Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
Chapter 1 – Creator
By Fumo
Contact me @ [email protected]
Author's note: I like violence, pain, greed, and smut; it makes for a really good story.
Peace.
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Wolf walked up to the doors, and, slowly, placed a hand on the stiff wooden pallet
with chapped red paint. He made an effort to be quiet as he pushed it open on it's
squeaky, swinging hinges, and slipped inside the small doorway. Inside the light, as he
expected, was so minimal that light bulbs that hung in certain places acted like small
islands of yellow illumination and the other spaces of the room merely contained blotchy
dark figures and objects that slightly stood out. Wolf could barely read the stylized red
letter graffiti written across the back wall that read, Horace Heights.
No one within made too much of a response to his one eyed head peering in. The
bartender, a grim, but uninterested looking opossum raised his head up from his work of
pouring a tall brown drink for another patron. The bartender conveyed a look of disdain,
then returned to his work.
Wolf pushed a little more and slipped inside the building. Around him were a few
shady looking creatures seated at bar stools and tables keeping to themselves as they
nursed their alcohol. Wolf strolled slowly by a pool table while keeping a sly gaze on the
two gray hounds playing a disinterested game of pool while smoking stumpy cigarettes.
Wolf looked from side to side, searching the room, before finally taking a seat on
a metal bar stole near the end of the bar. He settled down there, placing his elbows on the
counter and propping his long chin on his folded hands.
The bartender, slowly walked over to him and pulled up an empty glass from
underneath the counter, "What can I get you?" the bartender asked with a disinterested
tone in his surprisingly stalky voice.
Wolf thought a moment, "A glass of water..." Wolf figured it would be better then
asking for a glass of milk.
The bartender gave him a weird look, but gave up and went to a refrigerator,
selected a container of liquid and poured it into a clear glass.
Wolf took the glass of clear stuff without so much as a thank you, and held it up to
his eye. It was a little chalky to be pure, but hopefully it wouldn't be poisonous. He took
a drink and was satisfied.
Suddenly, a shrill whistle echoed through the room, emanating from a spot behind
Wolf. Wolf was not one to be startled so he slowly lowered his glass and turned his head
toward the source, a shady booth in the far corner where two figures sat calmly, their
backs to the bar and the tavern in general. No one else in the tavern seemed to care or
even to have heard it, the gray hounds continued their lack luster little game.
Seeing as no one else was going to answer the call, Wolf picked up his drink and
strolled over toward the corner. His booted feet made loud taps on the hard cement floor
as he made his way over, breaking the relative silence, only off set by the sound of ice
bumping against glass cups and the sound of the q-ball hitting the rest of the lot. Wolf
came over to the booth and stood there in front of it's two occupants, waiting and
contemplating.
Two smooth and collected creatures, sat there, sprawled out on the plush cushions
of the booth, holding glasses. Wolf looked over the two carefully.
The one more into the booth was a monkey, well into his life as you could see
from the lines on his face, arcing around his thinly cut features that expressed intensive
use and eyes that spoke of wisdom. His gaze spoke to Wolf in a way that conveyed the
man's age, but also his skill, the very centers had full attention on Wolf's eyes, showing
this man thought with his whole brain, they expressed no emotion other then the slight
convection of contentment, this fellow's own contentment with himself. His right hand
was under the table, his right on top, a few centimeters from his short glass of reddish
brown liquid, he had a simple leather strap watch on his slender wrist, and a deep-looking
scar on the back of the lower digit on his pointer finger that went a little ways onto his
knuckle, an odd scar, one with a story no doubt.
The other was a deer, a white-tailed deer to be exact, a female. She was slender
and smooth seated near the edge of the booth closest to Wolf. She was clad in a smug
black tank top and slender pants, her fur was a rich brown, but also had several pristine
white patches over her back and shoulders. She had a slender snout with a cute button
black nose, coy perched-down ears, and quiet black eyes, eyes that remained pasted down
at her slender hands that were holding a tilted over, empty beer bottle, gently caressing
the opening of the barrel, rubbing her long, slim index finger over the lip again and again.
She had a strange tattoo, a menacingly happy drawing of a clown's visage on the side of
her back near her armpit, it's happy face, diluted with sinister smile and soulless eyes
mocked those who looked at it, it was soul stirring.
Wolf stood there for one second more, then slowly seated himself in the booth,
placing his drink on the table and folding his arms in front of him on the table, and stared
into the monkey's eyes.
"All right, let's get this out in the open cause I hate dodging the point, ok." Wolf
pointed to himself, "I am Wolf O'Donnell, I spent 4 years at the Cornarian Institute of
Aeronautics, graduating the top of my class. I've flown to every part of this system from
Aquas to Titania. I've killed more pirates and dissidents then an inquisition. I'm one of
the best damn pilots around, and that's not just bragging, I am."
Wolf pointed his finger at the monkey, "You work for Andross, that psychotic
self-styled god of death, who as we speak is systematically killing Lylatians all over the
system. We have some stuff in common, but what I can't seem to figure out…" Wolf said
putting his finger down, and looking off whimsically, "Is why you would have anything
at all to say to me, but what is even more puzzling is why I want to know the answer,
why I came all the way here to this dive, on Katina, to hear you? So, I'm done… done
bull shiting. What do you have to say to me?"
The monkey smiled at Wolf, the deer did not move.
The monkey opened it's mouth, "Hey bro, you answered your own question,
because you're the best."
Wolf leaned back, "Well, yeah that's a good reason to want to talk to me, but not a
good reason to waste my time."
"Of course not," the monkey said, "What I have to discuss with you is
significantly more important."
Wolf took a sip, "I thought so…"
"I could bore you with a lot of garbage about ideals, Mr. O'Donnell…"
"Don't call me that, that's my father's name, I'm just Wolf."
"Very well, I could bore you with a lot of garbage about ideals, Wolf, about how
Andross will succeed, about how you should jump to the winning side before it's too late,
but you don't want to hear that, you just want to hear the money talk, right?"
"Pretty much…"
"All right bro, I've got that for you." the monkey smiled brightly, but his tone
soon became very serious "We would like you, to sell your services to our militia."
Wolf nodded and took a sip.
"We are prepared to make it worth your wild, too."
Wolf nodded again, sucking on his glass.
"30,000 credits right now, 20,000 a month, plus a commission on your number of
Cornarian kills, as well as, all the perks of being a Venomese officer, the cars, the clubs,
the…" the monkey's eyes shifted to his companion, "girls…"
Wolf's eyes shifted to her as well, she made no movement besides the continual
massage of her bottle's lip.
The monkey continued, "You'd get your own command, an elite squadron of your
chose, all the latest technology, you'll be set."
Wolf snorted, "All those things, I can get from the Cornarian Defense Forces. I
thought you were here to offer me something, mister…"
"Alexander is fine." the monkey said, "And of course that's not all."
Wolf leaned back and took a sip, "What else then?"
Alexander smiled slyly, "It's not so much what we can offer you, but what you
can get out of a union with us…"
This sparked Wolf's curiosity and he turned to look into Alexander's eyes,
"Yeah…"
"First thing, I'm going to get idealistic here, Andross is going to win. Come on,
it's obvious. Two weeks ago, we took Titania and Macbeth, almost no time later, we
grabbed up Zoness, a week ago we obliterated that arms base in Sector X, 3 days ago we
blasted the fleet over Aquas. There's no way to stop us, we're like a freakin' force of
apocalypse, there's no hope. We know about that little fleet yard in Sector Y, a piss poor
attempt to regroup and strike back at us, we're ready to strike against Katina and Fortuna
within days, stomp what's left of the Cornarian Military, it's only a matter of time until
we drop into Cornaria City and the President is a POW. Understand?"
Wolf looked away to the quiet girl, still staring down at her bottle, caressing the
lip, "That's not my concern. If you've already won, then you don't need me. I'll join the
CDF, and give you guys some competition."
"There's more to it, bro. Second thing, while we do have superior forces, superior
technology, etc. What we don't have are superior people."
"Yeah…" Wolf said disinterestedly, continuing to search the fawn's emotionless
eyes.
"We're made up of a few officers who are as dedicated as I, some brainless kids,
and plenty of robots. What we have in technology, we lack in ingenuity, let's face it, the
entire senior officers corps is made up a pompous planners who like to hide behind big
experimental toys."
Wolf snorted, that was kind of funny, a fanatical Andross monkey follower who
was insulting his own master's fleet, maybe this particular monkey was a bit different.
"What we really need now are heroes… smart front line guys, crack fighters,
gritty, dirty, down to earth, lone-hearted folks that the kids can aspire to be. Some one the
Lylatians can fear at night. You understand?"
Wolf continued to look at the girl, still seemingly uninterested, "I'm not interested
in being anyone's hero."
"Chill man, there's more. Third thing, and this is the last and most important, your
consequences of joining the Cornarian military."
Wolf looked up from the girl to peer into Alexander's skilled eyes again, "My
consequences… my…" Wolf's tone got slightly more indignant, "What the hell do you
gotta say about my consequences?"
"Easy, tiger, I'm just saying. Look, I'm going to tell you something that you know
is true. If you join CDF, you'll be a star of course, but you will be second place."
Wolf lifted an eyebrow curiously, this monkey was getting at something.
"Because of your inability to work with certain Star Fox members, you'll have to
settle to be number two behind CDF poster child, Fox McCloud. Star Fox with no
doubtably eclipse whatever second rate squadron you'll be attached to, and you'll have to
be satisfied with clean up duty or garrisoning or fleet actions, none of the fun stuff that
piloting is all about. And I know, this you can understand."
Wolf had to admit, this was the most sense he'd heard in awhile, the dreariest he'd
heard too. The one flaw in his mercenary ideals, that CDF would not recognize him as the
premier flyer that he was.
The monkey held up a hand to convey something like it was a great idea, "But… if
you join our militia…" Alexander leaned in close, "We can make you a deity…"
Alexander leaned back with a devilish smile, "There will be no one in the entire fleet
better then you, no one who will command more respect besides Andross himself. We
can give you the spotlight you dream of at night, the prestige of being the best in the
universe, and most importantly, we can put you in the direct path of Fox…"
Wolf narrowed his eyes in a trance like state.
"You will become Fox's counterpart no doubt, you'll be opposite forces of nature,
like two colliding planets… and you'll win, you will take all the hope vested in Fox
McCloud and drain it slowly, you'll completely annihilate the CDF's pampered prodigy,
you'll have not only passed Fox, but incinerate him in your jet wash… and all that will be
left is the O'Donnell, and the McCloud name will be bloody and silent…"
Alexander stopped, no doubt to let Wolf gather the sheer volume of what was said.
Wolf could only think of that name, McCloud, and everything it stood for, everything it
upheld and cherished and what it meant to him.
"Let's get something straight, Alexander," Wolf started staring into the air
intently, "The McCloud family for five whole generations, has been the greatest force in
this system. Since the days of Fox's great great grandfather Cyrus McCloud, the Star Fox
squadron has been the best paid, best equipped, and simply best mercenary squadron in a
permanent contract with the CDF. Each McCloud was a genius in a plane, and there is no
one I respect more… then James McCloud."
Alexander didn't look surprised, but interested, "Yeah…"
"Yeah, he's my hero. There was no pilot that could shot him down, no pilot that
could out maneuver him, and no staffer of a general could keep his spirit down. You
know… I met him, a few times, and there was no finer person, a legend like him, he
actually listened to me when I spit my feelings at him like a teenage boy band fan, he
didn't look at me like a dumb pilot candidate, he talked to me like an equal. There was no
one else I wanted to be more like then him, and I worked so hard, hoping that one day I
could be good enough to fly with Star Fox."
Wolf chuckled to himself as he remembered old times, "Back when I was just a
pup of 15, I saw him at a dry cleaners, right there in Cornaria City. I got so freaked out I
nearly fainted. I gathered up my strength to talk to him, I introduced myself timidly, and
you know what he did, he introduced himself right back, like he was a regular person… I
told him how excited I felt when ever I heard news of his exploits, how I had every action
figure they made of him, how I was him for Halloween once, and he just listened intently
like I was a real honest to god friend. He talked to me right up until his laundry arrived,
and before he left he told me, that hero worship was all well and good, but even though
he'd done great things, he was still a person, so I should worship regular people instead."
Wolf gave himself a moment, "I worked hard from that day on, got accepted to the
Institute, I met Mr. McCloud a few times after that, mostly during lectures… he
remembered me… Then he died, the only way a legend could, in combat, doing what was
most important to him…"
Wolf looked down at his glass, what was left of the clear liquid quivered lightly,
and he could see his scared up face in the reflection, "And then I met Fox, at the Institute,
James's baby boy, and I was sick. That novice was nothing like his father, a child, a
dweeb. He spent his days sleeping instead of going to class, he went out partying instead
of studying, and then his daddy died, and he gets Star Fox, all of it! He became the owner
of the squadron, the deals, the empire… He never worked a day in his life and he steals
my spot because of his blood!" Wolf was fuming now, staring down into the ghostly face
in the glass, "I wanted to be like Mr. McCloud, he wanted to goof off, I wanted to be a
part of Star Fox, he wanted to drink and get laid… And what was worst of all, is that it
was over for me. There was no goal for me now, my hero was dead, so my dream was
dead, I could never be a part of Star Fox, a part of the legacy…" Wolf started to mumble,
"Mr. McCloud could never be my… father…"
Wolf took a moment to collect himself, to calm down, staring into his one cold eye
in the glass and his grim eye patch. He looked up at the monkey who was staring
solemnly at him.
Wolf sighed, "So, there it is, I respect the McCloud name, but that Fox guy is the
one who leaves it bloody and silent. If I'm going to do this, it will be to put an end to
Fox's mockery of Mr. McCloud's Star Fox, can you help me reach my new goal?"
Alexander smiled, "Of course…"
Wolf managed a short smile and extended his hand, "Then I guess we have a
deal."
Alexander smiled brighter and took Wolf's hand and shook it slowly.
Out of the corner of Wolf's eye, he noticed the deer finally moving her eyes
slowly up to look at him with a lucid gaze. Wolf let go of Alexander's hand and looked at
her full on. The two stares linked for a millennia aside from now, and only a moment
later, there was reconnection with the world. Just another one of those looks
"Who's the girl?" Wolf asked Alexander without turning his head.
Alexander chuckled a bit under his breath, "Forgive me, bro, this lovely creature
to my left is the Lady Paula, but for intensive purposes she is known as Agent Failure."
Wolf smiled, "Pleased to meet you…"
The smile was not returned, "Like wise…" she said in a beguilingly innocent
voice like one's little sister might make. She then turned her head to Alexander, "Shall I
get the car, Mr. Olkonny?"
Wolf shot a confused glace at Alexander.
Alexander didn't look back, just smiled at the deer, "Yes, Failure, I think we're
ready to go."
Wolf's eyes turned away to watch Failure get up and leave, walking away,
swinging shapely hips, and push outside the red swinging doors. Wolf's attention turned
back to Alexander, "You're an Olkonny?"
Alexander slid his way to the side of the booth, "Yep, Andross is my big brother."
Wolf smiled, this Alexander Olkonny monkey was certainly a interesting
character.
"Now, if you will, Wolf, come with me, I have some very interesting things to
show you."
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Wolf traced one finger along the window seam in his boredom. Using the
broadness of his thumb to measure the short expanse of rubber divider between the
smooth plastic frame and the bitter cold glass-like substance that was the window pain.
He hated long trips where he wasn't driving.
Wolf turned his head to look out the window edged by a line of frost. Before him
was enough to make a tactical officer cry. Before him in the black see of space were
countless ships of war, thousands of steel masses of computer and weaponry. The large
boxy ships of the line, some hundreds of feet long, flowed calmly in the murky bleakness
of the universe, sliding ever so slowly like logs a river of black water. Many had large
Laser Artillery mounted on them, staring grimly forward with that one black eye. Their
elegance was only mirrored by their ferocity, needless to say, in the battle of Wolf versus
the destroyer, wolf was soup.
In between and everywhere else, fighters of all shapes screamed through the silent
wake of the colossal ships. In pairs or squadrons they ripped paths around the larger
ships, traveling from one side of the fleet to the other. Little ones, a long pyramid shaped
with a laser cannon hanging tightly underneath zoomed fairly close to his transport, five
of them in a line formation, their boosters blazing behind them. These looked fairly
interesting, having small nubs on the front and beneath, no don't a retro-firing jet system
of some sort allowing 360 turns in mid air. A neat design, but they looked like he could
take them out with slingshots.
A lone fighter passed by from the other direction, with the queer out of place look
of a butterfly, fluttering placidly through space. Wolf leaned forward to follow it with his
head as it passed all the way out of his line of sight. It didn't look very tough, but looks
can be deceiving.
Every once in a while, Wolf would spy one of those "experimental" ships. Peeking
out from somewhere and racing off at incredible speeds. Coated in all sorts of weird
weaponry; huge metal tentacles, large obtuse cannons, energy-based death lances of
nuclear oblivion, and what not. Each one was possibly the most terrifying thing you could
look at, because who knows what each devise could accomplish.
Wolf had no fear though. Where any other Cornarian would be freaked out of his
mind at the sight of this armada, these folks were now his allies, and most were also his
subordinates.
When Wolf started his personal reflection sequences, he liked to use a phrase like
"Life is funny" or "Life can be funny sometimes," something really corny like that, but
essential to start your thoughts off, but in the end personal reflections were corny too.
Either way, life was funny, not any funny a person or even Wolf could get, but funny in
the way it changes too abruptly from one second to another.
It always amazed Wolf how change occurred, it never was over a period of time, it
always had to be right then and there, and from then on, the thoughts only 3 seconds
before were irreverent and outdated and life was eternally or so simply changed, it also
pissed the hell out of him and scarred the crap out of him too.
One week ago, Wolf was alone looking for work, hitting up all the mercenary
agencies for those lucrative freelance jobs for fighter pilots. The war had no effect on
him, at least not in the foreseeable future. He was oblivious on Cornaria, living off his
reputation, the war was the concern of the CDF, not his. If they wanted his help they
could ask.
Then, he receives a call from the last people he expected to be contacted by, the
enemy. The hoards of fascism, Andross's new order, a pack full of crazy sons of bitches
who served ideals based on war. They wanted to meet him, and Wolf, not being one to be
prejudice, agreed to meet them, out of sheer curiosity. Now, he was one of those sons of
bitches. Now, what had been his modus operandi a week ago, no longer applied. He'd
entered a pact with his soul in the balance to achieve a blood vendetta that didn't even
really matter to him a week ago. Pretty god damn funny isn't it.
Wolf leaned his head against the cold glass to try and get a glimpse in front of him
of a grim gray space station. Like a wheel that stopped abruptly in space with a pair of
spikes for an axel. It's roof was adorned with laser cannons, another evidence of the
fleet's incredibly destructive potential.
The transport quickly floated it's way into a small rapidly-rising port door. The
transport came to a halt, hovered, and then landed on the shiny black conduit of the small
docking bay's floor.
Sensing it was his cue, Wolf leaped out of his seat and stretched out cramped legs
and back. A small port to his right slid open on smooth hydraulic pumps and let in a
warm burst of air that filled the cabin. With nothing better to do, he worked towards it
and stuck his head out first, getting a look at the small, yet very open docking bay with
black basalt floors and gray plastic walls, then stepped out onto the top of the ladder that
mysteriously appeared.
These Andross punks worked fast. There were already a couple, green jump suited
dock workers with plastic mouth masks, working on the underside of the transport,
connecting docking feeds and emptying exhaust trays, aided by non-descript maintenance
robots.
Wolf took a few steps down the stairs, and stopped when he realized he didn't
know where he was going. He turned to one of the green-garbed technicians, "Hey chief!
You know where I'm supposed to be?!" Wolf yelled down to him.
The technician, a cat by the looks of him, looked up at him briefly from the tube
he was carrying, then pointed with one long arm toward the back of the docking bay, then
went back to work.
Wolf looked in the direction the tech had pointed to arbitrarily, there was a simple
hallway gate near the rear of the bay.
Wolf made the effort and trotted down the stairs and walked briskly to the gate.
Inside, it was poorly lit, but several feet in, he could see the exit, into another docking
bay. Walking as fast as he could without looking like he was trying too hard he made it to
the end, and wasn't surprised by what he saw.
This bay was at least 4 times as large as his tiny little bay, and lined up in neat
little rows were masses of Venomese fighters. Painted black and gray, adorned with a
cannon or too, looking like fanatical soldiers lined up in columns and ready to strike, very
imperial. In some of the open sections, were rows of pilots, in their exercise gear, doing
push ups and such, lead by drill sergeants, keeping in top condition for whatever they
were getting ready for, something destructive no doubt. A whole squad of multi-raced
pilots was jogging their way around the bay, their rhino faced drill sergeant yelling
inaudible things in his deep baritone.
Technicians and all manner of assistant robots, from welders to tool boxes,
scurried around the bay, doing all sorts of important things, in that speedy manner that
comes with dedicated or fanatical upkeep.
Behind it all, the bay door was wide open, covered by a magnetic field keeping the
atmosphere in, exposing the bay to the humbling view of the universe, Sector Z in the
distance, and the even more humbling view of starships sliding by and fighters screaming
in and out from between them.
Yet more evidence of Andross's maniacal efficiency.
"Impressive isn't it…" A disembodied voice called in a creepy sort of manner.
Wolf suppressed his urge to shiver at the sound of that voice, despite the fur on the
back of his neck raising up. Upon further examination, Wolf realized, the voice wasn't
disembodied, it was just from behind him.
Wolf turned his head behind slightly, expecting to see Alexander. He sighted a
monkey in a suit out of the corner of his eye and, assuming it was him, turned back to
gazing at the bay, "Yeah…" he said apathetically.
Alexander's way of sneaking up on you was just more evidence to that fact that
this guy wasn't the usual fanatical monkey. He was smart, cautious, and devious. If all of
Andross's kin was like this, Wolf would have to watch out.
"Five years of my big brother's planning, culminating in the biggest offensive this
system has ever seen. They sent us to die on Venom, but we thrive instead. What does
that tell you?" Alexander asked, still behind him.
"That you folks are pretty smart…" Wolf said apathetically, placing his hands into
the front pockets of his trademark dull black vest, military design allowed the thick
material to stay warm in the cold and cool in the heat.
Alexander chuckled a bit, obviously amused by Wolf's unconvincing answer,
"This is Area 6, bro, the Revolutionary Militia's staging point, it's also the major 'force'
training and housing site for new troops. This is the most sophisticated military outpost in
the system. This is the Emperor's fist."
Alexander's little speech was unmotivating to Wolf's ears, but the phrase 'force'
training perked his interest, whatever that meant.
"In their punishment," Alexander said walking forward, "They've given us a
power you couldn't even imagine. Right there on Venom."
Wolf looked over at Alexander who now stood next to him. Alexander no longer
wore those discreet street clothes. Instead, he wore a rather form fitting and extravagant
officer's uniform. A deep red color, like blood, covered the suit coat and pants. It was
however, less special looking as other officer's uniforms Wolf had seen. Lacking ornate
things like medals and tassels, just the simple bar across the chest and the silver "A"
insignia on the collar indicating his high rank. This guy didn't believe in flash and flair,
just the basics, most likely to fool people into thinking they were dealing with a much
less important person. His officer's cap, with it's explicit "A" on the front, was tucked
under his arm. That worn face that beguiled his exuberance was still on as he smiled,
admiring his master's fleet.
"And that power would be…"
"Uh uh uh," Alexander said acting all cute, "There are some things you aren't
ready to hear."
Wolf turned his head away, "Look, Olkonny, I just wanna get started, ok."
"Very well." Wolf heard Alexander fiddled with his pocket then presented a small
box with a clear top for Wolf to take.
Wolf looked at it with curiosity, then took it to inspect it closer. Inside, imbedded
in gray foam was a pair of small silver 5-pointed star pins, "What's this for?"
"Your current status in our militia is outside the ranks, a mercenary, but the militia
doesn't allow for there to be mercenaries, this is a Revolutionary Militia, so you are not a
mercenary, you're just outside. That puts you under my jurisdiction."
"And what jurisdiction is that?" Wolf asked.
"Venomese Intelligence."
Wolf liked the sound of that, an intelligence agent. It just seemed kind of cool.
"Anyway, for my purposes, I'm giving you a military rank, you are now a one star
general."
"Cool…" Wolf said as he put the box in his vest pocket.
Alexander began to walk towards the group of star fighters, "Now, let me
introduce you to your crew."
Wolf shot his head up to stare down Alexander, but only caught the back of his
head as he strolled away from him, "Hey, wait. You said I would have control of this
squadron.
"You do."
Wolf moved to catch to with him, "Then why am I meeting my squadron, I though
I had the chose of my squadron."
"Calm down, bro, you have full authority on this," Alexander said looking straight
forward at the clump of fighters, "We just chose some of our better folks to join up with
you. So you wouldn't have to go through the trouble."
Wolf growled to himself, as he trailed behind, "That wasn't part of the deal…"
"Wolf, I'm just trying to make your job easier."
Wolf, chose to be silent. As much as he didn't like being pushed into anything,
making a fuss was for children. He was too old and too smart for temper tantrums. He
would see what this monkey was going to show him, and then decide, and if he decided
he didn't like it, he would say no, no to everything, as calm as that. Many might think
him a push over because of his smooth, tranquil style, but no one could ever take Wolf
where he didn't want to go.
Wolf followed Alexander into the field of Invader-class fighters, a sturdy medium
interceptor type, and past a squad of pilots doing relentless push-ups to the warbles of a
brutal looking lioness drill sergeant. Alexander diverted his path numerous times to go
around the silent vessels, but stayed on course. Wolf stuck his hands in his vest pockets
and followed slowly.
Alexander led him to specific craft, that had certain portly individual in torn blue
jeans leaning over the cock pit of the of an Invader. He looked like he was trying to reach
something that fell under the seat.
Alexander turned to Wolf with smiles, "May I introduce to you, you're new
partner, Pigma Dengar."
Wolf's eyes dilated in near disbelief, but also the twinge of unfortunate irony was
evident in them, "Excuse me?!" he questioned.
The guy in blue jeans, apon hearing Alexander's presentation, jerked back and
leaped off his stomach onto the ladder. The portly fellow rose to full height, still facing
away from Wolf. He was a short person, but wide, his portly sides were bulging on his
tan flight jacket. His pink hands were mostly covered by dirt, giving them a light brown
coat, it looked more like potting soil then like grease. This chap was a pig, his short pink
ears bent to the side, and his blunt nose sniffed the air a few times, beady black eyes
focused coldly on Wolf.
Wolf turned to Alexander, "Pigma Dengar!?"
Selecting a cloth draped over the side of the fighter, Pigma wiped his hands off,
"Well, well, if it isn't the young Wolf O'Donnell…"
Wolf turned back to Pigma, barely containing a growl, then returned to stare
harshly at Alexander, "No way!"
Alexander almost chuckled, "Come now, bro, what's wrong with mister Dengar?"
"Wolf shot an accusing finger at Pigma, "What's wrong is he killed James
McCloud.
Pigma snorted a laugh, "What do we have here…" Pigma said quietly to himself, a
repugnant smile on his face.
"This guy is a traitor to the core! I can't have him in my squadron!" Wolf accosted
Alexander with his words.
Pigma snorted again, "Your squadron?" the evil, disgust provoking smile on his
face.
Wolf turned back towards the pig on the ladder, teeth glaring, "Yeah, my
squadron."
The animosity conveyed in Wolf's knife like gaze was not reflected in Pigma's,
more like a look of silly irony and the self-superior look you get when you know
something someone else doesn't.
Pigma glared his teeth too, in a toothy grin, "You're confused on a couple things.
First off, this is not your squadron." Pigma flicked his head toward Alexander.
Alexander smiled at Wolf, and Wolf just looked at him cautiously.
"This is his squadron." Pigma proclaimed, "And you, apparently, are leading it,
that's all. Don't get all territorial on us."
Wolf chose to be quiet, and just glare at Pigma with vengeful eyes.
"Second, you're mistaken about my involvement in the death of the late Captain
McCloud…"
"What's there to mistake?" Wolf interrupted in the coolest voice he could manage,
"You betrayed Mr. McCloud three years ago to these guys, and then you killed him."
Pigma's smile dropped into a heavy frown, but his eyes remained superior, "I
made the smart decision, boy. It was survival of the fittest, if I didn't make a stand, I
would have ended up as dust."
"Oh, what a convenient, self-serving answer."
"Hey, I can't die yet, I got things to do, I've got a wife and kids to feed."
"So, you killed your friend."
Pigma smiled again and folded his arms, "There are some things that you are just
too young to understand Wolf. There's only one thing you can depend on, yourself, and if
I followed the captain in here, or followed Peppy Hare, the lap dog, I would be dead, no
negotiating. No I didn't pull the trigger, but, yeah, I am responsible for James's death. So
what, it was either him or me. Do I even have to tell you which is the better decision."
Wolf just growled at the fat pig, then turned to Alexander who had a pleasant
smile on his face, "I am not working with this guy."
"You don't have a chose in the matter." Pigma said out of Wolf's sight, Wolf not
wanting to look at him.
"I'm afraid it's going to have to stick this way, bro." Alexander said.
Wolf bestowed his business killer glance upon Alexander Olkonny, "Come
again?" he said more like a quiet demand to change what was said then like a question.
Alexander made a stupid look and shrugged, "It can't be helped, Wolf, we need to
have Pigma on this team.
"So, you're squelching on our deal."
"Of course not, you have complete control of this, I'm not changing that, but I
need Pigma here too. He's one of the best pilots we have, plus one of the most news
making."
Wolf raised his eyebrow, "What does that have to do with anything?"
Alexander's mood became a little less pretentious, and a tad more serious as his
smile sank, "When I hired you, I told you I needed heroes, ok, folks that the people could
believe in. I didn't want guys who could get the most kills, I wanted the ones who could
make the most news. I have you, the winner, the Anti-Fox, the born leader, and the
number-one killer in the fleet, and with Mr. Dengar, I have the glorious spy, the defector,
and the wise veteran. This is the kind of squadron that will raise morale and keep the
Militia rolling on happy feet. Understand?"
Wolf made a disgusted look, "And how many more heroes are you gonna pull out
on me?"
"Just one more."
Wolf turned around to face the field of star fighters, weapons of war propped up
like freshly painted figurines on a desktop. The lioness drill sergeant over saw with
computer like precision the mountains of sit-ups she was forcing her troops to do.
"And he would be?"
"Andrew Olkonny, my dear nephew."
Wolf lowered his head, "You gotta be kidding me."
"Fraid not, Wolf." Alexander said, "But don't let the fact that he's Andross's kin
affect your opinion of him, Andrew is a very talented pilot."
"Oh, so his family has nothing to do with this decision."
"Well… what's power if you can't be nepotistic. So, I guess he's the royal one, the
direct descendent of the throne, the nephew of the great master, and the youngest, so he's
the prodigy."
Wolf groaned to himself as he watched the lioness chastise a certain lizard pilot
who wasn't going all the way up on his sit-ups.
"Andrew is a good fighter, Wolf. It's not like I'm setting you up with a cinder
block. He'll also listen to you, he's knows who has the command."
Wolf smiled to himself, he was given free reign, but only inside a box. That was
all right though, Wolf didn't take crap, but sometimes it was thrust upon him, that's when
the smarter part of you mind takes over. The emotional part of the mind, the one that
keeps you firm and righteous, keeps the ball in your court, but when it wasn't, the logical
part of the brain could get the ball back into it.
Wolf was happier now, he could see where he stood, and from their he could step
up, with permission or without.
"OK, Alexander, I accept these two for my squadron." Wolf said in a smooth tone.
"Excellent, then let's…" Alexander started.
"But…" Wolf interrupted, thrusting a finger up in the air, "I'm gonna need
something."
"Um… go for it." Alexander said behind Wolf.
Wolf heard a big stomp, Pigma had jumped off the ladder and landed hard on his
feet. Wolf chose to ignore this.
"I will take this Andrew and you too Pigma, as long as you give me two more
spots on the team, one combatant, and one non, ok."
"No problem, bro."
Wolf's canine lips curled into a smart smile, he turned around to see Alexander
smiling as well, and Pigma, looking rather disinterested, leaning against the ladder.
"Great then, I'll see you in a couple of days."
Without so much as a good bye, Wolf turned on his heel and walked through the
fighter patch that spread across the conduit like crab grass, and made a brisk b-line
toward the gate he had come through.
It was time to put the ball into his court once again.
--------
Pigma let out a disgusted snort, his beady eyes moving away from the rapidly
escaping Wolf and back toward Alexander, "Really cute, Alex."
Alexander turned his head back to him, his naval cap still under his arm, "What?"
Pigma looked at him grimly, "Tell me one more time, why that kid should get
control of this, I get 2nd place."
Alexander turned fully to Pigma now, smiling with simple thin lips, "Isn't it
obvious, he's got that one thing we need."
"No, it's not obvious."
"Look, bro, you've got the experience factor, yes, you've got the wisdom factor,
yes, you may be a better pilot, but let's face it, you're old."
Pigma raised his eye brows in surprise, "Well you don't have to throw it in may
face."
Alexander held up his hands apologetically, "Sorry, bro, I didn't mean to be
harsh."
"I'm only 41..." Pigma said sadly.
"All I mean is, you're no spring chicken, or… no spring pig."
"So, I'm not a teenager, what difference does that make."
"Pigma, this is like no war ever fought, this is a war of public opinion. The
Revolutionary Militia and the CDF run on the backs of the people. Public taste is now
what fuels the offensive."
"What are you saying, people don't like me, and like O'Donnell more?!"
"No, I'm saying, like the music industry, we need major fighters who are cute,
photogenic, perky, sexy, and mysterious, as well as good pilots."
Pigma shot a finger up in the direction that Wolf had exited in, "You call that guy
sexy?! He's your pop star?! What the hell!?"
Alexander rolled his eyes, "No, I don't think he's sexy… I think he's got that
thing that all the kids are into."
"I still don't see why we need kids to be part of this?"
Alexander put his hand against an Invader and leaned on it, "Look, bro, what's my
position. I am Director of Venomese Intelligence and I'm Commissar of Venom, a part of
Venomese Intelligence is propaganda and moral, I have to make sure the troops and the
people have something to believe in. Now, the whole Andross socialism ideal is good,
but it's very broad and very 'in the long run.' So I look at Wolf and you know what I see,
I see a charismatic individual, I see some one you could pick out of the crowd. He just
portrays something so deep when you look at him, you know there's a story behind him.
You can also tell that boy is a star, he's doing something or is going to do something big.
Am I right?"
Pigma shrugged, "He certainly is a character."
"Yes, well… I mean, he's got grunge flare written all over him. He doesn't listen
to authority, he's calm and collected, and committed. He's a propaganda officer's dream.
He's someone the youth want to be like, you understand now?"
Pigma looked at Alexander through cautious eyes, "That sounds screwy to me."
"Well, screwy is as screwy does."
"What every that means, you're gonna create a monster."
"Monsters are as monsters do."
"Uhh… I'm just saying, you're gonna severely reduce the fighting capacity of this
outfit if you raise the media influence."
"Oh, you guys can handle it."
"And speaking of us, what is my position in all this." Pigma said, glaring
accusingly, "I'm not your sexy superstar, so what am I?"
"Chill, bro. Although Wolf, and to a lesser extent, Andrew, are good fighters, I
need them for the media stuff. You, however, are my no nonsense dude. You're there to
make sure the shit doesn't hit the fan. You're the muscle, and the real teeth behind this
beast."
Pigma smiled to himself and let out a small delighted chuckle, "Sounds
important."
"It is the most important, I can't go having my number one team getting all banged
up. And as an incentive…" Alexander looked at Pigma with devious eyes, then reached
inside his collar down into a pocket beneath his jacket and pulled out a open white
envelope.
Alexander tossed it to Pigma, and he caught it with a simple flick of his fingers.
Pigma opened the white package to reveal a large amount of red A-Bills, the currency of
Andross's empire, more commonly referred to as "ables." About 60 red ables, which
added up to 9,000 Cornarian credits, but that was only a guess.
"Hey, what's this for?" Pigma said excitedly.
"Call it a little reward for your continued loyalty, and there's more where that
came from, if you make sure our little canine friend doesn't go making any career
mistakes."
Pigma's eyes rose, he liked the way Alexander got to his point, through flagrance
and deviousness at the same time. It was like being part of some shady underhanded deal,
it made you feel like a spy.
Though Alexander's little shpeal seemed innocent enough, it's subtext was
undeniable. Alexander wanted Wolf to be an idol, if Wolf was ever to do something not
worthy of the station of an idol, he would need to be put to an idol-like end, and Pigma
would be the gunman.
Pigma lower his tone, "Want anything special to finish it."
"Patriotic, loyalist, you know how heroes die, don't you…" Alexander said with a
business like serenity, bringing up old occurrences with his last note of sarcasm.
Pigma chuckled, "Well… you keep me in the bucks, and I'll kill Andross for you."
"Let's wait and see if it comes to that." Alexander said solemnly, walking at a
slow pace off through the forest of metal strut trees, "Take care, Pigma."
Pigma smiled at the back of Alexander's head, "See ya, Alex."
Pigma shoved the envelope into his jacket's inside pocket. He turned back to the
fighter he was inspecting, climbed up the ladder, and resumed the arduous task of trying
to retrieve his sun glasses from underneath the pilot seat, without actually getting in.
To be continued later, my chillins!
Bethlehem nor any of his other personalities owns Star Fox 64, and make no claim to it.
He does, however, own all characters and concepts exclusively his creation, don't bother
asking to use them because he won't let you. If you want to try anyway and hear my
lengthy "NO!," Contact me at [email protected].
Chapter 1 – Creator
By Fumo
Contact me @ [email protected]
Author's note: I like violence, pain, greed, and smut; it makes for a really good story.
Peace.
-------
Wolf walked up to the doors, and, slowly, placed a hand on the stiff wooden pallet
with chapped red paint. He made an effort to be quiet as he pushed it open on it's
squeaky, swinging hinges, and slipped inside the small doorway. Inside the light, as he
expected, was so minimal that light bulbs that hung in certain places acted like small
islands of yellow illumination and the other spaces of the room merely contained blotchy
dark figures and objects that slightly stood out. Wolf could barely read the stylized red
letter graffiti written across the back wall that read, Horace Heights.
No one within made too much of a response to his one eyed head peering in. The
bartender, a grim, but uninterested looking opossum raised his head up from his work of
pouring a tall brown drink for another patron. The bartender conveyed a look of disdain,
then returned to his work.
Wolf pushed a little more and slipped inside the building. Around him were a few
shady looking creatures seated at bar stools and tables keeping to themselves as they
nursed their alcohol. Wolf strolled slowly by a pool table while keeping a sly gaze on the
two gray hounds playing a disinterested game of pool while smoking stumpy cigarettes.
Wolf looked from side to side, searching the room, before finally taking a seat on
a metal bar stole near the end of the bar. He settled down there, placing his elbows on the
counter and propping his long chin on his folded hands.
The bartender, slowly walked over to him and pulled up an empty glass from
underneath the counter, "What can I get you?" the bartender asked with a disinterested
tone in his surprisingly stalky voice.
Wolf thought a moment, "A glass of water..." Wolf figured it would be better then
asking for a glass of milk.
The bartender gave him a weird look, but gave up and went to a refrigerator,
selected a container of liquid and poured it into a clear glass.
Wolf took the glass of clear stuff without so much as a thank you, and held it up to
his eye. It was a little chalky to be pure, but hopefully it wouldn't be poisonous. He took
a drink and was satisfied.
Suddenly, a shrill whistle echoed through the room, emanating from a spot behind
Wolf. Wolf was not one to be startled so he slowly lowered his glass and turned his head
toward the source, a shady booth in the far corner where two figures sat calmly, their
backs to the bar and the tavern in general. No one else in the tavern seemed to care or
even to have heard it, the gray hounds continued their lack luster little game.
Seeing as no one else was going to answer the call, Wolf picked up his drink and
strolled over toward the corner. His booted feet made loud taps on the hard cement floor
as he made his way over, breaking the relative silence, only off set by the sound of ice
bumping against glass cups and the sound of the q-ball hitting the rest of the lot. Wolf
came over to the booth and stood there in front of it's two occupants, waiting and
contemplating.
Two smooth and collected creatures, sat there, sprawled out on the plush cushions
of the booth, holding glasses. Wolf looked over the two carefully.
The one more into the booth was a monkey, well into his life as you could see
from the lines on his face, arcing around his thinly cut features that expressed intensive
use and eyes that spoke of wisdom. His gaze spoke to Wolf in a way that conveyed the
man's age, but also his skill, the very centers had full attention on Wolf's eyes, showing
this man thought with his whole brain, they expressed no emotion other then the slight
convection of contentment, this fellow's own contentment with himself. His right hand
was under the table, his right on top, a few centimeters from his short glass of reddish
brown liquid, he had a simple leather strap watch on his slender wrist, and a deep-looking
scar on the back of the lower digit on his pointer finger that went a little ways onto his
knuckle, an odd scar, one with a story no doubt.
The other was a deer, a white-tailed deer to be exact, a female. She was slender
and smooth seated near the edge of the booth closest to Wolf. She was clad in a smug
black tank top and slender pants, her fur was a rich brown, but also had several pristine
white patches over her back and shoulders. She had a slender snout with a cute button
black nose, coy perched-down ears, and quiet black eyes, eyes that remained pasted down
at her slender hands that were holding a tilted over, empty beer bottle, gently caressing
the opening of the barrel, rubbing her long, slim index finger over the lip again and again.
She had a strange tattoo, a menacingly happy drawing of a clown's visage on the side of
her back near her armpit, it's happy face, diluted with sinister smile and soulless eyes
mocked those who looked at it, it was soul stirring.
Wolf stood there for one second more, then slowly seated himself in the booth,
placing his drink on the table and folding his arms in front of him on the table, and stared
into the monkey's eyes.
"All right, let's get this out in the open cause I hate dodging the point, ok." Wolf
pointed to himself, "I am Wolf O'Donnell, I spent 4 years at the Cornarian Institute of
Aeronautics, graduating the top of my class. I've flown to every part of this system from
Aquas to Titania. I've killed more pirates and dissidents then an inquisition. I'm one of
the best damn pilots around, and that's not just bragging, I am."
Wolf pointed his finger at the monkey, "You work for Andross, that psychotic
self-styled god of death, who as we speak is systematically killing Lylatians all over the
system. We have some stuff in common, but what I can't seem to figure out…" Wolf said
putting his finger down, and looking off whimsically, "Is why you would have anything
at all to say to me, but what is even more puzzling is why I want to know the answer,
why I came all the way here to this dive, on Katina, to hear you? So, I'm done… done
bull shiting. What do you have to say to me?"
The monkey smiled at Wolf, the deer did not move.
The monkey opened it's mouth, "Hey bro, you answered your own question,
because you're the best."
Wolf leaned back, "Well, yeah that's a good reason to want to talk to me, but not a
good reason to waste my time."
"Of course not," the monkey said, "What I have to discuss with you is
significantly more important."
Wolf took a sip, "I thought so…"
"I could bore you with a lot of garbage about ideals, Mr. O'Donnell…"
"Don't call me that, that's my father's name, I'm just Wolf."
"Very well, I could bore you with a lot of garbage about ideals, Wolf, about how
Andross will succeed, about how you should jump to the winning side before it's too late,
but you don't want to hear that, you just want to hear the money talk, right?"
"Pretty much…"
"All right bro, I've got that for you." the monkey smiled brightly, but his tone
soon became very serious "We would like you, to sell your services to our militia."
Wolf nodded and took a sip.
"We are prepared to make it worth your wild, too."
Wolf nodded again, sucking on his glass.
"30,000 credits right now, 20,000 a month, plus a commission on your number of
Cornarian kills, as well as, all the perks of being a Venomese officer, the cars, the clubs,
the…" the monkey's eyes shifted to his companion, "girls…"
Wolf's eyes shifted to her as well, she made no movement besides the continual
massage of her bottle's lip.
The monkey continued, "You'd get your own command, an elite squadron of your
chose, all the latest technology, you'll be set."
Wolf snorted, "All those things, I can get from the Cornarian Defense Forces. I
thought you were here to offer me something, mister…"
"Alexander is fine." the monkey said, "And of course that's not all."
Wolf leaned back and took a sip, "What else then?"
Alexander smiled slyly, "It's not so much what we can offer you, but what you
can get out of a union with us…"
This sparked Wolf's curiosity and he turned to look into Alexander's eyes,
"Yeah…"
"First thing, I'm going to get idealistic here, Andross is going to win. Come on,
it's obvious. Two weeks ago, we took Titania and Macbeth, almost no time later, we
grabbed up Zoness, a week ago we obliterated that arms base in Sector X, 3 days ago we
blasted the fleet over Aquas. There's no way to stop us, we're like a freakin' force of
apocalypse, there's no hope. We know about that little fleet yard in Sector Y, a piss poor
attempt to regroup and strike back at us, we're ready to strike against Katina and Fortuna
within days, stomp what's left of the Cornarian Military, it's only a matter of time until
we drop into Cornaria City and the President is a POW. Understand?"
Wolf looked away to the quiet girl, still staring down at her bottle, caressing the
lip, "That's not my concern. If you've already won, then you don't need me. I'll join the
CDF, and give you guys some competition."
"There's more to it, bro. Second thing, while we do have superior forces, superior
technology, etc. What we don't have are superior people."
"Yeah…" Wolf said disinterestedly, continuing to search the fawn's emotionless
eyes.
"We're made up of a few officers who are as dedicated as I, some brainless kids,
and plenty of robots. What we have in technology, we lack in ingenuity, let's face it, the
entire senior officers corps is made up a pompous planners who like to hide behind big
experimental toys."
Wolf snorted, that was kind of funny, a fanatical Andross monkey follower who
was insulting his own master's fleet, maybe this particular monkey was a bit different.
"What we really need now are heroes… smart front line guys, crack fighters,
gritty, dirty, down to earth, lone-hearted folks that the kids can aspire to be. Some one the
Lylatians can fear at night. You understand?"
Wolf continued to look at the girl, still seemingly uninterested, "I'm not interested
in being anyone's hero."
"Chill man, there's more. Third thing, and this is the last and most important, your
consequences of joining the Cornarian military."
Wolf looked up from the girl to peer into Alexander's skilled eyes again, "My
consequences… my…" Wolf's tone got slightly more indignant, "What the hell do you
gotta say about my consequences?"
"Easy, tiger, I'm just saying. Look, I'm going to tell you something that you know
is true. If you join CDF, you'll be a star of course, but you will be second place."
Wolf lifted an eyebrow curiously, this monkey was getting at something.
"Because of your inability to work with certain Star Fox members, you'll have to
settle to be number two behind CDF poster child, Fox McCloud. Star Fox with no
doubtably eclipse whatever second rate squadron you'll be attached to, and you'll have to
be satisfied with clean up duty or garrisoning or fleet actions, none of the fun stuff that
piloting is all about. And I know, this you can understand."
Wolf had to admit, this was the most sense he'd heard in awhile, the dreariest he'd
heard too. The one flaw in his mercenary ideals, that CDF would not recognize him as the
premier flyer that he was.
The monkey held up a hand to convey something like it was a great idea, "But… if
you join our militia…" Alexander leaned in close, "We can make you a deity…"
Alexander leaned back with a devilish smile, "There will be no one in the entire fleet
better then you, no one who will command more respect besides Andross himself. We
can give you the spotlight you dream of at night, the prestige of being the best in the
universe, and most importantly, we can put you in the direct path of Fox…"
Wolf narrowed his eyes in a trance like state.
"You will become Fox's counterpart no doubt, you'll be opposite forces of nature,
like two colliding planets… and you'll win, you will take all the hope vested in Fox
McCloud and drain it slowly, you'll completely annihilate the CDF's pampered prodigy,
you'll have not only passed Fox, but incinerate him in your jet wash… and all that will be
left is the O'Donnell, and the McCloud name will be bloody and silent…"
Alexander stopped, no doubt to let Wolf gather the sheer volume of what was said.
Wolf could only think of that name, McCloud, and everything it stood for, everything it
upheld and cherished and what it meant to him.
"Let's get something straight, Alexander," Wolf started staring into the air
intently, "The McCloud family for five whole generations, has been the greatest force in
this system. Since the days of Fox's great great grandfather Cyrus McCloud, the Star Fox
squadron has been the best paid, best equipped, and simply best mercenary squadron in a
permanent contract with the CDF. Each McCloud was a genius in a plane, and there is no
one I respect more… then James McCloud."
Alexander didn't look surprised, but interested, "Yeah…"
"Yeah, he's my hero. There was no pilot that could shot him down, no pilot that
could out maneuver him, and no staffer of a general could keep his spirit down. You
know… I met him, a few times, and there was no finer person, a legend like him, he
actually listened to me when I spit my feelings at him like a teenage boy band fan, he
didn't look at me like a dumb pilot candidate, he talked to me like an equal. There was no
one else I wanted to be more like then him, and I worked so hard, hoping that one day I
could be good enough to fly with Star Fox."
Wolf chuckled to himself as he remembered old times, "Back when I was just a
pup of 15, I saw him at a dry cleaners, right there in Cornaria City. I got so freaked out I
nearly fainted. I gathered up my strength to talk to him, I introduced myself timidly, and
you know what he did, he introduced himself right back, like he was a regular person… I
told him how excited I felt when ever I heard news of his exploits, how I had every action
figure they made of him, how I was him for Halloween once, and he just listened intently
like I was a real honest to god friend. He talked to me right up until his laundry arrived,
and before he left he told me, that hero worship was all well and good, but even though
he'd done great things, he was still a person, so I should worship regular people instead."
Wolf gave himself a moment, "I worked hard from that day on, got accepted to the
Institute, I met Mr. McCloud a few times after that, mostly during lectures… he
remembered me… Then he died, the only way a legend could, in combat, doing what was
most important to him…"
Wolf looked down at his glass, what was left of the clear liquid quivered lightly,
and he could see his scared up face in the reflection, "And then I met Fox, at the Institute,
James's baby boy, and I was sick. That novice was nothing like his father, a child, a
dweeb. He spent his days sleeping instead of going to class, he went out partying instead
of studying, and then his daddy died, and he gets Star Fox, all of it! He became the owner
of the squadron, the deals, the empire… He never worked a day in his life and he steals
my spot because of his blood!" Wolf was fuming now, staring down into the ghostly face
in the glass, "I wanted to be like Mr. McCloud, he wanted to goof off, I wanted to be a
part of Star Fox, he wanted to drink and get laid… And what was worst of all, is that it
was over for me. There was no goal for me now, my hero was dead, so my dream was
dead, I could never be a part of Star Fox, a part of the legacy…" Wolf started to mumble,
"Mr. McCloud could never be my… father…"
Wolf took a moment to collect himself, to calm down, staring into his one cold eye
in the glass and his grim eye patch. He looked up at the monkey who was staring
solemnly at him.
Wolf sighed, "So, there it is, I respect the McCloud name, but that Fox guy is the
one who leaves it bloody and silent. If I'm going to do this, it will be to put an end to
Fox's mockery of Mr. McCloud's Star Fox, can you help me reach my new goal?"
Alexander smiled, "Of course…"
Wolf managed a short smile and extended his hand, "Then I guess we have a
deal."
Alexander smiled brighter and took Wolf's hand and shook it slowly.
Out of the corner of Wolf's eye, he noticed the deer finally moving her eyes
slowly up to look at him with a lucid gaze. Wolf let go of Alexander's hand and looked at
her full on. The two stares linked for a millennia aside from now, and only a moment
later, there was reconnection with the world. Just another one of those looks
"Who's the girl?" Wolf asked Alexander without turning his head.
Alexander chuckled a bit under his breath, "Forgive me, bro, this lovely creature
to my left is the Lady Paula, but for intensive purposes she is known as Agent Failure."
Wolf smiled, "Pleased to meet you…"
The smile was not returned, "Like wise…" she said in a beguilingly innocent
voice like one's little sister might make. She then turned her head to Alexander, "Shall I
get the car, Mr. Olkonny?"
Wolf shot a confused glace at Alexander.
Alexander didn't look back, just smiled at the deer, "Yes, Failure, I think we're
ready to go."
Wolf's eyes turned away to watch Failure get up and leave, walking away,
swinging shapely hips, and push outside the red swinging doors. Wolf's attention turned
back to Alexander, "You're an Olkonny?"
Alexander slid his way to the side of the booth, "Yep, Andross is my big brother."
Wolf smiled, this Alexander Olkonny monkey was certainly a interesting
character.
"Now, if you will, Wolf, come with me, I have some very interesting things to
show you."
------
Wolf traced one finger along the window seam in his boredom. Using the
broadness of his thumb to measure the short expanse of rubber divider between the
smooth plastic frame and the bitter cold glass-like substance that was the window pain.
He hated long trips where he wasn't driving.
Wolf turned his head to look out the window edged by a line of frost. Before him
was enough to make a tactical officer cry. Before him in the black see of space were
countless ships of war, thousands of steel masses of computer and weaponry. The large
boxy ships of the line, some hundreds of feet long, flowed calmly in the murky bleakness
of the universe, sliding ever so slowly like logs a river of black water. Many had large
Laser Artillery mounted on them, staring grimly forward with that one black eye. Their
elegance was only mirrored by their ferocity, needless to say, in the battle of Wolf versus
the destroyer, wolf was soup.
In between and everywhere else, fighters of all shapes screamed through the silent
wake of the colossal ships. In pairs or squadrons they ripped paths around the larger
ships, traveling from one side of the fleet to the other. Little ones, a long pyramid shaped
with a laser cannon hanging tightly underneath zoomed fairly close to his transport, five
of them in a line formation, their boosters blazing behind them. These looked fairly
interesting, having small nubs on the front and beneath, no don't a retro-firing jet system
of some sort allowing 360 turns in mid air. A neat design, but they looked like he could
take them out with slingshots.
A lone fighter passed by from the other direction, with the queer out of place look
of a butterfly, fluttering placidly through space. Wolf leaned forward to follow it with his
head as it passed all the way out of his line of sight. It didn't look very tough, but looks
can be deceiving.
Every once in a while, Wolf would spy one of those "experimental" ships. Peeking
out from somewhere and racing off at incredible speeds. Coated in all sorts of weird
weaponry; huge metal tentacles, large obtuse cannons, energy-based death lances of
nuclear oblivion, and what not. Each one was possibly the most terrifying thing you could
look at, because who knows what each devise could accomplish.
Wolf had no fear though. Where any other Cornarian would be freaked out of his
mind at the sight of this armada, these folks were now his allies, and most were also his
subordinates.
When Wolf started his personal reflection sequences, he liked to use a phrase like
"Life is funny" or "Life can be funny sometimes," something really corny like that, but
essential to start your thoughts off, but in the end personal reflections were corny too.
Either way, life was funny, not any funny a person or even Wolf could get, but funny in
the way it changes too abruptly from one second to another.
It always amazed Wolf how change occurred, it never was over a period of time, it
always had to be right then and there, and from then on, the thoughts only 3 seconds
before were irreverent and outdated and life was eternally or so simply changed, it also
pissed the hell out of him and scarred the crap out of him too.
One week ago, Wolf was alone looking for work, hitting up all the mercenary
agencies for those lucrative freelance jobs for fighter pilots. The war had no effect on
him, at least not in the foreseeable future. He was oblivious on Cornaria, living off his
reputation, the war was the concern of the CDF, not his. If they wanted his help they
could ask.
Then, he receives a call from the last people he expected to be contacted by, the
enemy. The hoards of fascism, Andross's new order, a pack full of crazy sons of bitches
who served ideals based on war. They wanted to meet him, and Wolf, not being one to be
prejudice, agreed to meet them, out of sheer curiosity. Now, he was one of those sons of
bitches. Now, what had been his modus operandi a week ago, no longer applied. He'd
entered a pact with his soul in the balance to achieve a blood vendetta that didn't even
really matter to him a week ago. Pretty god damn funny isn't it.
Wolf leaned his head against the cold glass to try and get a glimpse in front of him
of a grim gray space station. Like a wheel that stopped abruptly in space with a pair of
spikes for an axel. It's roof was adorned with laser cannons, another evidence of the
fleet's incredibly destructive potential.
The transport quickly floated it's way into a small rapidly-rising port door. The
transport came to a halt, hovered, and then landed on the shiny black conduit of the small
docking bay's floor.
Sensing it was his cue, Wolf leaped out of his seat and stretched out cramped legs
and back. A small port to his right slid open on smooth hydraulic pumps and let in a
warm burst of air that filled the cabin. With nothing better to do, he worked towards it
and stuck his head out first, getting a look at the small, yet very open docking bay with
black basalt floors and gray plastic walls, then stepped out onto the top of the ladder that
mysteriously appeared.
These Andross punks worked fast. There were already a couple, green jump suited
dock workers with plastic mouth masks, working on the underside of the transport,
connecting docking feeds and emptying exhaust trays, aided by non-descript maintenance
robots.
Wolf took a few steps down the stairs, and stopped when he realized he didn't
know where he was going. He turned to one of the green-garbed technicians, "Hey chief!
You know where I'm supposed to be?!" Wolf yelled down to him.
The technician, a cat by the looks of him, looked up at him briefly from the tube
he was carrying, then pointed with one long arm toward the back of the docking bay, then
went back to work.
Wolf looked in the direction the tech had pointed to arbitrarily, there was a simple
hallway gate near the rear of the bay.
Wolf made the effort and trotted down the stairs and walked briskly to the gate.
Inside, it was poorly lit, but several feet in, he could see the exit, into another docking
bay. Walking as fast as he could without looking like he was trying too hard he made it to
the end, and wasn't surprised by what he saw.
This bay was at least 4 times as large as his tiny little bay, and lined up in neat
little rows were masses of Venomese fighters. Painted black and gray, adorned with a
cannon or too, looking like fanatical soldiers lined up in columns and ready to strike, very
imperial. In some of the open sections, were rows of pilots, in their exercise gear, doing
push ups and such, lead by drill sergeants, keeping in top condition for whatever they
were getting ready for, something destructive no doubt. A whole squad of multi-raced
pilots was jogging their way around the bay, their rhino faced drill sergeant yelling
inaudible things in his deep baritone.
Technicians and all manner of assistant robots, from welders to tool boxes,
scurried around the bay, doing all sorts of important things, in that speedy manner that
comes with dedicated or fanatical upkeep.
Behind it all, the bay door was wide open, covered by a magnetic field keeping the
atmosphere in, exposing the bay to the humbling view of the universe, Sector Z in the
distance, and the even more humbling view of starships sliding by and fighters screaming
in and out from between them.
Yet more evidence of Andross's maniacal efficiency.
"Impressive isn't it…" A disembodied voice called in a creepy sort of manner.
Wolf suppressed his urge to shiver at the sound of that voice, despite the fur on the
back of his neck raising up. Upon further examination, Wolf realized, the voice wasn't
disembodied, it was just from behind him.
Wolf turned his head behind slightly, expecting to see Alexander. He sighted a
monkey in a suit out of the corner of his eye and, assuming it was him, turned back to
gazing at the bay, "Yeah…" he said apathetically.
Alexander's way of sneaking up on you was just more evidence to that fact that
this guy wasn't the usual fanatical monkey. He was smart, cautious, and devious. If all of
Andross's kin was like this, Wolf would have to watch out.
"Five years of my big brother's planning, culminating in the biggest offensive this
system has ever seen. They sent us to die on Venom, but we thrive instead. What does
that tell you?" Alexander asked, still behind him.
"That you folks are pretty smart…" Wolf said apathetically, placing his hands into
the front pockets of his trademark dull black vest, military design allowed the thick
material to stay warm in the cold and cool in the heat.
Alexander chuckled a bit, obviously amused by Wolf's unconvincing answer,
"This is Area 6, bro, the Revolutionary Militia's staging point, it's also the major 'force'
training and housing site for new troops. This is the most sophisticated military outpost in
the system. This is the Emperor's fist."
Alexander's little speech was unmotivating to Wolf's ears, but the phrase 'force'
training perked his interest, whatever that meant.
"In their punishment," Alexander said walking forward, "They've given us a
power you couldn't even imagine. Right there on Venom."
Wolf looked over at Alexander who now stood next to him. Alexander no longer
wore those discreet street clothes. Instead, he wore a rather form fitting and extravagant
officer's uniform. A deep red color, like blood, covered the suit coat and pants. It was
however, less special looking as other officer's uniforms Wolf had seen. Lacking ornate
things like medals and tassels, just the simple bar across the chest and the silver "A"
insignia on the collar indicating his high rank. This guy didn't believe in flash and flair,
just the basics, most likely to fool people into thinking they were dealing with a much
less important person. His officer's cap, with it's explicit "A" on the front, was tucked
under his arm. That worn face that beguiled his exuberance was still on as he smiled,
admiring his master's fleet.
"And that power would be…"
"Uh uh uh," Alexander said acting all cute, "There are some things you aren't
ready to hear."
Wolf turned his head away, "Look, Olkonny, I just wanna get started, ok."
"Very well." Wolf heard Alexander fiddled with his pocket then presented a small
box with a clear top for Wolf to take.
Wolf looked at it with curiosity, then took it to inspect it closer. Inside, imbedded
in gray foam was a pair of small silver 5-pointed star pins, "What's this for?"
"Your current status in our militia is outside the ranks, a mercenary, but the militia
doesn't allow for there to be mercenaries, this is a Revolutionary Militia, so you are not a
mercenary, you're just outside. That puts you under my jurisdiction."
"And what jurisdiction is that?" Wolf asked.
"Venomese Intelligence."
Wolf liked the sound of that, an intelligence agent. It just seemed kind of cool.
"Anyway, for my purposes, I'm giving you a military rank, you are now a one star
general."
"Cool…" Wolf said as he put the box in his vest pocket.
Alexander began to walk towards the group of star fighters, "Now, let me
introduce you to your crew."
Wolf shot his head up to stare down Alexander, but only caught the back of his
head as he strolled away from him, "Hey, wait. You said I would have control of this
squadron.
"You do."
Wolf moved to catch to with him, "Then why am I meeting my squadron, I though
I had the chose of my squadron."
"Calm down, bro, you have full authority on this," Alexander said looking straight
forward at the clump of fighters, "We just chose some of our better folks to join up with
you. So you wouldn't have to go through the trouble."
Wolf growled to himself, as he trailed behind, "That wasn't part of the deal…"
"Wolf, I'm just trying to make your job easier."
Wolf, chose to be silent. As much as he didn't like being pushed into anything,
making a fuss was for children. He was too old and too smart for temper tantrums. He
would see what this monkey was going to show him, and then decide, and if he decided
he didn't like it, he would say no, no to everything, as calm as that. Many might think
him a push over because of his smooth, tranquil style, but no one could ever take Wolf
where he didn't want to go.
Wolf followed Alexander into the field of Invader-class fighters, a sturdy medium
interceptor type, and past a squad of pilots doing relentless push-ups to the warbles of a
brutal looking lioness drill sergeant. Alexander diverted his path numerous times to go
around the silent vessels, but stayed on course. Wolf stuck his hands in his vest pockets
and followed slowly.
Alexander led him to specific craft, that had certain portly individual in torn blue
jeans leaning over the cock pit of the of an Invader. He looked like he was trying to reach
something that fell under the seat.
Alexander turned to Wolf with smiles, "May I introduce to you, you're new
partner, Pigma Dengar."
Wolf's eyes dilated in near disbelief, but also the twinge of unfortunate irony was
evident in them, "Excuse me?!" he questioned.
The guy in blue jeans, apon hearing Alexander's presentation, jerked back and
leaped off his stomach onto the ladder. The portly fellow rose to full height, still facing
away from Wolf. He was a short person, but wide, his portly sides were bulging on his
tan flight jacket. His pink hands were mostly covered by dirt, giving them a light brown
coat, it looked more like potting soil then like grease. This chap was a pig, his short pink
ears bent to the side, and his blunt nose sniffed the air a few times, beady black eyes
focused coldly on Wolf.
Wolf turned to Alexander, "Pigma Dengar!?"
Selecting a cloth draped over the side of the fighter, Pigma wiped his hands off,
"Well, well, if it isn't the young Wolf O'Donnell…"
Wolf turned back to Pigma, barely containing a growl, then returned to stare
harshly at Alexander, "No way!"
Alexander almost chuckled, "Come now, bro, what's wrong with mister Dengar?"
"Wolf shot an accusing finger at Pigma, "What's wrong is he killed James
McCloud.
Pigma snorted a laugh, "What do we have here…" Pigma said quietly to himself, a
repugnant smile on his face.
"This guy is a traitor to the core! I can't have him in my squadron!" Wolf accosted
Alexander with his words.
Pigma snorted again, "Your squadron?" the evil, disgust provoking smile on his
face.
Wolf turned back towards the pig on the ladder, teeth glaring, "Yeah, my
squadron."
The animosity conveyed in Wolf's knife like gaze was not reflected in Pigma's,
more like a look of silly irony and the self-superior look you get when you know
something someone else doesn't.
Pigma glared his teeth too, in a toothy grin, "You're confused on a couple things.
First off, this is not your squadron." Pigma flicked his head toward Alexander.
Alexander smiled at Wolf, and Wolf just looked at him cautiously.
"This is his squadron." Pigma proclaimed, "And you, apparently, are leading it,
that's all. Don't get all territorial on us."
Wolf chose to be quiet, and just glare at Pigma with vengeful eyes.
"Second, you're mistaken about my involvement in the death of the late Captain
McCloud…"
"What's there to mistake?" Wolf interrupted in the coolest voice he could manage,
"You betrayed Mr. McCloud three years ago to these guys, and then you killed him."
Pigma's smile dropped into a heavy frown, but his eyes remained superior, "I
made the smart decision, boy. It was survival of the fittest, if I didn't make a stand, I
would have ended up as dust."
"Oh, what a convenient, self-serving answer."
"Hey, I can't die yet, I got things to do, I've got a wife and kids to feed."
"So, you killed your friend."
Pigma smiled again and folded his arms, "There are some things that you are just
too young to understand Wolf. There's only one thing you can depend on, yourself, and if
I followed the captain in here, or followed Peppy Hare, the lap dog, I would be dead, no
negotiating. No I didn't pull the trigger, but, yeah, I am responsible for James's death. So
what, it was either him or me. Do I even have to tell you which is the better decision."
Wolf just growled at the fat pig, then turned to Alexander who had a pleasant
smile on his face, "I am not working with this guy."
"You don't have a chose in the matter." Pigma said out of Wolf's sight, Wolf not
wanting to look at him.
"I'm afraid it's going to have to stick this way, bro." Alexander said.
Wolf bestowed his business killer glance upon Alexander Olkonny, "Come
again?" he said more like a quiet demand to change what was said then like a question.
Alexander made a stupid look and shrugged, "It can't be helped, Wolf, we need to
have Pigma on this team.
"So, you're squelching on our deal."
"Of course not, you have complete control of this, I'm not changing that, but I
need Pigma here too. He's one of the best pilots we have, plus one of the most news
making."
Wolf raised his eyebrow, "What does that have to do with anything?"
Alexander's mood became a little less pretentious, and a tad more serious as his
smile sank, "When I hired you, I told you I needed heroes, ok, folks that the people could
believe in. I didn't want guys who could get the most kills, I wanted the ones who could
make the most news. I have you, the winner, the Anti-Fox, the born leader, and the
number-one killer in the fleet, and with Mr. Dengar, I have the glorious spy, the defector,
and the wise veteran. This is the kind of squadron that will raise morale and keep the
Militia rolling on happy feet. Understand?"
Wolf made a disgusted look, "And how many more heroes are you gonna pull out
on me?"
"Just one more."
Wolf turned around to face the field of star fighters, weapons of war propped up
like freshly painted figurines on a desktop. The lioness drill sergeant over saw with
computer like precision the mountains of sit-ups she was forcing her troops to do.
"And he would be?"
"Andrew Olkonny, my dear nephew."
Wolf lowered his head, "You gotta be kidding me."
"Fraid not, Wolf." Alexander said, "But don't let the fact that he's Andross's kin
affect your opinion of him, Andrew is a very talented pilot."
"Oh, so his family has nothing to do with this decision."
"Well… what's power if you can't be nepotistic. So, I guess he's the royal one, the
direct descendent of the throne, the nephew of the great master, and the youngest, so he's
the prodigy."
Wolf groaned to himself as he watched the lioness chastise a certain lizard pilot
who wasn't going all the way up on his sit-ups.
"Andrew is a good fighter, Wolf. It's not like I'm setting you up with a cinder
block. He'll also listen to you, he's knows who has the command."
Wolf smiled to himself, he was given free reign, but only inside a box. That was
all right though, Wolf didn't take crap, but sometimes it was thrust upon him, that's when
the smarter part of you mind takes over. The emotional part of the mind, the one that
keeps you firm and righteous, keeps the ball in your court, but when it wasn't, the logical
part of the brain could get the ball back into it.
Wolf was happier now, he could see where he stood, and from their he could step
up, with permission or without.
"OK, Alexander, I accept these two for my squadron." Wolf said in a smooth tone.
"Excellent, then let's…" Alexander started.
"But…" Wolf interrupted, thrusting a finger up in the air, "I'm gonna need
something."
"Um… go for it." Alexander said behind Wolf.
Wolf heard a big stomp, Pigma had jumped off the ladder and landed hard on his
feet. Wolf chose to ignore this.
"I will take this Andrew and you too Pigma, as long as you give me two more
spots on the team, one combatant, and one non, ok."
"No problem, bro."
Wolf's canine lips curled into a smart smile, he turned around to see Alexander
smiling as well, and Pigma, looking rather disinterested, leaning against the ladder.
"Great then, I'll see you in a couple of days."
Without so much as a good bye, Wolf turned on his heel and walked through the
fighter patch that spread across the conduit like crab grass, and made a brisk b-line
toward the gate he had come through.
It was time to put the ball into his court once again.
--------
Pigma let out a disgusted snort, his beady eyes moving away from the rapidly
escaping Wolf and back toward Alexander, "Really cute, Alex."
Alexander turned his head back to him, his naval cap still under his arm, "What?"
Pigma looked at him grimly, "Tell me one more time, why that kid should get
control of this, I get 2nd place."
Alexander turned fully to Pigma now, smiling with simple thin lips, "Isn't it
obvious, he's got that one thing we need."
"No, it's not obvious."
"Look, bro, you've got the experience factor, yes, you've got the wisdom factor,
yes, you may be a better pilot, but let's face it, you're old."
Pigma raised his eye brows in surprise, "Well you don't have to throw it in may
face."
Alexander held up his hands apologetically, "Sorry, bro, I didn't mean to be
harsh."
"I'm only 41..." Pigma said sadly.
"All I mean is, you're no spring chicken, or… no spring pig."
"So, I'm not a teenager, what difference does that make."
"Pigma, this is like no war ever fought, this is a war of public opinion. The
Revolutionary Militia and the CDF run on the backs of the people. Public taste is now
what fuels the offensive."
"What are you saying, people don't like me, and like O'Donnell more?!"
"No, I'm saying, like the music industry, we need major fighters who are cute,
photogenic, perky, sexy, and mysterious, as well as good pilots."
Pigma shot a finger up in the direction that Wolf had exited in, "You call that guy
sexy?! He's your pop star?! What the hell!?"
Alexander rolled his eyes, "No, I don't think he's sexy… I think he's got that
thing that all the kids are into."
"I still don't see why we need kids to be part of this?"
Alexander put his hand against an Invader and leaned on it, "Look, bro, what's my
position. I am Director of Venomese Intelligence and I'm Commissar of Venom, a part of
Venomese Intelligence is propaganda and moral, I have to make sure the troops and the
people have something to believe in. Now, the whole Andross socialism ideal is good,
but it's very broad and very 'in the long run.' So I look at Wolf and you know what I see,
I see a charismatic individual, I see some one you could pick out of the crowd. He just
portrays something so deep when you look at him, you know there's a story behind him.
You can also tell that boy is a star, he's doing something or is going to do something big.
Am I right?"
Pigma shrugged, "He certainly is a character."
"Yes, well… I mean, he's got grunge flare written all over him. He doesn't listen
to authority, he's calm and collected, and committed. He's a propaganda officer's dream.
He's someone the youth want to be like, you understand now?"
Pigma looked at Alexander through cautious eyes, "That sounds screwy to me."
"Well, screwy is as screwy does."
"What every that means, you're gonna create a monster."
"Monsters are as monsters do."
"Uhh… I'm just saying, you're gonna severely reduce the fighting capacity of this
outfit if you raise the media influence."
"Oh, you guys can handle it."
"And speaking of us, what is my position in all this." Pigma said, glaring
accusingly, "I'm not your sexy superstar, so what am I?"
"Chill, bro. Although Wolf, and to a lesser extent, Andrew, are good fighters, I
need them for the media stuff. You, however, are my no nonsense dude. You're there to
make sure the shit doesn't hit the fan. You're the muscle, and the real teeth behind this
beast."
Pigma smiled to himself and let out a small delighted chuckle, "Sounds
important."
"It is the most important, I can't go having my number one team getting all banged
up. And as an incentive…" Alexander looked at Pigma with devious eyes, then reached
inside his collar down into a pocket beneath his jacket and pulled out a open white
envelope.
Alexander tossed it to Pigma, and he caught it with a simple flick of his fingers.
Pigma opened the white package to reveal a large amount of red A-Bills, the currency of
Andross's empire, more commonly referred to as "ables." About 60 red ables, which
added up to 9,000 Cornarian credits, but that was only a guess.
"Hey, what's this for?" Pigma said excitedly.
"Call it a little reward for your continued loyalty, and there's more where that
came from, if you make sure our little canine friend doesn't go making any career
mistakes."
Pigma's eyes rose, he liked the way Alexander got to his point, through flagrance
and deviousness at the same time. It was like being part of some shady underhanded deal,
it made you feel like a spy.
Though Alexander's little shpeal seemed innocent enough, it's subtext was
undeniable. Alexander wanted Wolf to be an idol, if Wolf was ever to do something not
worthy of the station of an idol, he would need to be put to an idol-like end, and Pigma
would be the gunman.
Pigma lower his tone, "Want anything special to finish it."
"Patriotic, loyalist, you know how heroes die, don't you…" Alexander said with a
business like serenity, bringing up old occurrences with his last note of sarcasm.
Pigma chuckled, "Well… you keep me in the bucks, and I'll kill Andross for you."
"Let's wait and see if it comes to that." Alexander said solemnly, walking at a
slow pace off through the forest of metal strut trees, "Take care, Pigma."
Pigma smiled at the back of Alexander's head, "See ya, Alex."
Pigma shoved the envelope into his jacket's inside pocket. He turned back to the
fighter he was inspecting, climbed up the ladder, and resumed the arduous task of trying
to retrieve his sun glasses from underneath the pilot seat, without actually getting in.
To be continued later, my chillins!
Bethlehem nor any of his other personalities owns Star Fox 64, and make no claim to it.
He does, however, own all characters and concepts exclusively his creation, don't bother
asking to use them because he won't let you. If you want to try anyway and hear my
lengthy "NO!," Contact me at [email protected].