Author Notes: My second fanfiction ever! So thanks for everyone who pushed me along this path of literary adventure. Special thanks to Basil-Ovelby and Jasalazul for their Beta reading expertise, they're helping me break bad habits for your enjoyment. It's been a lot of work but I am looking forward to seeing what happens next along with you all. Just don't get too attached to the characters, please?
Three stepped out of the darkness of the alleys. With Falco leading, he brought them to a real dive, a cesspool on the bad side of town.
The night was particularly dark, starless. A quiet drizzle glossed the streets and matted their fur as they approached. The place was hidden; forcing them to walk some couple of blocks before actually finding it. From afar anybody would've guessed it was just some forgotten ship that crashed here decades ago. Perhaps this was just part of the 'charm.' It looked to have once been an air-carrier and now stood as a hollowed-out shell that catered to the more 'accomplished' riffraff in the shadier parts of the city; it resembled no other bar Fox had ever visited.
A few electrical sparks scattered against the pavement: the neon N and T had been destroyed some time ago—it was intentional, a bad joke. The sign was still readable as 'The Downed Hornet.'
They neared the door. Krystal shuddered slightly, Fox spoke on her behalf. "Falco, are you sure this is where you want to have it? I mean, there's got to be a hundred other bars out there."
"Nope, it's this one or none other – if you guys like, you all can go. I'm sure Peppy and Slippy have something exciting going on." He stretched his arms before turning around. "It's not like I can't do this alone…wouldn't be the first time.
Krystal shrugged. "Maybe we'll take you up on that offer." She shared a wink with Fox who only forced a slight smile.
With a flick, Falco's cigarette bounced against the street and reached to hold open the door. He exhaled the smoke as he spoke, "Besides, I've got a history here. Just relax with me, would you?" Fox moved ahead, and Falco motioned with his beak. "Attaboy, Fox – are you coming, doll?" Krystal's face fell. She sighed and followed them inside.
The smoke was thick, and a sour musk was in the air. An old raccoon thumbed his steel-string, and Fox was certain that everyone there wanted to kill him. He stared a bit, as if expecting to be riddled with blaster-fire.
"Pirates, thugs, junkies…what a place to have a birthday." Krystal looked to Fox for a response. Fox glanced her way as if to say 'please don't get us killed,' but Krystal was immune to the hint. She placed a small box on the booth's table with a moan. "Really, Falco, this place?"
He smiled and dropped into the booth, pleased at his team's discomfort. "Now, is that really any way to behave on my birthday?" He watched as another joined the performance: a harmonica. He closed his eyes as the melody struck.
Fox took his seat beside Krystal, and she cupped her hand around his; she squeezed as if to transfer the message of her discomfort transdermally. He only returned her gaze with a concerned look. Falco, noticing this, stroked his chin and raised an eyebrow, "I'll get us something to drink." He left his seat.
"So, that's the infamous Mr. Lombardi. Well, you certainly know how to pick them, Fox." Krystal said, trying to sound sincere.
"What, Falco? We've known each other since we were kids. Why, you don't like him?"
"No. Well, I suppose not…but I've only known him for a few days. If you believe in him, then I guess it is only fair that I do too." She drew a wavering breath and forced a smile.
Falco returned with three tall bottles of drink, swaying to the raccoons' melody. She furrowed her brow and sighed. "I'm just unimpressed." The impact of the drinks sent the cold contents spilling into her lap. Fox didn't notice.
"Unimpressed with what?" Falco took his place, this time leaning fully into his seat, taking to his drink. Krystal only shook her head, astonished that he had heard her. "C'mon you deadbeats – bunch of dinosaurs, I swear." He looked over his beer, expecting a shot back. He wasn't disappointed.
"Oh, and you helped immensely on Sauria. I honestly don't even see why Fox took you back; we certainly handled ourselves right fine. I bet the whole time you drank yourself stupid in this… dungeon." Fox looked away. Krystal plotted a napkin against her legs.
Falco grinned at Fox's embarrassment and took another swig. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Would explain the money problems." He opened the box. The small cake didn't take the walk too well, its frosting peeling at it opened.
Fox dove into the conversation to change the mood. "Happy birthday, Falco!" He raised his drink.
"Yeah, thanks, pal." Falco clanked his own, much emptier bottle against his friend's. Krystal half-heartedly replied with hers as well, possibly regretting sitting on the inside of the booth as she began to idly push the beer-salt across the table.
"Look, I know you're totally not into this sort of thing, but the team and I got you something." Fox pulled from his satchel something large and wrapped in cloth – it was heavy.
"Oh, yeah? I hope this isn't a bribe to keep me on Star Fox." It sounded funnier in Falco's head. The comment wasn't received well at all: Fox scoffed and suddenly found the beer-salt interesting as Krystal moved it about. Her beer was still untouched.
Falco removed the cloth, trying to quell the silence he caused. "Holy…this is beautiful." He held it up against the light. It was really something: a brass statuette of an Arwing. It even had Falco's name beside a small text thanking him for his service.
Fox's ears found themselves in their upright position, a smile crossing his face. "So, do you like it?"
He whistled. "It's perfect."
Krystal looked away, feeling herself fade into the background once more. She watched the two exchange a hug, Fox breaking from her hand to do so. When he returned to his seat, their hands didn't reconnect.
"I mean, if it's a bit much…we could always just pay off your tab."
Falco shook his head violently. "No, no, this is more than fine. Bruno, I don't see him - he must be in the back, he gets a bit aggressive when I mention my financial crisis." He scratched at his neck.
"Oh, of course." Krystal smiled.
"Crisis?"
His heart upped its tempo. "Forget I said anything…I'll get us another round."
Fox placed his hand on Falco's wrist before he was able to get away. "If it's really about money-" Fox looked into him, through him.
"I, well, that is – "
Krystal coughed. "Smoke's really starting to get to me; I'm going out for some air. Fox?" Fox scooted from the booth and took Krystal by the hand to help her from her seat.
They stepped outside, leaving the third wheel behind.
"I guess we won't be getting another round." Falco scratched at his wrist, already feeling Krystal's words begining to peck at him; he certainly didn't leave a good impression on Fox's girl. The band was picking up, the elder raccoon having started his vocals – raspy and barely intelligible. He ran his finger along the brass statuette; its edges were sharp and realistic - they really captured the contours of the Arwing. His old friend must have been holding onto it for awhile - it featured the old-style, original Arwings he was used to piloting. Starfox had their newer Arwing2 models now, as well as a newer teammate.
A few moments passed, the length of the raccoons' song at least, and she returned with Fox at her side. His collar was turned up - he corrected it before taking his seat. Krystal was positively glowing. She reached out and placed a number of candles on the cake, then lit them. "I'm sorry if I was bit taut earlier, Falco – it's just been a rough day. I hope you don't take it personally. Welcome back to the team."
The band began to pack things up, only quiet chatter and occasional traffic filtering through the thick silence.
Falco winked. "It's no problem at all. Thanks a lot – it's good to see a new face."
A doberman entered the bar. It was clear he belonged to the Cornerian-police, the white of his uniform glowing against the neon of the room. He took a stool and spoke, knowing he'd be heard. "There was another murder…" Tossing his gloves onto the counter, he ran his hands through his hair.
The phrase found more than Starfox's attention.
The bartender, an old Scotty, tried to quiet the patron. He said in a gruff whisper, "Was it him again?" The officer only nodded, his eyes on the dark wood of the bar. "How many does this make?" He held up his paw: five. "My God, are you all any closer?"
"No, but his killings aren't random – it's as though he's only been targeting mercenaries."
"You'd think it would make the job easier on you all - there're only so many groups out there." He passed the officer a stiff drink.
"It just doesn't make any sense. There's no way he could even get on their ships unless they were docked for a long enough of a time. And even still, how could he escape? The murders happen when the ships are in orbit. I swear the man's a ghost. The department has even attached a cute little nickname." It was clear he wasn't at all pleased as he shot down his drink. "I don't really get it, but alliteration sells," he said mockingly, and scoffed, "'The Quadrant Killer?' Spare me." He whipped out a small beam lighter and pressed it against a cigarette.
The wax from the candles began to set into the cake as they melted; Falco hadn't even noticed the clever design behind the pastry as the wax covered the 'pepperonis' of the 'pizza-cake.'
Wrapping up his statuette, Falco whispered, "Maybe we should check up on the others - this guy sounds like real bad news."
Fox quietly relayed his concern and Krystal nodded. Finally, something they could agree on.
Falco blew out his candles. "This is beginning to sound like a real eventful birthday." They left.
He cursed himself for choosing a bar so far from the Greatfox, and he was certain the other two were as well. They dashed past the dark alleys, the puddles splashing as they pressed forward; Falco was raised here, and it wasn't that difficult to navigate.
"Hey, Falco. Planning on flying the coop?" The voice filled the alley, and Falco found that he could not move. His team caught up and noticed their sudden obstacle.
"Bruno," he choked back, quickly turning to the others, "Don't sweat it guys, just get back to the ship; I'll be there in a few."
Fox had readable confusion on his face, his hand itching for his blaster.
Krystal reached for his arm, trying to detour his path. "Fox, remember what I said."
In his indecision, Fox's mind pulled his body between the two alleys. "You going to be okay, Falco?"
Krystal made the decision for him, already pulling him aside. "Let's move, Fox. The assassin could already be on our ship!" She did have a point; giving in, he finally allowed her to tug him away from Falco's fate.
--
Bruno pressed the button, and Falco once more felt the electric jolt wrack through his body. He clawed at the collar, trying to tear away the machine. Every attempt was answered with intensifying pain. He dropped to all fours, howling, even though nobody was in earshot. Bruno was a bull-dog with an attitude as large as his over-sized head. His comic overbite caused him to slobber slightly with every syllable, especially when he was angry, and he was always angry. The dog easily stood broad in the alley, his shoulders filling the width almost completely, and his body was abused with steroids – a bulging monstrosity.
"I got your little letter of resignation, friend, and I didn't appreciate the part about blackmailing me to bounty-hunters. That was a real dumb move on your part, birdbrain. You know what they say - 'a caged bird don't sing.'"
"Would you just quit with the bird puns already?" Falco managed to get to his feet. The collar was setting into his skin now, the feathers peeling away.
"These are dangerous times to be a mercenary, Falco – did you really think you'd drop ship that easily? Then showing up in my bar, well, that was just tacky."
"I was doing it to make up the cash I owe you. I was going to work-"
Bruno drove his thick finger into the machine once more. "You work for me!"
Another bolt shattered his stance.
He saw the spandex shirt that clung to Bruno's body, threatening to tear, the material screaming to be released; his gruff boots were steel-toe if Falco's ribs remembered correctly.
"I have to be able to make investments to pay you off."
"Your idiocy never seems to surprise me. You're hiding something, someone, and I want in! I might even let you live - even split the earnings! All you have to do is pull a trigger in the right places. You can do that, can't ya, ace?"
"Go find a mutt."
"What, don't want to be on Bruno's good-side anymore? I'll forget any of this ever happened if you just kill…"
--
"Fox, listen to me. I don't need air." They stepped out of the Hornet. "We need to get out of here! Falco…he plans on killing you - I've foreseen it!"
"What?!" Fox had been struck with blows, blaster bolts, and crashes, but he'd never been struck this hard verbally. Krystal's predictions were always right. Was it wrong to wish them wrong?
"Listen, Fox – he's in some serious financial issues. He plans on cashing the bounty on your head to save his own skin. He might even be…" she looked away.
"Do you have any idea what you're suggesting?"
Her eyes grew blurry with tears. "I'm suggesting that he might be the Quadrant Killer!"
