Falling Flames
Author's Note: I originally wanted this to be titled something like Failure or Falling Wings or something to that sort, but I decided that I didn't really want to spell either of those and the other ones were rather impractical so...Falling Flames it is. I know, crazy take on Dash. Ohmygod, noway!
Oneshot...Falling Flames
Solar's rays beat down upon Corneria through a clear sky. The heavens were cloudless, perfect in color. Anyone looking into the sun would be blinded by the dazzling beams of rainbow colors, dancing against the azure sky. In the city proper, Cornerians went about their everyday business, visiting shops and walking the streets. Every few seconds, a shadow would fall over these people as a transport whizzed by overhead in Corneria's busy skylanes. Traveling citizens dodged and weaved through the heavy traffic. In heavy contrast to this, those below enjoyed pleasant walks through parks and streets on the near-deserted surface. Many only touched the ground to walk into a store, landing their vehicles only when necessary.
The day was not particularly hot, but the rays of the sun were still intense, and those below welcomed any bit of shade they could get. One such citizen felt the heat especially, rubbing his collar in discomfort. He'd finished a day at Arspace rather early, but the strain of it had given him a severe headache and he was overstressed. It was in this frame of mind that the vulpine made a beeline for a launch pad towards the city outskirts. It didn't take him too long, what with the several speedwalks mounted around the city to speed the foot traffic on days when the streets were crowded.
The vulpine was rounding a corner when he was forced to throw an arm up. A brilliant glare had met his eyes, the rays of Solar reflecting off of a ship's hull plating. A beautiful silvery-white on most days, the ship was a blinding sight, the lighting of the day reflecting off the hull with such intensity that almost every patch of shade in the area was obliterated, flooded with the radiant white. The fox climbed up the access ramp to the launch pad, then ascended a second that lead to a hatch between one of the ship's four wings. He entered an access code, then stepped in as the hatch slid aside, almost falling backwards from the rush of cool air that flooded outside. The portal sealed behind him as he stepped onto lush red carpeting that ran the length of the hall.
Now, there's something we didn't have before, reflected the vulpine with a grin. Sure, it wasn't a necessity on a warship, but he liked the rich texture and how it felt on his bare feet while getting late snacks and the like. He took a lift down to the ship's lowest level, humming to himself contentedly as he raced downwards. The bland lighting in the lift flared as he reached his destination, and he was stepping out even before the doors had opened completely.
The room that he entered was quite different from the hallways above. This room was sparsely furnished and quite utilitarian. The floor was bare steel, and the only furnishings were a table and some chairs. Tools littered the deck where they'd fallen, and their owner was currently hunched down next to what would be a fine tank had one of its side panels not been ripped out and its inner workings strewn over a ten foot radius. The worker looked up as he came in, waving a pudgy green hand.
"Hey, Fox!" he called. "Want to take a look at this?" Fox McCloud put a hand to his head in mock dismay.
"Not today, Slippy," he said. When he saw the toad's crestfallen face, he quickly put his hands up to explain. "I just got back from a long day at Arspace. I want to fly, okay? Major headache."
"Gotcha," replied the toad, and he waved a wrench at the vulpine. "But don't bang the Arwing up, clear?"
"Yes, Slippy, wouldn't dream of it..." muttered the fox as he crossed the hangar, taking a small lift up onto the flight deck and climbing into an Arwing. Slippy's voice crackled over his comm as the cockpit canopy slid shut.
"You are clear for takeoff in three, two, one..." said the toad in a serious tone. Fox laughed and threw his arms up.
"Oh, shut up, Slippy," he chuckled. "You might want to cover your ears, now. Wouldn't want you getting a headache, now would I?"
"Very funny, Fox," replied Slippy before he closed the channel with a wink and the poke of a button. The vulpine chuckled before he flipped a switch on his Arwing. A lift lock folded away from his ship, and he braced himself for the intense acceleration that would follow. His fighter shot from the hangar with a loud rush of the ion flame and the screaming catapult. Slippy unplugged his ears and looked after the Arwing, already banking out of sight. He waved his wrench after it.
"Show off."
Just as Fox was clearing the launch pad, he happened to look down. He saw a child, perhaps sixteen years of age. A white monkey, who waved at him. The vulpine waved back, grinning as he did. Just another of his fans, he supposed.
Dash Bowman turned away from the departing Arwing with a small grin, trudging down the access ramp and back onto the city streets, where he had to fight through a small crowd to get to his home.
Buildings and carriers whipped by him as Fox threw his Arwing through some daring stunts, flashing by office buildings and angrily honking drivers. Fox simply smiled and made a global apology for his driving before he shot out of the city, soaring upwards into the boundless heavens. Looking down, he saw he was passing close to the city borders, beyond which lay the military launch panels. Fox banked and fell into a dive, spinning expertly into control as he leveled out. His stomach unclenched from the fantastic fall, and he breathed more easily as the gravitational forces abated. He was zipping through and around gleaming ships of the Cornerian Starfleet, gleaming birds of prey that could take down Corneria's foes in an instant. Fox had to restrain himself from punching the glass as pride swelled within him. This was the establishment he was a part of, a citizen of.
No, a hero of, even, having saved this very fleet many times in the line of duty. He was content and quite happy now as he flew over a great forest, treetops zipping below him at fantastic speeds. The wind in his wake was bending these great trunks and throwing up a spray of leaves behind him. Brown and green mingled together as he flew ever faster, watching mountains pan across the horizon to his left and the sea sparkling like a perfect diamond to his right. The trees below, the seas and mountains to his side. No traces of civilization anywhere. It was perfect. The sun's rays shone off snow-covered peaks, and Fox gave in to his temptation, rocketing towards the ridge and knocking off a snowcap with his wing. His craft jolted, the force of the impact pleasing him. He watched as snow shot explosively from the mountain's summit and showered down into the forest below. It was a beautiful sight, and Fox regretted not installing a camera on his Arwing.
All of a sudden, his life as a mercenary didn't seem to compare. Why was he constantly fascinated with war and destruction when such beautiful sights were already here, on his home planet? The vulpine pondered this question as he flew on, no destination particularly in mind. He was here just to fly, for the thrill of it.
Gradually, a small, annoying buzz flickered through his awareness. The vulpine shook himself from his reverie, his vision clearing and sharpening so quickly that it pained him, forcing him to blink several times and wipe away tears. He turned and twisted about, looking for the source of the annoying beep. He turned back to his main dashboard, and froze when he saw it, directly in front of him. A small, pulsing light was blinking red, right next to his secondary targeting reticule, which was now reflecting only a blank screen. His eyes moved slowly from the light to the printed words next to it, stamped deep into the dashboard. Three words ran through his thoughts with an almost unbearably slow speed. Shock registered as he understood what that light meant.
G-Diffuser Failure (Starboard)
Another light came on, indicating a starboard system overheat. His hands scrabbled over the controls, seeking an emergency shutoff or cooling system. He just happened to be looking out his canopy when it happened. A gout of flame blossomed from the blue fins beside him, a horrific, blood-red in color. It grew outwards, turning black before it rushed backwards. Pieces of broken wing plating were grabbed and torn from his wing, the flames roaring and crackling from broken machinery. A second flash and explosion told him that his lower starboard G-Diffuser was also damaged. He was about to compensate with his engine's emergency G-Diffuser when the ship rocked again. Looking onto a rearview camera, Fox could sea a highly-pressurized stream of plasma coolant leaking back from his engine, which ignited into a fiery contrail of flame and smoke. His Arwing settled, then began to slowly slew to the right, falling slowly. Fox struggled to correct this, firing his booster rockets to offset the loss in speed. He was now rocking just above the treeline, spewing flame and smoke for miles behind him. He rammed the communication button frantically, eventually raising Slippy. The toad took one look at his face and the view behind him and closed the channel. A different tone showed Fox that Slippy had launched his Arwing and was calling the others to do the same.
"Fox!" said Slippy. "Hold together, we're coming!"
"Come on, Foxie, keep it together, we'll be there in a few minutes!" That was Falco.
"Please, Fox, just hold on!" was Krystal's addition. His ship was surging forward, like a horse without bridles. Fox was panicking. He was losing control, he could feel it. Second by second, this precious element of flight was slipping away from him, blasted away by the angry orange flames behind him. He fought his Arwing, pulling the control stick back in a desperate attempt to gain altitude. He could see his friends on the horizon when there was an explosion of sparks behind him and to his right. He started to spin in a lopsided corkscrew.
Krystal screamed. Or it could have been him, or any of the others, Fox didn't know. All he could see was a rush of green as he plummeted into the treeline, setting the foliage ablaze. The crackling fire spread outwards in a circle as he plunged on, blindly trying to get out, get out of this trap, this thing that would kill him.
His maw opened in a wordless scream as his Arwing hit the ground in a flash of metal and burning plasma, for in the instant before crashing, he'd seen something horrible. The face of the child was one he knew. It was Dash Bowman, the brilliant pilot cadet of the Cornerian Starfleet, one of Pepper's hand-picked trainees for command.
Only it wasn't Dash's face he saw now. It was Andross's, leering horribly at him death came up to meet him. Andross, who, through Dash, had now felled his mightiest foe. Fox's scream was cut off in the explosion that followed, accompanied only by the horrible visage of a mad ape who'd condemned his father- and now him- to death.