In a dark alley somewhere, sitting slumped against a graffiti-laden brick wall, his guts pouring out into his hands and sullying his normally pristine white gloves, a bullet-riddled Wario can’t help but wish he hadn’t wasted so many goddamn lives trying to jump over to that one platform.

“Gwah… gwah…” he moans, his voice never rising above a trembling whisper. “God only gives a’ you… so many a’ chances… and I wasted so many! And a’ for what?! A couple measly coins? Gwah! Gwah!”

Wario pauses as an ambulance speeds by, sirens wailing. He sighs and takes off his hat. “Gwah… no one comin for a’ Wario. No one a’ care if I die…” He removes his hand from his stomach and wails. His eyes roll back into his head as he passes out.

Staying true to his rascal nature even to the end, Wario refused to disclose to Hardcasual who shot him or why. The case will probably never be solved.

Two and a half hours later after passing out, a short order chef throwing out a bag full of fish guts stumbled upon the disgraced treasure hunter in a catatonic state. Wario was rushed to the hospital but was pronounced dead in the ER at just past ten. According to his doctors, the yellow-loving misanthrope was lucid when he came in. His last words were reportedly, “Gwah. Gwah!”

“It was the most difficult surgery I’ve ever performed,” says Dr. Daniel Drudel, the surgeon who was on duty. “Every time I made an incision, all these gold coins poured out. I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s no way to know for sure, but I’m fairly confident that if this guy hadn’t been shot to death, he would of died in a matter of days of heavy metal poisoning.”

Dr. Drudel and his staff continued to stab the recently deceased well into the night, splitting the gold eleven ways.