War Crimes

He sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair, his hands cuffed, chained securely to a cold steel desk, waiting for the dwarfed detective with the red and white cap to reenter the room. The room was hot with stale oppressive air, smelling of old papers and forced confessions, like a high school detention hall augmented by nightmare. Overhead a buzzing fluorescent light hung a foot from his head, slowly cooking him like a rotisserie hotdog inside a 7-11. Peering out into the large glass mirror, his mustache frayed and unkempt, like an old toothbrush, he thought of the events that had led up to this point. The shock and horror, the dreamlike absurdity of it all; the burning flame of retribution he'd hurled at his villainous opposition. This is how he'd been rewarded for his heroism. Treated like a common criminal. He pounded his fist against the table in frustration and said something in Italian. Looking down at his shackled wrists, he noticed how pale his hands were.

The laconic detective came walking into the room like a tired penguin and sat in the chair across from him, folding his arms and glaring, believing that if he looked hard enough he'd find the answers he wanted. For a few minutes they just stared at one another not saying a word, until the man said:

"Listen, I already told you: he kidnapped my girlfriend. He sent countless thugs after me to beat me - to try and kill me."

"Anything else you'd like to add," the detective asked.

"The guy trapped me in a room with him and attacked me with hammers."

"Let me make sure I understand this, so I can verify I have all my facts straight. This was after you broke into his place of residence?"

"Look, I did what I had to do. It was him or me, and luckily, I got out alive," the cuffed man said.

"I see. So you cut a platform out from under him, knowing that this would send him plunging into a pit of molten lava and fire feet below. You didn't try to flee, or resuscitate him?"

"Flee? Resuscitate him? I told you he trapped me there."

"Yes, that's right, I'd forgotten that you were trapped in the house you'd trespassed into. And from what our boys tell us, you went through great lengths to infiltrate the premises - bypassing the security systems and trampling all of his guards something fierce. I don't recall; you said you didn't attempt to revive him or call an ambulance?"

"He breaths fire."

"Breathed, technically."

"..."

"Oh yea," the detective said, "speaking of fire, take a look at these." He slid photos across the table, of broken bricks and charred rubble.

"Multiple felony counts of arson - incalculable property damage. These are some serious charges. You're looking at spending a long time behind bars, or worse."

"This is outrageous! I can't believe this. He was a monster!" the man yelled, his hands wringing, rattling the chains.

"I don't think you understand the gravity of these charges. We haven't even discussed your near genocide of the Goombas, or the hate crimes committed against the Koopa Troopers," the detective said, leafing through an enormous manila folder.

"What?!"

"In what world is it reasonable to act as you have? To believe your unique brand of determined vigilante justice would go without consequence? A lot of people are dead, Mr. Mario."

"He kidnapped my girlfriend," he said trailing off. "He tried to take over the entire Kingdom! I was trying to save everyone..."

"Genocide. So your final solution was genocide," he said, sneering as he sat back in his chair.

"I want my lawyer."