The bodies were everywhere; their cold, dead eyes open as if staring,
unseeing up at the flickering fluorescent lights that hung from the
mortuary ceiling. Leon Powalski drew in a sharp breath and took a drag from
the cigarette that hung from the thin blue line of his lips.
The bodies were everywhere, and they were all his.
Tail swishing lazily behind him, Leon made his way down the main aisle, surveying the corpses that lay side by side and one per table. He counted fifty in total. In life, they had been citizens of Corneria City; in death, they were his babies. Satisfied that the autopsy room was just as he had left it, Leon crossed to the sink and turned the faucets. Fifty bodies, and he had a long day ahead of him.
Tendrils of smoke spilled from his nostrils as Leon issued a thin, rasping sigh. He washed.
"If this job doesn't kill you, the smokes will," an unsettling familiar voice chortled.
Leon spared a fleeting glance in the direction of the voice, cringing inwardly as it became known to him. Wolf O'Donnel emerged from the shadows of the doorway. With a snort of disgust, the aging chameleon bit down on his cigarette, plucked a pair of surgical gloves from the countertop and snapped them on.
"I'm busy," he hissed irritably, ushering Wolf out with a dismissive wave of one clawed hand. "Shoo."
Wolf choked back a mirthless chuckle. "Come on, Leon," he drawled, paws stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he traced Leon's footsteps, meandering down the aisle and toward the sink. "There's no harm in having some living company once and awhile, is there?"
Leon did not reply. Instead, he turned on a heel, surgeon's briefcase in claw and briskly whisked past his unwelcome visitor. One slitted, yellow eye rolled back to watch Wolf's reaction, its beetle-black pupil flashing menace. He was not surprised to find the shaggy-looking canine already at his heels.
"God damn, it's crowded in here. Do you usually have this many houseguests?"
The chameleon tightened his grip on his briefcase, knuckles whitening under the pressure. "No."
"What happened?"
"Poison gas," Leon snapped curtly, each word falling like a separate shard of glass. "Ironic, as I was the one who designed it. Now, unless this is a matter of pressing importance, I would suggest that you leave. Immediately."
Leon came to a halt at table #42, his sinuous body positioned at the feet of the still-sheeted body that lay atop it. He'd been meaning to start on this one. Ignoring the snarling presence that loomed behind him, Leon took the corpse's hindpaw in one hand and examined the tag hanging from its toe.
"All I'm asking is for a minute of your time," Wolf said, growling into the forensic scientist's ear as he clamped his paw down onto Leon's shoulder. "Is that so much?"
Unflinching, Leon snagged the sheet in his gloved claws, whipping it off the corpse to reveal a young vixen, nude all but for a few patches of mottled, tawny fur that Leon's assistant had missed when he shaved her the night before. Forensic science was a messy enough business without mammalian coats getting in the way.
"I haven't a minute," Leon muttered absently as he set his surgeon's briefcase upon the table and popped it open. "For you, or anyone else. Now get out."
To Leon's dismay, Wolf did quite the opposite. With a quiet grunt, he eased himself up onto the table and sat beside the vixen, his legs dangling over the edge. "Leon, listen to me. You won't regret it."
"I do believe I told you to get out," Leon said, voice trembling as he struggled to keep it even. Rage began to bubble in his stomach. "So why are you still here?" With utmost care, he drew a scalpel from his briefcase and turned it over between his claws, watching as the light played over its sickle-like surface.
"I take it that you haven't turned on the news," mused Wolf, his one eye sweeping over the feminine body that lay before him with the same hungry look that Leon reserved for his scalpel. "It's on every channel, you know."
When Leon looked up, he was horrified to find Wolf's paws atop and fondling his cadaver's breasts. Knife clattering to the floor, he struck out and caught Wolf by the wrist. "And what, praytell, is on the news?" he asked, positively seething as he twisted the canine's arm back at an impossible angle. Obvious pleasure twitched at the corners of Leon's mouth. He smirked. "I'm listening now."
Wolf cried out, his howl strangled by the burst of pain that tore through his elbow. "Bastard! Look for yourself!"
With his free hand, Leon reached into the pocket of his lab coat and retrieved the remote that belonged to the video screen mounted on the far wall. He pressed the button labelled: on.
Zzzzt!
Leon was greeted with an extremely pixilated close up of a St. Bernard's face, a microphone thrust so close to the canine's graying muzzle that the flapping of his lips issued a loud 'pop' whenever he opened his mouth. Leon recognized the St. Bernard as none other than General Pepper.
"--and we lost communication with the commander at 1400 hours," spluttered a very flustered Pepper. "We haven't been able to pick up a signal since."
Quirking an intrigued eyeridge, Leon released Wolf from his iron grip. "What is this?"
Wolf whimpered, rubbing tenderly at his elbow as he shot a glare in the chameleon's general direction. If Leon noticed the way Wolf's lips curled back into a nasty, feral little snarl, he made no outward signs of it. "Just keep watching," Wolf muttered.
Leon's eyes never left the screen.
"Is there any chance that they could have survived, General?" a tiny voice chirped off screen. "Is Venom's atmosphere even breathable?"
"Is it true that they were set up?" demanded another, much more husky than the first. "Is it true that StarFox was betrayed by someone inside the Cornerian Defense Force?"
On screen, the giant figure of General Pepper sagged, shoulders slumping as he lowered his gaze. "No more questions," he mumbled darkly, great ears flapping as he shook his head from side to the side. The light in his eyes went out and slowly, ever-so-slowly General Pepper turned around, his back to the camera as he pushed through the surging crowd, ambling away as the screen faded to black.
Leon tucked the remote back into his pocket. "Explain."
"I told you that Andross had someone working on the inside," Wolf said, ears twitching toward the sound of Leon's voice. He reached up and adjusted his eyepatch out of nervous habit. "His name is Pigma Dengar. Sound familiar to you?"
Leon's smirk curled up and across his face, revealing the pinkish length of his tongue as it stretched from eye to eye. Spent, the cigarette fell from his lips. "Quite."
"He wants you back, Leon. He wants us back, after all these years."
Without another word, Wolf pressed an envelope into Leon's gloved hand. The chameleon's eyes swiveled to fix themselves on the wax seal. It bore a likeness to a man he knew very well indeed.
"Andross."
The bodies were everywhere, and they were all his.
Tail swishing lazily behind him, Leon made his way down the main aisle, surveying the corpses that lay side by side and one per table. He counted fifty in total. In life, they had been citizens of Corneria City; in death, they were his babies. Satisfied that the autopsy room was just as he had left it, Leon crossed to the sink and turned the faucets. Fifty bodies, and he had a long day ahead of him.
Tendrils of smoke spilled from his nostrils as Leon issued a thin, rasping sigh. He washed.
"If this job doesn't kill you, the smokes will," an unsettling familiar voice chortled.
Leon spared a fleeting glance in the direction of the voice, cringing inwardly as it became known to him. Wolf O'Donnel emerged from the shadows of the doorway. With a snort of disgust, the aging chameleon bit down on his cigarette, plucked a pair of surgical gloves from the countertop and snapped them on.
"I'm busy," he hissed irritably, ushering Wolf out with a dismissive wave of one clawed hand. "Shoo."
Wolf choked back a mirthless chuckle. "Come on, Leon," he drawled, paws stuffed into the pockets of his jacket as he traced Leon's footsteps, meandering down the aisle and toward the sink. "There's no harm in having some living company once and awhile, is there?"
Leon did not reply. Instead, he turned on a heel, surgeon's briefcase in claw and briskly whisked past his unwelcome visitor. One slitted, yellow eye rolled back to watch Wolf's reaction, its beetle-black pupil flashing menace. He was not surprised to find the shaggy-looking canine already at his heels.
"God damn, it's crowded in here. Do you usually have this many houseguests?"
The chameleon tightened his grip on his briefcase, knuckles whitening under the pressure. "No."
"What happened?"
"Poison gas," Leon snapped curtly, each word falling like a separate shard of glass. "Ironic, as I was the one who designed it. Now, unless this is a matter of pressing importance, I would suggest that you leave. Immediately."
Leon came to a halt at table #42, his sinuous body positioned at the feet of the still-sheeted body that lay atop it. He'd been meaning to start on this one. Ignoring the snarling presence that loomed behind him, Leon took the corpse's hindpaw in one hand and examined the tag hanging from its toe.
"All I'm asking is for a minute of your time," Wolf said, growling into the forensic scientist's ear as he clamped his paw down onto Leon's shoulder. "Is that so much?"
Unflinching, Leon snagged the sheet in his gloved claws, whipping it off the corpse to reveal a young vixen, nude all but for a few patches of mottled, tawny fur that Leon's assistant had missed when he shaved her the night before. Forensic science was a messy enough business without mammalian coats getting in the way.
"I haven't a minute," Leon muttered absently as he set his surgeon's briefcase upon the table and popped it open. "For you, or anyone else. Now get out."
To Leon's dismay, Wolf did quite the opposite. With a quiet grunt, he eased himself up onto the table and sat beside the vixen, his legs dangling over the edge. "Leon, listen to me. You won't regret it."
"I do believe I told you to get out," Leon said, voice trembling as he struggled to keep it even. Rage began to bubble in his stomach. "So why are you still here?" With utmost care, he drew a scalpel from his briefcase and turned it over between his claws, watching as the light played over its sickle-like surface.
"I take it that you haven't turned on the news," mused Wolf, his one eye sweeping over the feminine body that lay before him with the same hungry look that Leon reserved for his scalpel. "It's on every channel, you know."
When Leon looked up, he was horrified to find Wolf's paws atop and fondling his cadaver's breasts. Knife clattering to the floor, he struck out and caught Wolf by the wrist. "And what, praytell, is on the news?" he asked, positively seething as he twisted the canine's arm back at an impossible angle. Obvious pleasure twitched at the corners of Leon's mouth. He smirked. "I'm listening now."
Wolf cried out, his howl strangled by the burst of pain that tore through his elbow. "Bastard! Look for yourself!"
With his free hand, Leon reached into the pocket of his lab coat and retrieved the remote that belonged to the video screen mounted on the far wall. He pressed the button labelled: on.
Zzzzt!
Leon was greeted with an extremely pixilated close up of a St. Bernard's face, a microphone thrust so close to the canine's graying muzzle that the flapping of his lips issued a loud 'pop' whenever he opened his mouth. Leon recognized the St. Bernard as none other than General Pepper.
"--and we lost communication with the commander at 1400 hours," spluttered a very flustered Pepper. "We haven't been able to pick up a signal since."
Quirking an intrigued eyeridge, Leon released Wolf from his iron grip. "What is this?"
Wolf whimpered, rubbing tenderly at his elbow as he shot a glare in the chameleon's general direction. If Leon noticed the way Wolf's lips curled back into a nasty, feral little snarl, he made no outward signs of it. "Just keep watching," Wolf muttered.
Leon's eyes never left the screen.
"Is there any chance that they could have survived, General?" a tiny voice chirped off screen. "Is Venom's atmosphere even breathable?"
"Is it true that they were set up?" demanded another, much more husky than the first. "Is it true that StarFox was betrayed by someone inside the Cornerian Defense Force?"
On screen, the giant figure of General Pepper sagged, shoulders slumping as he lowered his gaze. "No more questions," he mumbled darkly, great ears flapping as he shook his head from side to the side. The light in his eyes went out and slowly, ever-so-slowly General Pepper turned around, his back to the camera as he pushed through the surging crowd, ambling away as the screen faded to black.
Leon tucked the remote back into his pocket. "Explain."
"I told you that Andross had someone working on the inside," Wolf said, ears twitching toward the sound of Leon's voice. He reached up and adjusted his eyepatch out of nervous habit. "His name is Pigma Dengar. Sound familiar to you?"
Leon's smirk curled up and across his face, revealing the pinkish length of his tongue as it stretched from eye to eye. Spent, the cigarette fell from his lips. "Quite."
"He wants you back, Leon. He wants us back, after all these years."
Without another word, Wolf pressed an envelope into Leon's gloved hand. The chameleon's eyes swiveled to fix themselves on the wax seal. It bore a likeness to a man he knew very well indeed.
"Andross."