"You're not collecting stars anymore. I am. And I'm collecting you." Marco tried to reset. The save file now had 30 stars—but the file picture wasn't Mario's face. It was Wario's. The console made a grinding noise. He turned it off, pulled the cartridge. When he plugged it back in, the game booted to a black screen. Then text appeared, pixel by pixel:

Marco found it at a garage sale in a box labeled "Old Nintendo Junk." The cartridge was a faded gray, not the usual yellow of a Mario 64 NTSC. The label was worn, but he could make out the title: Super Mario 64 in the correct font, but below it, someone had scratched in permanent marker: "feat. Wario."

Marco tried to walk toward him. The ground stretched. The more he ran, the farther away Wario got. Then, Mario's shadow flickered. Marco looked down. His shadow wasn't Mario's. It was Wario's. Fat, stubby, with two pointy ears.

Then he noticed the second star.

Star 29: Dire, Dire Docks. The eel was replaced with a stretched model of Wario's face, mouth sewn shut. Marco swam past it, got the star. Exited the level.

It was the title screen. But Mario was gone. The "Start" option was grayed out. And standing where Mario should have been, waving slowly, was Wario. His mouth moved, but no sound came. Except—Marco turned up his TV volume. A whisper, reversed, playing on a loop.

The only accessible painting was the one to "Tick Tock Clock," but the painting was different. Wario's face, smiling, teeth jagged. Marco pressed A.