out syringes, masks, gloves, and other medical equipment in his feverish search.