Final Mashtination

by Rinnaul

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Random, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sweetie Belle, Button Mash
Length: 2149

Button Mash narrowly evades his death many times. And also fails to evade it many times.

Someone or something clearly wants Button Mash dead. Or, at least, wants him to know that it wants him dead, what with all of the deadly circumstances followed by second chances.

It will take all of his wits and metagaming ability to survive this.

Or he could learn his lesson and apologize, but consider who we're talking about here.

(Inspired by, but otherwise unrelated to, Obs's latest meme. Gore tag as a precaution—descriptions of it are going to be pretty short and clean.)

Published 2014-11-03 12:40:03 UTC
Last updated 2014-11-03 12:40:03 UTC

Button Bash

Button woke with his alarm, yelped, and immediately rolled out of bed just before the axe hanging above it would have slammed into his chest. He lay on the floor for a moment rubbing his eyes and waiting for his rapid-fire pulse to settle down again.

Taking a deep breath, he stood and made his way over to the door, intent on getting behind who it was that had targeted him for death, and why.

He paused at the door, very gently turning the knob until it just was just barely open. Then with a loud cry imitated from any number of debatably-accurate fighting games, kicked the door open fully while landing on his side in his room, well clear of the door frame.

With a smirk, he watched the safe crash through the floor where he would have been standing, had he made his way through the door.

The smirk turned to a confused expression at the sound of a strange rumbling from above him. He looked up just in time to see a bowling ball—released from the same mechanism that dropped the safe—falling towards his face.

“Oh, buck,” he managed to say, before it impacted his cranium, fracturing his skull and leaving him comatose from the brain damage.

Would you like to play again?

Button Gnash

Button woke with his alarm, rolling out of bed just before the axe hanging above it would have struck his chest. Sitting on the floor next to the bed, he yawned and rubbed his eyes before making his way to the door of his room. Taking a deep breath, he carefully turned the knob until it was only just open, and then pushed it the rest of the way in one solid motion while standing with his back flat against the wall at one side of the door.

There was a loud crash as a falling safe obliterated the floor just outside his room, followed by a rumble and a thud as a bowling ball rolled down a chute and slammed into the floor just a few paces from where he stood.

He smiled again at having defeated the devious trap, and leapt across the gap in the floor to land in the hallway.

Whoever was targeting him was clearly a devious and sinister sort of pony. He’d have to be prepared for anything to survive this.

And so, his first stop was the bathroom.

After all, with so many sudden attacks, it was only a matter of time until one startled him into doing something embarrassing. Might as well empty his bladder under controlled conditions, first.

He closed and locked the bathroom door behind him. No point in risking somepony bursting in to take him out on the toilet.

The bathtub was full, but he decided to stay clear of it, just in case the liquid was actually acid or something. With how his morning had gone so far, that seemed the most reasonable assumption.

A quick check of the toilet to ensure there were no traps there, and he finally got down to “business”.

However, while he was washing up (lest he suddenly die from some sort of toilet-borne infection in the killer dungeon that had taken over his life), he heard a splash and a low growl from behind him. Spinning around, he saw a full-grown alligator between himself and the door.

“What.”

Unfortunately, he was unaware that Pinkie Pie had borrowed their bathroom to serve as a temporary home for one of Gummy’s toothed and pony-eating cousins.

“WHAT?!”

He could only shout in disbelief as the gator lunged at him—

“THIS IS SUCH HORSEAPPLES!”

—tore him to pieces, and devoured him.

Would you like to play again?

Button Crash

Button casually rolled out of bed as his alarm went off, leaning against the bed for a moment and yawning as the axe hanging above it embedded itself in his mattress. He made his way to the door of his room, turning the knob, kicking it open, and diving through.

A safe went through the floor behind him as he got to his hooves. A bowling ball hit the floor soon after. He rubbed his eyes and ignored the alligator as he passed the bathroom, and then kept going past his mother’s room, heading for the stairs.

Caution hadn't worked. Thinking ahead hadn't worked. Strategy hadn't worked. Button only had one option left in the gamer’s arsenal: the speedrun.

With a quick check to ensure the stairs didn't feature any obvious traps, he ran down them, only tumbling on the last few, and then raced for the front door.

So far, his house had been nothing but a death-trap. He’d have to get out of here if he wanted to make any progress in unraveling this mystery.

He gave the front door the same treatment he’d given the back door. A careful first turn, a kick to open it, and a dive through.

He rolled back to his hooves as he landed in the street, and stood a moment to catch his breath.

“KID! LOOK OUT!” somepony shouted.

Button Mash sighed as he looked up and saw the cart speeding towards him.

He didn't even bother trying to avoid it as it ran him down, crushing his bones and mangling his body beyond recognition.

Would you like to play again?

Button Ash

Button woke with a groan as his alarm went off, rolling out of bed just before the axe would have struck him, and allowing it to slay his sheets and mattress instead. Grumbling and rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the desk in the corner of his room and grabbed his GameColt.

Sitting on the floor at the end of his bed, he loaded up Defenders of Humgonia and sat down to try and grind for the last few rare drops he hadn’t acquired yet.

No matter what it was he was supposed to be doing. No matter who wanted him dead. No matter why. If everything he did wound up in defeat, he knew how to deal with that.

A gamer’s civil disobedience: refusing to follow the plot hook.

And so he sat, for a few hours, until he began to notice a strange smell in the air.

“What the?”

Apparently a gas line had come loose in the kitchen.

“Oh, for Luna’s sake…”

It was only a matter of time before something sparked the explosive gas, sending Button’s home up in a giant fireball, and reducing him and everything he owned to ash and cinders.

Would you like to play again?

Button Gash

Button woke with his alarm, lying in bed half-asleep and bleary-eyed, the consequences of yet another late night of gaming. He lay there for a few moments, dimly aware that something was different about his room, but unable to place it.

By the time he was able to identify the object hanging above his bed as an axe, it was already too late.

He only managed to blurt out “What the bu—” before it buried itself in his chest.

Would you like to play again?

Button Smash

Button woke with his alarm, still half-asleep and bleary-eyed. However, his eyes widened in shock as he identified the shape of a large axe hanging above his bed. With a shout of “What the buck?!” he dove aside just as the axe slammed into his bed, burying its entire head in the mattress.

Button spent a few minutes curled up against his bed, shivering and hyperventilating, before once again standing and making his way to the door of his room.

Someone had just tried to kill him, and he needed to find out who—and why—fast.

If he hadn’t been so focused on that thought as he left his room, he might have noticed the complex mechanism in the hall above his door, which, triggered by the door being opened, dropped a huge steel safe through a hole in the ceiling above him, slamming Button Mash through the floor, and flattening him against the ground below.

Would you like to play again?

Button 'Stache

Button woke with his alarm, rolling smoothly out of his bed as the axe hanging above it sliced through his sheets and mattress. He took a moment to rub his eyes, then strode towards the door of his room with purpose.

It was time to get serious. Whoever was trying to kill him seemed to always remain one step ahead.

He turned the doorknob so it was only just open, then, with a shout, butted it open fully and dove through, landing in the hall and rolling back onto his hooves as the safe and bowling ball each hit the floor behind him in turn.

He didn’t look back at them, and paid no mind to the alligator’s faint growls as he passed the bathroom.

If he was going to take this villain down, he’d have to be prepared. Step one, a disguise.

He kicked open the door to his mother’s room, standing back against the far wall in case any more traps awaited him there. After a few seconds, he decided the door was clear, and cautiously made his way into her room. He avoided the bed, wary of what might come from underneath it, and very, very carefully inspected and opened her dresser.

Soon, he found his objective, and without even a single trap in the way: his father’s faux mustache.

He put it into place, and headed towards the wardrobe to find a hat less recognizable than his usual propeller style, and perhaps a trenchcoat.

However, that’s when he felt something tightening around his throat.

He looked around frantically for what sort of trap he might have set off this time, only to see a length of black hair enveloped in a green aura drift in front of his face. The mustache itself had been the trap. It was apparently enchanted to grow out and kill whoever put it on.

“Oh, come on!” Button shouted as best he could around the tightening hairs, dropping to his haunches and trying to pry the mustache off with his forehooves.

Unfortunately, more lengths of hair grew from the mustache, and he only succeeded in getting his hooves captured within it as well. The hairs around his throat kept lengthening and tightening, and soon he fell to his side, his vision fading to black.

His final thoughts before he fell into death’s cold embrace were “Such… horseapples…”

Would you like to play again?

The Only Winning Move

“No! No, I’m not playing again!” Button Mash slammed a hoof down on his character sheet—based on himself—and swept the dice off of the table. “This is nothing but a killer dungeon! No matter what I do or don’t do, I’m just going to die over and over!”

Sweetie Belle glared at him, eyes only just visible over the top of her DM screen.

“Why did we interrupt our usual weekly D&D session for this?” he asked.

Sweetie sighed. “Do you seriously not know, Button?”

“Wait, is this just because I forgot which day your birthday was?” He blinked. “I still got you something.”

Sweetie’s eye twitched, and she sputtered before pushing the DM screen over to plant both of her forehooves on the table. “That’s not the point! It’s not that you got me something or not! It’s the part where you forgot about it!” She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before fixing her gaze on him again. “And besides, it wasn't just the birthday. It’s also about what you said to my sister.”

“What did I say to her? Was it the part where I asked how her mane stayed that shape?”

Sweetie ground her hooves into the table and threw her head back in a growl that seemed to be restraining a scream. “You said ‘oh wow, you’re almost as old as my mom’! You said that to Rarity!”

Button blinked again, and cocked his head to one side. “And? What’s wrong with that?”

“Now she thinks she’s getting old!” Sweetie shouted. “She was in hysterics the entire day! I spent most of my birthday trying to console my hyperemotional sister instead of going out and having fun with you!” She sank down into the chair and grumbled. “And she ate all the ice cream I was going to have for my birthday, too…”

“I could… take you out to get more ice cream?”

Sweetie Belle stared at Button for a moment, then sighed and rubbed her temple with one hoof. “Okay, you know what? It’s a start.”

“Great! Just let me get my wallet and—”

“But if you ever do something like it again, I’m having Apple Bloom loan me an axe.”

“—and make a note to change the locks on our house.”