FABIO

Fabio appear at the song "3am encore". He is in this creepypasta:

My name is Albin, I was 5 years old when it happened. My father's name was Fabio. My father worked at Nintendo. Once, when my father was creating a prototype of Mario 64, he died of exhaustion. The soul of the deceased Fabio entered the body of Mario, viruses spread in the prototype, and because of this, the unfinished game had to be deleted by the Nintendo employees. But it is still in the archives.

Years later, I found an old box in the attic labeled "Nintendo Prototypes." My curiosity piqued, I opened it and found a single cartridge with "Mario 64 Prototype" written in faded ink. Remembering the stories about my father's work, I felt a strange attraction to try it out.

I connected my old Nintendo 64 console, blew off the dust from the cartridge, and inserted it. The screen came to life, and there he was—Mario, but something was off. His eyes were hollow, with dark circles around them, and his usual cheerful expression was replaced by a sinister grin.

As I began to play, the game world was eerily quiet, devoid of the usual cheerful music. Instead, a low, distorted hum played in the background. Mario moved slower than usual, his movements jerky and unnatural. I navigated through the levels, filled with glitches and disturbing imagery—the backgrounds flickering between scenes of normal game levels and something darker, more sinister.

Suddenly, Mario stopped moving, and the screen flashed with the image of my father's face, twisted in pain. Text appeared on the screen: "Help me, Albin. I'm trapped." I felt a chill run down my spine. How could this be happening? My father was dead, yet here he was, communicating with me through a game.

Desperate to free him, I continued playing, hoping to find a way to release his trapped soul. The levels grew increasingly distorted, filled with horrifying images and strange messages. Mario's appearance became more grotesque, his face contorted with agony.

I finally reached the last level, where Mario faced a monstrous version of Bowser. As the battle raged on, the screen flickered and distorted. Mario seemed to struggle, his movements sluggish as if something was holding him back. Then, with a final blow, Bowser was defeated, and the screen went black.

A message appeared: "Thank you, Albin. You've freed me." The game shut off, and the cartridge ejected itself. I sat there, staring at the blank screen, my heart pounding. My father's soul was finally at peace, but the haunting experience left me shaken.

I put the cartridge back in the box and buried it deep in the attic, vowing never to play it again. The image of Mario with my father's tormented face still haunts me to this day. If you ever come across a Mario 64 prototype game, beware—you might just find more than you bargained for.

Years have passed since I put the cartridge away in the attic. I thought I had left this story behind, but recently, strange events have started to happen. Footsteps echoed in the house, even when I was alone. Objects disappeared and reappeared in unusual places. One night, I heard a faint whisper coming from the attic. With apprehension, I decided to investigate.

As I climbed the dusty attic stairs, a strange smell of mold and metal filled my nostrils. The light from my flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. At the back of the attic, the old "Nintendo Prototypes" box seemed to be waiting for me, as if it knew I was coming.

With trembling hands, I opened the box and found the Mario 64 prototype cartridge. This time, something was different. The cartridge seemed to emit a faint reddish glow. A chill ran down my spine, but I knew I had to understand what was happening.

I went downstairs with the cartridge and inserted it into my Nintendo 64. The screen lit up, but this time, the image was even more distorted. Mario, now almost unrecognizable, stood in a dark, foggy landscape. His eyes, two bottomless black holes, seemed to stare directly at me.

Suddenly, text appeared on the screen: "Albin, help me... it's me, Dad." My heart raced. I was terrified, but I couldn't ignore what was happening. I started playing, determined to discover the truth.

Each level was a twisted version of the familiar Mario 64 worlds, filled with horrifying creatures and deadly traps. The walls seemed to bleed, and distant screams echoed in the dark caverns. Mario himself seemed to struggle to move forward, his movements hesitant and painful.

At one point, the screen froze, and an image of my father appeared briefly, his eyes filled with despair. Then, a new area opened up, a sinister castle surrounded by flames. Mario entered, and I faced a final challenge: a nightmare version of Bowser, even more terrifying than before.

The battle was intense. Every time Mario seemed about to win, Bowser came back stronger. But finally, with fierce determination, I managed to defeat him. The screen went black, and a weak but recognizable voice came from the television: "Thank you, Albin. I am free."

The game turned off, and the cartridge ejected once more. But this time, it disintegrated into dust in my hands. I knew my father was finally at peace, and the curse of the Mario 64 prototype was lifted.

However, even today, the shadow of that experience haunts me. Sometimes, in the silence of the night, I still hear a whisper: "Thank you, Albin..." and I wonder if it's really over. If you ever find a strange cartridge or a prototype game, remember my story and think twice before inserting it into your console. For some souls, even when freed, never truly find rest.