A/N: It doesn't make a lot of sense to write about ALL the downtime Fox and his boys will have leading up to Falco leaving the team. In the second comic, Falco leaves four years after the defeat of Andross, but SF:Adventures takes place EIGHT years after the defeat of Andross. SO… that's four years without Falco. But the comic has a strange segue at the end, going straight into the arrival at Dinosaur Planet. So… I gotta tie up the inconsistencies to the best of my ability. Anyway.

Chapter -23-
"Rough Transition"

"Six months, Fox. I say we take the job." Everyone turned to face Falco and, to Fox's surprise, Slippy and Peppy both nodded in agreement to Lombardi. The avian continued. "Dude, I know we're still sitting on all this money and stuff but who knows how long that will last without a war. I say we take the gig."

Peppy smiled. "He makes a point, Fox. More money won't hurt, especially since mercenary work is scarce right now."

Falco offered a wan grin. "I'm just saying what I think you guys want to hear. To be honest, I'm bored crapless. We need to have some fun. I won't lie – having money is great… having a big screen TV is awesome. Playing video games and eating junk food all day long is a dream come true. But I want to blow stuff up. It's been ages, man."

Fox sighed. "Falco, my gut says this job will be a pain in the tail, man."

"WHEN has our mercenary work NOT been a pain in the tail, Fox?" shouted Falco, arms in the air. "Seriously? That's seriously why you want to turn down this gig? Because it might be an inconvenience? What the hell is wrong with you? Fine, we'll do it without you and keep your portion of the cash."

McCloud frowned. "That's not what I meant. Dude, seriously, I just have this feeling like it won't be worth what they're offering. Call it a gut feeling."

"Look, I understand that part of this job isn't in a cockpit. Yeah, it sucks, but we've not been under fire for a while and I miss the adrenaline. So I say we do it. If we stick our noses up at the ONLY JOB OFFER in the last six months then we look like pretentious pricks. Now, I might be a prick but I'm not pretentious!"

ROB turned about at the helm and said, "Pretentious, ostentatious or vulgar display. Intending to attract notice, impress others or showboat. Pompous and puffed up with vanity."

Slippy and Fox began to snicker in unison. Falco clenched his fists together. "Yeah, real funny you bucket head. It also means, like, a lack of elegance as a consequence of being pompous. It also means behaving in a manner as to create a false appearance of great importance or worth. It also means to make a claim of undeserved importance of distinction. I might be an 'elite' pilot of the 'prestigious' Star Fox team, but I'm not above taking a job that involves being under fire."

ROB simply replied, "Touché." He whirled back towards the helm.

"Yeah, that told you, ya smartass robot." He turned back to Peppy, Slippy and Fox who all appeared fairly impressed that Falco took a moment to appear out of character. "What? Are you guys flipping out because I used a few big words or something? Get used to it. I've been reading. Yeah. Reading. READING. That's how BORING it's been around here as of late. I've actually been picking up books, guys. I'm ready to drink beer and shoot things again. I'm not above taking a job that will require getting dirty."

"Well, since you're so sure of yourself," said Fox, "You can be in the trenches with me. Slippy, you're in a tank. Peppy, you're in an Arwing because I want an experienced and patient pilot who won't rush in at the wrong time just in case I need air support. This is going to be really dangerous." He crossed the bridge and approached the observation glass. "Rob, if you please?"

The blanket of space disappeared from view. A holographic map showed itself in grainy format above the glass surface. Slippy offered a moue of disgust. "This viewscreen sucks. We need to get one of those really nice holographic emitters. Everyone is going back to those because the newer ones look really real."

Fox frowned. "Yeah, I know… the viewscreen thing was in fashion when I got it but you're right… it looks like crap." He turned to face it and pointed a finger on a set of lines at the center. "This is the facility. The commissioning party is asking for us to extract the diplomat from the main building, through the city and to the park on the east end. The reason they asked us to do it is because a police swat team had two fatally wounded officers involved. If we fail, they'll call in the National Guard. I feel this job is better suited for them anyhow but since Falco is so damned adamant… we'll do it." He drew out his communicator and thumbed buttons on it for a moment then flipped it shut and stuffed it back into his pocket. This isn't going to be a cakewalk, you guys."

Peppy rubbed his chin. "It does seem odd that they would ask mercenaries to do this."

Slippy told them, "According to the message Fox received a little while ago, it's the diplomat who hailed us. He actually witnessed the two officers get shot. He called us for help, not the government. Besides, would you trust the Macbeth guard? Most of them are reptiles who probably still hold a grudge against Cornerians for ruining their economy. This poor guy thinks they'll do a half-assed job of protecting him. I'd call elite mercenaries, too."

Falco folded his arms. "Why can't we just land an Arwing by the building, amp up the shield bubble and fly him out of there?"

Fox glanced at Peppy and Slippy then back at Falco. "Haven't you been watching the news, man?"

Lombardi chuckled. "Damn, dude, I'm not that bored."

The vulpine pilot frowned again. "Falco, the diplomat went to Macbeth to try and help. He went to create ties between their government and Corneria. But the building was hit with a terrorist attack. Some crazy lizards actually ran into the lobby of this building with bombs and killed themselves to try and destroy the place. Of course, that building is designed to withstand serious punishment and the diplomat was nowhere near the lobby when those bombs went off. But still… if you bring a plane right there and land it in the intersection… that's one hell of a target. What we need to do is sneak him out the back, through the slums and maybe even through the sewers. Then we meet up at the park where Corneria will have an extraction ship. Peppy and Slippy will protect that ship from attack. ANY attacks, whether it's a guerilla attack or an outright troop attack. Then, when the guy is on that ship… we can go the hell home. Still want to do this?"

"Sewers huh?" Falco rubbed the bottom of his beak. "Why do you think this job will be a pain? Unlike the SWAT team, we're not showing up in a big armored car with flashing lights on the roof. We won't attract attention."

Slippy blinked. "Um, Falco… if you're an extremist who wants to kill someone… it's pretty likely that you and your buddies are going to watch the building he's in. That means there will probably be a gunfight in the streets."

Falco threw his arms back up in the air. "Awesome! I'm all for it!" The other three pilots groaned. "What? Don't worry. We won't hit any innocents. People without guns tend to duck and cover when gunshots are heard."

Peppy stuffed his paws into his pockets. "Fox, the slums are dangerous. That town is notorious for crime. Remember, the drug runners consider this diplomat a threat because Corneria wants to help clean up the place. So they want to see him dead, too. I understand that the slums are the fastest and most direct way to get to the park but… can't you consider another way?"

"Please," snorted Falco. "I've lived in various slums on and off for my whole life. I've survived thousands of trained reptile soldiers. Twice. I think Fox and I can handle a little city crime."

"It's a shame we don't yet have the technology to create a shield barrier."

Peppy nodded. "Slippy is right. You guys will have body armor but that may not be enough to protect you from some whack-job nutcase with a shotgun who might be doped up on a bunch of different things. Just stay alert."

"We'll handle it," said Fox. "I didn't want to do this job at all. The pay isn't enough to put our necks on the line." His communicator chimed. He drew it from his pocket, opened it and looked at the small screen then flipped it shut and put it back into his pocket.

"Fox, you once turned down fifty large to save the Mayor's kid back on Papetoon. Since when did the size of the paycheck suddenly matter to you?"

Fox sneered. "When our lives became worth more money. When we worked hard to make a reputation as 'the best'. When we rescued the entire Lylat System by ourselves… that's when we became worth more than what we're being offered here. It's a generous amount for a rookie team but I don't want someone getting killed for a measly thirty thousand credits." Our last big job might have been dangerous but at least we were inside cockpits beneath a shield bubble."

"Okay, okay," Falco said. "I'll do it by myself. Stop bitching."

Fox ground his teeth together. "Everyone on the team agrees with you, Falco… we should take the job. This isn't a dictatorship. We're doing the job. I've already texted the guy and he's already transferred the money to our account." He patted his pocket where his communicator was located. "Look, we're low on time, here. We need to get ready and head down to the surface of Macbeth as soon as possible. Let's get it together."

"Now you're talking," said Lombardi. "There are no areal enemies, anyway, so sitting in a cockpit would be boring on this job. I'm ready to shoot up the town. Let's do this."

Peppy led Slippy off the bridge so they could get ready and head down to the flight deck. Fox deactivated the view screen and ran his paws up through his short tousled headfur. "Okay… I'm ready to do this. I don't like that you've talked me into this nonsense but… I'm ready. Let's go down to the flight deck. We'll land in the park, plot an on-foot route to that building, downtown… then we'll try and use the same route back to the park with the diplomat."

"What's his name anyhow?"

"Does it matter?"

Falco shrugged. "I just wanna know his name."

"George Randall Parker. He's an avian; a sparrow to be exact. He's with his bodyguard, a snow leopard named Tanya Harford-Redding. It's, uh, hyphenated. Whatever." Fox paused for a moment then opened his communicator again and read the forwarded message. "She's apparently wounded but nothing extreme. It says here that she broke two fingers on her left paw and suffered a flesh wound on her right bicep from the initial attack. She's okay but still requires medical attention upon extraction."

"Yeah, well, what are we waiting for? It's time to shoot things." Falco waved towards the door. "C'mon, fearless leader."

"Okay, let's go then. If this goes sour I'm blaming you." Fox grinned slightly. The two hurried off the bridge.

X

"LOOK at you!" shouted Wolf O'Donnell. His upper lip curled in disgust, his fangs glinting in the illumination of the overhead lighting. He brought his fist down on the map table. The lights flickered in response. "What now, fatty?" he exclaimed.

Pigma Dengar stood up fast, knocking his small metal chair back. It clattered with a hollow sound on the deck. "Right; I've had enough of your insults, kid. I've been flying since before you were born and in this business, flight hours are everything."

Wolf smirked, glad to finally see the swine had a spine. He put a cigarette into his maw, cupped a paw over the end and lit it. "You finally stood up against an insult. It only took two effing wars to finally see you're effing backbone …and only because you think I won't kick your ass."

"I was in the military long enough to learn how to defend myself against a punk like you, Wolf."

The lupine's brow lifted over his good eye. "Is that so? Because I teach my men how to fight – yeah, I know that doesn't make me a legitimate offensive and defensive instructor, shithead, but it means I practice a lot. You wanna go at it, piggy? No weapons, no safety gear. Just a good ole' fashion fist fight. You wanna do this right here, right now in the planning room?"

"Yeah, I do, you green-haired punk."

Wolf calmly exhaled a plume of smoke from his nose, down over the cigarette, then smiled at the other corner of his muzzle. "Green hair doesn't exactly make me a punk. Besides, I was thinking about going back to white. Looks more menacing. I don't like old losers like yourself underestimating me because they don't take me serious. If people don't take me serious, they won't hire me and that costs me money. Money buys prestige, which equates to power. With power comes respect. But you know what I've learned, you fat, miserable piece of crap?"

Pigma began rolling up his sleeves. He half-forced them up passed his elbows due to the girth of his arms. "Yeah? What's that, ya' lil' prick?"

"I learned that sometimes," Wolf trailed off, watching Pigma strain to get the rolled sleeve up over his tubby bicep. "Sometimes," he continued, "nothing you have or do will earn everyone's respect. Sometimes, you have to demand it from them and leave them no choice but to respect you. Now, you think you can challenge me, kick my ass and earn my respect but you're wrong. You'll still be a really sub-par pilot when you wake up tomorrow morning. Don't get me wrong – I made you a better pilot than Corneria ever did; you had no choice but to get better because you had a good machine and a really big war to survive. But Fox McCloud managed to shoot your fat ass down twice in a crappy prototype machine WHILE Andrew and Leon had him distracted with trying to rescue his effing friends."

"He shot us all down," Andrew said, adding, "Leave Pigma alone."

Dengar turned to the youth and sneered. "Shut up, kid. I don't need your charity and I don't need you to defend me." He glanced back at O'Donnell and cleared his throat. "Fox rescued his little pals, they helped him in return. Nobody on this team helped anyone else."

Wolf hooked a thumb over at Leon. "Me and Lee look out for each other. We're a team, dickhead. The 'Old Man' threw you two on our team and screwed up everything. That's why we lost. Me and Lee had to babysit you two morons."

"Leon and I," said Powalski with a grin. "And Wolf's right. Andrew, Pigma, you two cost us our job and in-turn our employer. We failed to protect him because you bumbling idiots were stepping on our toes. Now Andross is missing – presumed dead – we don't have an employer and you two aren't our problem anymore." His now-raspy voice caused Andrew to visibly flinch. "What's wrong, chump? Don't like hearing what it sounds like to have your throat torn out in a fighter crash? Maybe if you weren't gunning for the worst pilot on the StarFox team – and failing miserably at it, I might add – then you could have helped your team members stay aloft. Then we, in turn, could have done the same. You're both worthless."

The lupine offered a grin. "Leon and I want you two worthless shmucks off this sad excuse for a defense station. We're going to destroy what is left of Bolse and, with the leftovers, we're going to build the best station in the whole Sargasso sector. If either of you come through here again, it had better be for business purposes and I'd better like the ROI proposal you bring me. Else, I will cut your throats out."

Andrew glanced at Pigma and whispered, "What's an ROI?"

Pigma started rolling up his other sleeve. "Return On Investment, kid. Go pack your bags. This won't take long."

Andrew stood up, collected his notes off the table and walked out of the planning room. Dengar watched him go then shook his head. "Like he's really going to need that paper full of crap." He glanced back at Wolf then cracked his knuckles. "Okay, you arrogant little jerk. It's time to teach you a lesson in humility. Don't worry, it won't hurt after next week and it might make you a better businessman in your future time-wasting endeavors. Ready?"

"Leon, hold my smoke." Wolf took another puff of his cigarette, holding the miasma in his lungs. He handed his cigarette to the chameleon then turned to Pigma just in time to duck Dengar's attempt at a preemptive strike. He expelled the smoke in the hog's face, causing a brief distraction.

Wolf brought his paws up quickly, starting with two jabs to Pigma's gut. His right paw came up, seeking the older man's jaw but Pigma had his hands up high and managed to deflect Wolf's third punch.

O'Donnell made a fourth strike, hitting the pilot in his chest then a fifth and sixth jab went for Dengar's belly again. Just as soon as Pigma brought his hands down to ward off the lower blows, Wolf stepped forward and head butted the pig in his face.

Dengar groaned, stumbling backwards. Wolf drew his foot back then kicked Pigma at the center of his torso. The hog flailed backwards and hit a bulkhead. Wolf didn't give him a chance to recover. He hurdled over one of the metal chairs, vaulted over the one Pigma left lying on the floor then drew his right fist back and planted it firmly in the pig's right eye.

Wolf glanced quickly back over his shoulder at the chair lying on its back then threw his arms around Pigma's torso, put his left foot up on the bulkhead and pushed off of it. He performed a suplex, causing Dengar to land on the chair, crushing it. The lupine rolled over and got to his feet quickly.

Dengar lay on the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Wolf leered at the man on the floor. "Knocked the wind out of ya', huh? Now what, you miserable fat punk?" He kicked Dengar in the ribs where he'd kicked the man seconds earlier. "Did you see how I lifted this thing, Leon? Damn, that was pretty awesome." He returned his attention to Pigma and shouted, "GET UP! ARE YOU DONE?" Wolf licked his lips then in a normal voice, said, "I'm not even panting yet. I've not even broken a sweat, bub! Pick yourself up off the floor and defend yourself!"

Pigma responded by offering the finger but was still unable to catch his breath. Wolf smiled. "Ballsy. There's that spine again. I really expected you to start crying or something. Maybe I don't know you as well as I thought I did. I'll let you walk the hell out of here with what little respect you have left. You can take that moron and his stupid notecards with you."

O'Donnell turned back to the half-crumpled metal chair then kicked it towards Pigma. "You can have that, too. It's useless now. I think you better check your ribs. Mmm, pork ribs. I bet there's enough meat on those bones to feed a homeless family for a full day."

Wolf turned away from the man on the ground. His ears flickered, hearing the man's breathing finally return to normal. Then he heard something metallic sounding. O'Donnell pivoted on his heel and brought his foot up, just in time to catch the barrel of a blaster. The deflected shot struck the ceiling. Wolf brought his foot up and stomped Pigma in the crotch. The hog curled into a ball, howling in pain.

"What's a matter, Pigma? Tender pork loins?" He reached down and took the blaster from Dengar's grasp and looked it over. "Hmm, since this thing is set to 'stun', I'll let you live. But if you ever try that again, I will tear your throat out and eat your heart. Do you understand me?" Wolf paused for effect then, at the top of his lungs, shouted, "DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME?"

Leon stood up, drew two knives and knelt beside Dengar. He placed one blade against Pigma's throat and the other against the hog's left kidney. "I could end your life with a flick of the wrist but you're not worth the time it would take to clean the blood stains off the deck. Take Andrew and leave. If you don't, I'll cut you into pieces, one bacon strip at a time." He laughed in a stomach-turning maniacal way then paused, mid-laughter, and said, "You're a sad sack of potatoes, and I am the colorful hand of death, just waiting for you to try something funny on me."

Wolf quirked both brows. "Leon, dude, I don't know how to tell you this but you've been acting awfully weird since you came out of that coma."

Powalski glanced back at his friend. "Yes, everything is clearer to me now than it was before the crash. Well, everything except my voice," he said then exclaimed, "I am but a simple, humble instrument!" in a bright and cheerful voice, then he turned back to Dengar and added, "…Of your destruction." He brought one knife upwards, slicing into Dengar's chin. A pink chunk of flesh rolled over Pigma's shoulder and plopped on the deck plating. "I won't even charge you for removing that blasted double-chin of yours. Oh, but I DO make an excellent plastic surgeon, don't I?"

Leon cleaned his blade on Dengar's shirt, ignoring the way the pig squirmed, using his pudgy palms to cover the wound. Blood trickled between the older pilot's fingers and stained the front of his clothing. The lizard twirled both knives in an impressive display of rehearsed skill then put them back into the sheaths he had on his belt. "Now you may leave, you blob of failure. Go, go on now! Before I feast on your entrails… after all, Wolf already called dibs on your heart; I'm sure that over-sized motor of yours needs a triple bypass. Come to think of it, it's probably quite high in cholesterol. But I could make quite a dish with the rest of you! I could take your stomach and stuff it with…"

"LEON! Dude, shut up. You never used to say this weird crap. What's gotten into you?"

"Like I said, Wolf, I can see clearer than ever before." He turned back to Pigma and hissed in an aggressive fashion then walked out of the room. "I'll be on the observation deck, basking in front of the windows if you need me!"

Wolf shook his head. "Go to the sickbay and get some gauze. Check that right rib then get Andrew, pack your crap and leave." He removed the energy magazine from Pigma's blaster and threw the empty pistol on the deck by the pilot's legs. "Remember. Don't come back through here unless it's on business or unless it's to deliver Fox McCloud my way. I hope we have an understanding here." He left the room.

O'Donnell made his way up to the observation deck and approached the lizard lying on a desk that was pushed over by the windows. "What's gotten into you lately? Jeeze you're acting weird. Look, we need to make some money to refit this base into the all new Sargasso Station. I've got two jobs for us. The first one is a milk run; we take a copy of Andross' DNA over to this crazy dude named Shears. He works for the Cornerian military but he said he'd pay good money to get a sample of the Doc's hair. More money if we find something better. Let's face it, Andross was a geneticist. I'm headed back to Venom; I'm willing to bet he kept some of his cells frozen back in his lab."

"What's the second job?"

"We've been hired to assassinate a mafia family on MacBeth. Word on the street is, we have competition from some tall guy named Caruso. We gotta get the job done before he gets the job done."

"It appears time is of the essence. I'll go to Venom, find the DNA sample and take it to this guy, Shears. Just give me the contact information so I can chart a course. I'll meet you on MacBeth."

"Sounds like a plan, brother." Wolf traded a fist bump with his long-time friend then walked back towards the double doors at the far end of the room. "I'll send you the data in a compressed, encrypted data stream. Head to Venom now. I'll get you the coordinates for the buyer as soon as I'm in my cockpit."

"See you there. Hell, we're down two pilots… maybe we should see if this Caruso guy is a better pilot than the last two. More pilots means more mercenary jobs become available to us. No one is going to hire a team of two because they would expect us to be outnumbered against whatever they need done."

"Yeah, yeah. Later." The doors thumped shut behind O'Donnell. He headed for the flight deck, stepping over metallic debris and clutter that littered the hallways. "I can't wait to refit Bolse Defense station into something that isn't a goddamned mess."

-x

"Call me Captain Shears," said the uniformed canine. "I understand you're one of Fox McCloud's enemies."

"You could say that," said Leon, passing the man a small silver box. "The vial is frozen. You know, I passed a large ship on my way in. It appears you have pirate troubles – they were stealing supplies from you."

"Ah, yes, Katt Monroe and her gang of goons. I plan on using them as bait to lure in Star Fox due to her prior romantic ties to Falco Lombardi."

Leon flinched at the avian's name. "And what if they don't come? Or what if Monroe manages to best your trap? Or what if only Falco comes to save her?"

"I have a backup plan, of course. I'll personally hire StarFox to attack the pirates without letting them know that Katherine Monroe is the leader; that's Plan-A, at least. Then, after using them to rid myself of my pirate infestation, I'll analyze the data on their fighting technique and lure them into a trap they won't survive. If all else fails, I'll invite them to the base so I can fight them myself."

"And you're sure that would work?" Leon scoffed. "Fox McCloud has undergone defense training."

Reginald Shears turned to a pair of dueling swords on display above his desk. He removed one from the wall and twirled it expertly then he performed a series of thrust and parry exercises. He pivoted about, causing the sword to create a soft swishing sound then stopped, turned and thrust the blade forth one last time. It stopped less than an inch from Leon's nose.

"Impressive posturing but…"

"Wait." Shears smiled. "Just wait…" He retracted the sword then placed it back on the wall. Meanwhile, on his desk, an apple parted. The canine turned back to his desk and slid his paw over a dictionary. It came apart at his touch, diced into several pieces. Then he reached for a paperweight. The little fighter decoration came apart with a brush of his fingertips. The wings and ailerons came away from the fuselage, the hull came into three sections and the base upon which it sat came apart the same way. "A swordsman is ONLY as good as his sword and I have two of the finest in the quadrant."

"I admit, I have a greater respect for you now that I know you're skilled with a blade," said Leon. "However, all your moves are offensive tactics. Remember, a good defense can always topple a good offense. I don't know if Fox McCloud knows anything about fencing but he's a very defensive pilot. He guards himself, he positions himself and thinks about his next ten moves. He protects his wing mates so that they protect him. The best way to beat him is to cut him off from his support, frustrate him, cloud his head with emotion then stab him in the back when he least expects it. My only problem thusfar is having the strategic positioning. If you plan on luring Fox McCloud here on foot, you have to gain his trust, wait until his guard is down, then drive a blade into his back. Don't attempt to take him on if he's in his comfort zone."

"When I kill him, he won't be anywhere near a cockpit. I promise. I'll charge at him on a wild boar I've trained. He has razor-sharp tusks and will eviscerate that boy-wonder pilot."

"Remember, he's a well-rounded adversary. Your best weapon is misperception. Let him think he's working for you and you'll have a chance."

Shears took Leon's hand and they shook. "I appreciate your advice. I will make sure he never sees it coming. I'll misguide him all the way up until the moment I run him through with my sword."

"A man after my own heart. A blade is so much more personal."

"If I can capture him instead, I'll hold him for Andross."

Leon face-faulted. "No one has heard from Andross since his base crashed into the sun. Trust me, Andross is most likely gone. Besides, I know Andross personally. He wouldn't take pleasure in the personal destruction of Fox McCloud –he's far too busy with other things. He would be quite happy if someone did the deed, then he would simply commend your actions and go back to his toiling… his life's work, whatever that may be. Some say he's working on a way to save Lylat, others say he's working on a way to own it. Still, others suggest that his only goal in life is tyranny …but you can't believe everything fed to you by the government, now can you?"

"You're quite right, Mister Powalski. My thanks goes to your lead pilot, Wolf O'Donnell. Now, I'd better take this," he said, taking the box across the room, "And get back to my work and research. Take care!" Shears bowed slightly then went back to his desk and opened a file folder. "Till we meet again."

"Yeah, sure," said Leon and left back the way he came. As he stepped onto the flight hanger, his mood changed as did the tint of his skin. "Time to go to MacBeth! Time to assassinate someone! Oh, my favorite thing! To watch someone die, hehe!"

x-

A/N: Okay, I guess I'm doing stuff about StarWolf now. As well as Shears, Falco leaving to be with Katt… all that jazz.