Part I: The Letter

The teacher was droning and he leaned against a curled fist, emerald eyes lazily drooping. White etchings on the blackboard did nothing to spark his interest, though he commented to himself that the professor was actually surprisingly good at drawing space crafts. "This is a typical Cornerian Fighter," the professor, a bushy-furred sheepdog tapped the depiction of the hull. "Mark V, to be precise. Developed by Space Dynamics, our local fighter-building corporation."

"This is incredibly dull," Fox murmured to the green toad next to him, who was frantically sketching away a model of the fighter. In amusement and curiosity, the fox leaned over slightly, brow quirked, "That's pretty good."

"What sort of laser cannon does the Cornerian Fighter Mark V contain, Mr. McCloud?" the professor huffed suddenly, "Since you seem so keen on talking today."

"Dual medium… Dual medium…" Slippy was whispering frantically under his breath, fiddling with his pencil and nervously avoiding Fox's eye contact.

"Dual medium," Fox blurted, giving a small shrug. The professor looked sour, but continued on with his lecture, and Fox gave Slippy a small thumbs up. With an uncertain chuckle, the toad went back to sketching, tilting his head to either sides as he worked vigorously.

Fox leaned back in his chair, a smile about his lips as he glanced towards the clock. Just twenty minutes left. I can handle this, he thought with a stretch, feeling a few joints pop back into place. These chairs are so ridiculously stiff. It's like sitting on a rock. He made a face and sighed, scratching behind his left ear. It's been two weeks since Dad left, Fox mused to himself. He left money, yeah, but I'd like hearing from him too. General Pepper had hired him for… something. It had been confidential, his father had said. Perhaps it had been a joke and Fox had mistaken that for the truth. Yeah, like the Cornerian Army would need a bunch of rag-tag mercenaries to do their dirty work.

Ever since Fox had learned the difference between his father's gang and the Cornerian Defense Force, he had often scoffed at the work his dad had committed himself to. Mercenaries were largely useless in the Lylat System, unless someone was paying for the transport of illicit items. James had sworn off all such immoral work, and Fox had known better than to follow his father's lead. The Cornerian Flight Academy was a prestigious institution, one that would mold him into a better pilot. Through boring lectures and a few flight tests, that is, he yawned loudly, and the doe next to him gave him a nasty, dark-eyed glare.

James had been unable to hide his disappointment when Fox had rejected his offer to join the mercenary band. The Cornerian Defense Force had been his calling since he had been a child; he couldn't recall wanting to be anything but an officer of the law. Dealing justice to criminals seemed all the more appealing than drinking cheap beer and listening to a broken-up boombox that was as old as the Lylat System itself. The McClouds had been quite poor from the lack of work around. Once, he remembered living in a house with picture frames, a sofa without holes, and in a decent part of town. But that was a lifetime ago, or so it seemed in his mind. When his mother had died, he had been around the age of five, not old enough to remember very much about her.

He feared he would forget her one day, that the name Vixy McCloud would mean nothing to him. No face would come to mind, no smell of her perfume, no bell-like laughter. She had been the driving force in the family, headstrong and certain of herself. When James had been out on jobs, she had maintained her job at the dentist office, bringing in the majority of the income to their humble household. She had died in an explosion, though Fox was never sure why or how it had happened. Part of him wasn't sure he ever wanted to know.

The golden-furred fox yawned again, covering his mouth this time. Dad should be back this week, he decided. The Mothership is old, but it's not that slow.

"Most of you are seniors here at the Academy, and so I'll tell you now that you may think you are all hot shots at flying, but there's always more to be learned," the professor prattled on. "Most tests you've passed have been easy; fly through the rings, hit the robotic planes, learn how to do various maneuvers. Unfortunately, this year, you will be tested on everything. Flying in formations. Fighting in formation. Who even knows what the formations are? Anyone? Anyone?"

Bill Grey's hand shot up, "There are a few standard flight formations…" began the gray-furred bulldog, rising from his chair in a rather professional manner. "The first is the attack formation, also known as the Delta—"

The door swung open and Slippy nearly jumped from his skin. A husky in green walked in, his face as humorous as a funeral as his mouth written in a permanent frown. "I need to see Fox McCloud," came his grave voice, so serious that Fox did not even hesitate to obey. As he rose from his chair, the husky added, "Grab your things." You won't be coming back, rang in his voice, but it went unsaid. Fox cautiously tucked his notebook into his backpack, zipped it up, and tossed it over one shoulder.

"Looks like I'm getting out early," He smiled at Slippy, smugness in his eyes. "See ya later."

The husky followed him from the classroom, walking stiffly in his knee-high boots and his hands behind his back properly. No words were exchanged—the fox was too nervous to ask what had happened and the husky seemed not inclined to speak at all. The corridor was devoid of others, and the metal on the dog's boots clinked softly with each step.

Clink, clink, clink… down the hall and to the headmaster's room, up three floors and around the corner. "What am I doing here?" Fox asked, astonished as he eyed the door. "I'm… not in trouble, am I?"

"No," the husky gruffly replied, and opened the door for him.

Fox tentatively stepped in, the headmaster's desk preoccupied by a stout mastiff with drooping jowls and permanently squinted eyes. To his left, there was a hound much similar, wearing the prestigious crimson of a General. The right chair was occupied by a familiar face—a hare with brown and cream fur, his face staring holes through the desk in the room's center.

"Peppy?" Fox asked, surprised, "You're here?" The hare didn't respond, his jaw clenched and his hands in tight, angry fists. That means Dad should be back too. But… I don't get it. Where is he? Why is Peppy here of all places? They could have just called… They could have just…His stomach churned and suddenly a wave of uneasiness smashed its way through the last shred of confidence the fox held to.

"Take a seat, Mr. McCloud," the mastiff gestured politely, cleaning his glasses with a sleeve. "We've much to talk about." His narrow gaze moved to the hound in red, who removed his hat and sat it down before him.

"Fox, I am not sure if you remember me," the hound began anxiously.

"You're General Pepper," Fox replied, brows furrowed, "The head of the Cornerian Army." Where's my Dad? It was the question on the tip of his tongue, but the very one he didn't want to voice. He fell into the chair unceremoniously, tripping over himself as he looked at Peppy, concern. He's been crying. There's something wet by his eyes. Dread building, he tore his gaze from the hare, and looked at General Pepper.

"Yes," the bloodhound nodded, fumbling for what to say next. Quietness reigned over the office for a moment as the headmaster began to brew some hot tea in the corner, his face grim. Finally, the General sighed, "Peppy… can you…?"

"It's what he would have wanted," Peppy's voice cracked, and the brown and cream hare forced his gaze to Fox's, lip quivering. No… He was scared of what his father's friend was going to tell him. "Fox… I am so sorry." The hare trembled as though he had been locked away in a freezer.

By now, it wasn't a mystery. Perhaps it had never been a mystery. Fox felt his stomach lurch and his lunch threaten to spew itself out. He fought it back, dizzy and scared as the hare spoke, "We went to Venom. That's where we were supposed to go. There was something wrong there. There was a rumor that a rebellion was being started there. We were s-supposed to find out what was taking place…" Peppy shook his head, "We arrived. There was a man. He had risen an army—I don't know how…"

"Andross," General Pepper said gravely, "A madman, sent to Venom for Corneria's safety. His experiments were cruel, catastrophic." Bitterness was heavy in his voice. "So we banished him… But it seems as though we only gave him what he wanted—his own playground to build his disturbing army. Our scanners had noticed activity on the planet over the past few months. We paired with the Cerinian Order and sent an expedition to uncover what was going on."

"It was the four of us," Peppy shook his head, eyes fraught with trauma, "James, Pigma, Randorn, and me. We went to investigate activity on Venom… Randorn noticed the temples… said there was something within- some sort of energy. So we went inside… I'll never forget it in all of my years. He was sitting on a crumbling throne, perfectly fine despite the toxicity in the air. Like he wasn't… normal. We made to escape the planet after he had raised the alarm. All of us were in our Arwings, and then Pigma… It was all a trap. My Arwing got stuck in a tractor beam and I..." His sentence dissolved into a sob. "Oh Jim..."

"What happened to my father?" Fox asked with a stomach full of dread.

"He's dead," Peppy whispered, tears streaming down his face, "Andross… he killed him, Fox."

There was a moment of silence in Fox's mind. Serene, peaceful silence, and he sat staring through everything around him. He didn't see the headmaster set a mug of tea in front of him and he didn't hear General Pepper trying to speak with him. There was a ringing in his pointed ears, and a stillness in his heart that drowned it all out. His hands were limp, relaxed, and the chair seemed to melt away from beneath his touch. Nothingness caressed him, and he felt as though he were falling through the quiet, his misted-over eyes unable to see the faces in front of him.

They're joking. Dad's the best pilot in the Lylat System, he told himself, waiting for his father's hand to clasp him on the shoulder and tell him everything was fine. He waited for the smell of leather and cheap cologne, for the pat on the back, for his father's voice. But it never came, and somewhere, he understood that it never would come.

Had it been this way when his mother had died? He couldn't remember. Will I forget what he looks like, too?He thought miserably, clutching his forehead with a hand as everything spun back into focus for him. Will I forget what he sounds like? No... No, I've known him for eighteen years…

"Fox…" General Pepper's lips curled down in a droopy frown, "I am sorry."

"It's…" stammered the vulpine for a moment, "It's… fine…" It wasn't fine. It was far from fine. His father had been murdered in an act of war, and he was telling them it was fine? The red fox gave a humorless, half-crazed chuckle, shaking his head, "I just… can't believe it." And who could blame him?
"I know," Peppy patted his back tenderly, "I know…"

"There's a matter of your father's belongings that needs to be discussed," General Pepper sighed, "While I'm certainly not in charge of what happens to his things, I… feel partially responsible for what happened. So let me begin by saying your father took out an impressive loan to purchase a ship by the name of the Great Fox." My father is dead and now you're talking about his loans and his ship? Would all of that fall on him now? "Interestingly enough, the wealth your father left also is quite impressive." The fox's ears went up at this. He was dirt poor… "All of it is yours. The wealth is, his house, everything in it… The new mothership is a different story."

"What happened to the old Mothership?" Fox said with alarm.

"Destroyed…" Peppy said somberly.

"Give… Give the new one to Peppy, then," Fox stammered, waving it off with a careless hand.

"He's promised it to you, if you choose to lead the Star Fox Team," General Pepper continued, "And I will be compensating the bank for the loans taken out on The Great Fox as a way of apologizing for your loss."

"Thanks, but I'm… enrolled at the Academy," Fox fumbled half-heartedly. "It can go to Peppy and Randorn… really, it can."

"Randorn is busy drinking himself into a hole," Peppy shook his head, "And we're not… we can't, Fox. Two pilots aren't a team."

"There are pilots everywhere," Fox disagreed. "You can… You can always find more…"

"But none are as talented as you," Peppy replied, "None have a passion for this like you. Fox… Do you really want to join the Cornerian Defense Force?"

Yes, thought Fox at first but he hesitated. Yes, I want to guard the planet from criminals. I want to protect it in case we're invaded. I want to fly a Cornerian Fighter, be hailed as a hero… I want… And suddenly, he wasn't sure what he wanted. To waste his life patrolling the skies of Corneria? Suddenly, it seemed so asphyxiating, and the vulpine tore his gaze away from the others. I want… to fly with Slippy and Bill. I want to go wherever the wind takes me.

"You talk like me being James's son is all the qualification I need to run a team of mercenaries," the words began flowing from his mouth, unchecked. Everything was a blur—Peppy's face, the cup of steaming tea in front of him, the windows of the office. He couldn't focus his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. "It's not. I'm not a leader. I just… want to attend the Academy. I want the Cornerian Fighter, the patrols… The badge, the uniform…" The solidarity. He wanted it to anchor his life, and yet… the very thought of being stuck on Corneria was a maddening notion. The vulpine clutched his forehead, feeling it throb with each panicked heartbeat. I want something stable in my life because I never got to have that. He might have had all of that money, but why did we never use it? Couldn't we afford something better than the life we had?

"I don't want to be a mercenary." His emerald eyes accusingly moved to General Pepper, "Don't you want me in your army? Why press to have me as a mercenary rather than one of your soldiers?"

The hound hesitated before he replied, "The choice is entirely yours, Fox. Between your father's will and what Peppy has told me, I thought the option would be presented. However, if you'd rather attend the Academy…" his voice trailed off, but his meaning was clear.

"That is what I want," the fox said adamantly.

"No," Peppy decided firmly, "You don't know what you want. You're hurt, you're exhausted. You need to rest and give this all some thought."

"I have no doubt that Andross means to invade the Lylat System," General Pepper said gravely, "Your father died trying to bring that information back to us. I will do my best to make sure that wasn't a meaningless effort." There was a pause. "Fox, what will you do?"

He didn't remember leaving the chair, package in hand. The walk back to his dorm was a blur of Corneria's green foliage, the blue of the sky, and the perfect white of the sleek skyscrapers all around. A few Cornerian Fighters zipped overhead on patrol, but otherwise, the campus was deathly quiet, leaving him to his thoughts. By the time he reached his room, he was exhausted mentally, collapsing on his bed as he dropped his pack onto the ground carelessly. Face-down on the navy blue comforter, he breathed in the smell of fresh cotton, nestling his face into the aroma as if it could shield him from all of the bad thoughts drifting in his mind. I don't want to think, he thought to himself after another few moments of head-pounding contemplation. I don't want to do anything.

Falling asleep was another blur, but it was a dreamless paradise where thought was prohibited. Slippy broke him from his safe haven, shadows crawling about the room as Lylat began to dip below the horizon. Outside was a mixture of purple and orange, though the dorm room was dimly light. Fox sat up, careful not to hit his head on the bunkbed above, and blinked away his sleepiness.

"You've been gone awhile. Is uh… everything okay?" Slippy asked him. "I didn't think I'd find you here."

His recounting of what had happened was met with silence as the toad practically fell into his desk chair, eyes wide with shock. The knot in Fox's chest tightened and loosened with each bit of the story, and yet, all the while, the green amphibian listened with utmost care. By the time Fox had finished, Slippy had cracked open a pair of Cornerian soda cans and had offered one to the distressed vulpine. He accepted gratefully, taking in a deep drink as Slippy stared soberly at his friend, thumbs fiddling with each other in his lap.

"Fox, I'm so sorry," apologized the toad after a moment, "I can't believe that happened… Your dad was the best pilot in Corneria. Everyoneknew that. Gosh… I… I just don't know what to say."

"You don't… really have to say anything," Fox replied, not meaning to sound so icy. He took another long drink from the can, then set it aside, on the nearby desk. "I don't… want to leave the Flight Academy, Slippy. I like it here."

"Then you don't have to go," Slippy shook his head, "I mean, no one should blame you for being so frazzled right now. And… And if they do… well, they're not really your friend."

"Thanks, bud."

"You're my best friend. You've been my best friend since you moved here."

The red vulpine smiled at him, head bobbing up and down in a nod. Slippy gave his friend a pat on the back, "Have you told Fara yet?"

Fox froze for the moment, breath caught in his throat. Fara… She was three years Fox's senior, his girlfriend for the last year. They'd met when he had started at the flight academy, though she was in a division based on fighter plane repairs and test flights. He would never forget the way she looked in her greasy uniform that first day, a pen tucked behind one of her large ears and a clipboard in hand.

She'd be at work around this time, he thought to himself, but didn't voice it. I don't want to bother her… But simultaneously understood her wrath if he withheld what was going on from her for too long. I'll have to give her a call.

"No," he admitted quietly. "But I'll tell her soon." It had amazed him how quickly the words had flowed from his mouth when he had told Slippy what had transpired in the office. Perhaps it would be easy every time. Something tells me it won't be.

His round eyes moved to the box Fox had let fall next to his backpack, and he stooped to pick it up, "What's this, huh?"

Right… probably something of my father's… Fox thought to himself, sitting down on the bed. Slippy gave it to him with a small shrug and the vulpine began to open it, "Can't believe I forgot about this…" He remarked aloud, bitterly tugging at the paper wrapped about the small box. With a tug, it came free with a nasty rip, and he let it fall to the floor.

The box was white, unstained and unbent despite how it had been dropped. He removed the lid with haste, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. Atop the stack of papers was a set of sunglasses, jet-black and sporting wide lenses. Fox's fingers were careful as he lifted them, unfurling them and holding them up. "They look like…" Slippy began, but Fox already knew, nodding in agreement. Just like Dad's. He set them aside with a sigh about his lips, removing the small set of papers.

It was a copy of his father's will, which became evident as he read it. They were right, mused the vulpine solemnly. He left it all to me. Eyes skirting through the paragraphs, he muttered, "Seven hundred-thousand Lylatian credit."

"Whaaaaaaat?" Slippy's eyes widened.

"Enough to definitely buy myself a new place to live," Fox retorted, shaking his head. "But why did he just… keep it?" The next paper detailed maintenance on The Great Fox, as well as its origins. He skimmed it, put it aside quite robotically, then took the next one. There were an assortment of files the red fox sorted through—information on bank accounts, a list of emergency contacts across the Lylat System, and other boring papers Fox didn't feel like reading.

Stack of papers aside, he found himself staring into the mouth of the shallow box, emerald eyes fixated on the envelope with his name in cursive. Dread. Why did he feel like puking? Numbly, he plucked it from the box, clearing his throat uncomfortably, and glancing at Slippy. He was leaning over, munching on a granola bar, his cerulean eyes wide with curiosity. The toad fell back when he caught Fox's gaze, mumbling, "I… I can go if you'd like…"

"No. Stay," Fox insisted, using his thumb to tear the envelope open. There was a moment's hesitation as he withdrew the letter from its paper prison, a knot forming in his throat. Unfurling the letter, his gaze flicked to the top, ears back as the unnaturally stiff cursive of his father's handwriting greeted him.

Fox,

If you have been given this letter, then I am probably no longer with you. Or that's what the others will say. The reality of it all is… I don't know. I don't know what's at the corners of the Lylat System just as I don't know what's beyond life itself. But I hope that my advice and my knowledge will be with you forever, as well as my memory. I am not writing this letter to dissuade you from joining the Cornerian Defense Force—I reflect on my time in the military with pride, despite what you may think.

I've never been as good to you as I could have. You deserved a better father than I could ever hope to be. Your mother was the real hero in the family. I hope she's not too upset with me.

Once, you asked me what had happened to her, and I told you the time would come for that to be addressed. I suppose if I haven't told you already, then it's time. Your mother was the victim of murder. There was a bomb. It was meant for me, but as fate would have it, your mother asked to borrow my car that day. The bomb was connected to the ignition… and when she turned it on, well… you know the rest. I wonder often what would have happened if I had said "no" to her that day. But life is too short for "What ifs", I guess.

You know that I have made many enemies over the years. Being a mercenary does that. It took me weeks to find who had taken her from us. I helped the Cornerian Defense Force with the investigation myself, even though they insisted I was too emotionally involved. They were able to find a man, an ape named Geralt Andross. Your mother had known him for awhile, but I'm not sure how. His motives are still unclear to me, but the investigation of her death brought other things to light—he had been performing illegal experiments and that was just the tip of the iceberg. General Pepper had him banished to Venom for it all. The guy's probably dead by now, but some days, I wonder. He hasn't made a peep in years.

I'm not telling you this to get reckless ideas into your head. You don't need my help for that. I told you because I thought you deserved to know that your mother was the victim of a madman and his sick games.

Son, I know this seems strange, that I should tell you this while… Well, while I've just passed on. I hope the money has reached you safely and that the team is unharmed. Peppy's received a letter similar to this, regarding his status as your godfather and the future of the team. Fox, I am proud of you. You're on the way to becoming a pilot that will put me to shame, and nothing makes me happier than that. I hope you choose to live a life full of peace and joy. Do what your heart tells you; trust your instincts. They'll always see you through.

I love you.

James Fox McCloud

PS- Give Peppy a hug for me. He's probably beating himself up for whatever has happened.

A maelstrom of emotions swirled in his mind, and the vulpine hastily folded the letter away, moisture edging his emerald eyes.

"Fox?" asked Slippy in a quiet voice, but his friend didn't reply, stuffing the letter into the envelope. He tucked it into his jacket after throwing the navy uniform over his shoulders.

"Just gonna go for a walk," he decided aloud, words as flooded as his eyes. Slippy didn't make a move to stop him, brows furrowed with sorrow as his friend retreated to the door, letting it swing shut behind him with a thundering slam. Fox tried to make it out of the corridor before he erupted in tears, his entire frame shaking as he let the evening breeze hit him. It caressed his cheeks, blowing the droplets back from his eyes as he stared into the twilight, jaw clenched.