Star Fox had disbanded. Quite some time ago, in fact. That's if you consider 15 years to be quite some time. Fox McCloud did. And somehow, as the lasers pinged off the old wooden bar in downtown Corneria City, he felt more alive than ever.

Fox popped up from cover, accurately shooting blaster shots right into the heads of two of his would-be assailants. He knew that there were four, in total, inside the bar. There was no telling how many were outside; these guys often traveled in packs of 6 or 7, depending on the job. For Fox, usually a little extra manpower would be needed. He judged that an entire truck- full of low key gangsters with itchy trigger fingers- would be waiting outside for him.

Fox once again jumped up from cover, after hearing one of the young men- he supposed they could be called men if you used the term loosely- foolishly yelled that he was reloading. Fox fired a perfect shot into his friend who had just reacted to cover him, then leapt over the now-smoldering wooden bar and aimed for the "man" that was reloading. Downing him in a second, Fox swooped in next to the opened door of the tavern, taking cover behind it's elaborate frame.

"Get out here, Star Fox!" One of the gangsters called out. Fox easily picked out the person who yelled out from the crowd of four which was leaving a cheap luxury car, rifles in hand.

Alright. Save him for last…

Fox whipped his body quickly out the doorway and fired at the unsuspecting group, killing one of them. The group fired back sluggishly, taken aback by the grizzled mercenary's speed and reaction time. Whilst they stumbled around in the dark to find adequate cover, Fox sprinted through the doorway and finished the slowest of the remaining three with another burst from his blaster.

That's 16 shots… Four left. Better make 'em count.

Fox's eyes scanned the urban battlefield, and guessed that the two of them hid behind the car they drove up in, while the third had attempted to run behind another car. Fox's hypothesis was confirmed when they simultaneously appeared from behind their ride, their minds trying to find a sure shot on Fox.

Fox's mind, however, was far quicker and experienced.

In what seemed like slow motion, Fox fired to precise shots into one of their heads, and shot a third laser into the other man's shoulder. Both fell before even knowing what had happened.

Fox vaulted over the hood of the car, which now had splatters of hired blood on it. One of the assassins was still alive. As Fox had planned, it was the young man who had called mistook Fox's name for that of his former team. Fox planted his blaster's barrel into the kid's temple. There was no way he was older than Fox was when he had taken down Andross twenty one years ago. It seemed more like a lifetime ago…

"You should've gotten my name right, son. Would've made this whole thing a hell of a lot quicker for you." Fox's raspy voice coughed out.

"What the fuck are you…?" The gangster groaned out, crawling away from him.

"I'm what happens when you make a wrong choice. You're what happens when you make a REALLY wrong choice. The name's McCloud, kid. Not Star Fox." Fox said as he fired the last shot of his 20 round clip right into his skull.

"And that's that." Fox let the magazine drop from his blaster before pulling a fresh one out from the inner pocket of his leather jacket, which he pushed into the gun like a machine. He began walking back into the now decimated tavern, which was a shame, really, since Fox liked that place.

"Marty! Marty, you got a hole in you yet?" Fox yelled out. Martin was the owner of the tavern, hence the name Marty's Tavern. It was a cheap little place which had been guised as a middle-class hangout. The décor didn't fool anybody, though. Everybody knew it was a rough and tough bar for rough and tough people. One could tell just by looking through the windows; hell, one could tell just by looking at the windows themselves. There always was the thin layer of grime that covered the gem underneath. Sort of like Fox, in a way. Maybe that was why he liked it so much.

"Fox, in all my years as a bartender, never have I EVER seen such a display. Holy shit, that was just like all those crazy stories about you."

"Thanks, Marty. You okay, though? I'm more concerned about my favorite tavern than my above average gunplay." Fox said, watching Marty poke his head out from behind the bar. Fox sat down at the only barstool that wasn't totaled.

"Would it be weird if I acted like none of this happened?" Marty asked.

"Well, I'm sure the bodies'd start to smell after a bit, but otherwise the place looks untouched." Fox said, chuckling as he took in the sight of a waterfall of various liquors falling from the shelf behind Marty. Marty turned around and noticed it as well.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I can clean it up myself. Who the hell were those guys? Don't look like regulars to me." Marty asked. Fox knew he shouldn't bring Marty into this; he'd already set the hunchbacked old bartender back a couple thousand dollars with all the damage his little gunfight caused.

"Just a bunch of bozos that have been hassling me for some time. I've got some debts that need paying, that's all." Fox lied. Marty bought it.

"Ahh…gambling?"

"Yeah. Gambling." Fox lied again. He didn't like lying, but his hand was forced in this situation.

In truth, Fox had been being chased by these men for months. They were usually all hired guns, just in it for the money. But occasionally, there'd be the rare appearance of one of the higher-ups of their organization. It was in during one such occasion that Fox found out the leader of the whole thing.

Wolf O'Donnel.

He had a hunch that this was Wolf's doing when he saw the quality of the men being sent after him; usually young men who had shot a gun perhaps a dozen times in their life. Still, these grunts could be dangerous in packs.

Wolf wanted him dead, that much was clear. It was no longer the cat-and-mouse chase that their fights had always been. For years Wolf and Fox had seemed to hate one another, but there was always the respect there, always the thrill of dogfighting with someone that could match your skill with his, and there were never casualties. Fox and Wolf's fights were more for fun than anything. Compare it to a soccer match and you've got the right idea.

Wolf would only send hired soldiers if he really, really needed Fox McCloud out of the equation. The problem was, Fox didn't understand why Wolf wanted him out of the picture. He wasn't so quick to leave either, and a resolution to the conflict was the last priority in Fox's mind. If Wolf wanted him dead, then he wanted Wolf dead.

Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be in much of a position to pull that off either.

He had practically no assets besides his skill and a very poorly kept blaster, which alone could take down 8 men in a gunfight, but probably no more than that. He hated to admit it, but those kids had been so close to getting the drop on him that Fox could feel the first laser as it flew past him. He'd also lost almost all his contacts from his Star Fox days; Fox rarely worked jobs for General Pepper anymore, he had no idea where Falco was, Bill Grey was discharged from the army, Peppy was retired, Slippy was married, and Krystal….Fox didn't even want to think about her.

So, in short, it was him against an army.

Yeah…I wrote a new story. Sorry about that, for all the people that were excited about Last Lap. I'm literally so stuck with where to go on that story that I've decided to take a total break from it. I promise I'll come back to it.

Also, screw the lengthy foreword/ afterword because I'm just too burnt out to deal with that.

Enjoy!

-ThatWinchieGuy