Disclaimer: All the characters, places, and indices belong to Nintendo. Used without permission. Don't sell this story or I will hunt you down and bludgeon you to death with a rubber chicken.

Author's Notes: As life would have it, there has never been a war in history where one side was completely evil and the other completely good. People are just not like that. It is easy to characterize groups of people as evil and good, but it's hardly accurate.

There have been enough fanfics about corruption, torture, and murder by the Venomians. But are the Cornerians really all that different?

Collateral Damage

"All systems are evil. All governments are evil. Not just a trifle evil. Monstrously evil."

--John Gardner, Grendel

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"So I said to'im, 'Listen here, bucko . . . '" the jackal said, quite boisterously to his friend seated at the other desk in the small basement room. His canine comrade feigned interest, but his gray eyes were focused intently on the radar screen in front of him. Several small green blips had just appeared and were now headed dangerously close to the ice planet of Fortuna.

"Hey, are you listening?" the jackal laughed, slapping the dog hard on the shoulder.

"Uhh . . . we got a problem, Rich," he said, standing up quickly and grabbing his camouflaged hat. "Hold down the fort, will ya? I gotta go report some enemy movement."

"Sure thing, man," Rich called after him as he jogged up the short flight of stairs and out the door.

The young soldier walked briskly through the brightly-lit hallway of the military base. He avoided all attempts at conversation, but few pressed him too hard. His eyes told volumes about the gravity of the situation of which they were still unaware.

He stopped in front of a desk where a civilian receptionist-a female cat-was speaking on the phone. The conversation was lighthearted, so the young soldier cleared his throat to get her attention. Her blue eyes narrowed as if she were annoyed, but she said her goodbye and turned to face him.

"Can I help you?" she asked snidely.

"Umm . . . yes. I'm Private Diego Walker and it's very very important that I speak with the General immediately."

"I'm sorry, but he's busy right now. Can you come back tomorrow?"

"No ma'am. I have to speak to him now. Tomorrow will be too late."

"Cry me a river, sugar. Rules are rules . . ."

Walker sighed, crossing his arms as the feline continued in the same whining, nasal voice. He glanced and the door and, seeing no military police, strutted over quickly and let himself in.

Pepper looked up from the papers on his desk, a look of surprise on his countenance. He opened his mouth to say something to the young soldier, but the young man in fatigues spoke first as he saluted.

"Sir! There is a large Venomian fleet headed toward Fortuna. It appears they are ready to invade."

At about the same time, the secretary stormed in angrily. "You're not supposed to come in here like that, soldier! We have security concerns! I should call the police and have them . . ."

"It's alright, Charlene," the red-uniformed officer soothed. "That won't be necessary. Please allow me to speak to this young soldier in private. Shut the door on your way out."

The cat looked perturbed, but she walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Pepper sat back down and motioned for Diego to do the same. The dog did so, and looked around the well-furnished and spacious office, impressed.

"How many?" Pepper asked.

The smaller canine frowned, but otherwise was careful not to show any emotion. "At least twelve thousand fighters and three assault carriers." He shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid they're of a class that the Fortunian military does not have the firepower or numbers to handle."

Pepper rested his head on his paws, staring down at the blood red carpet for a few seconds before speaking again. "Well, let's see if I can work something out."

He turned to the small vid-screen next to his desk and easily punched in a few digits. After several seconds, a middle-aged arctic wolf popped up on screen. He was dressed similarly to Pepper, except he was wearing a cyan jacket instead of crimson. He smiled slightly at the hound. "Aww Pepper. It has been awhile."

"Yes, General Johnstone," the Cornerian replied to his Fortunian counterpart. "But I'm afraid this is but a business call."

"What do you need?"

"I need you to send me those research results on the weapons we were developing with you. It turns out that we require them a bit earlier than expected."

The lupine frowned. "Why, we're barely half done with them. Can't it wait?" He sat up straighter in his leather chair and straightened his collar.

Pepper frowned suddenly, but then forced himself to smile again. "The bureaucrats are getting restless. You know how it is, surely. Anyway, we need them so we can improve the security of both of our homes."

Johnstone smiled back, but his countenance betrayed him, showing obvious suspicion. "Of course. I'll transfer them straight to your intel office over the secure line."

"Thank you, old friend. I will return the favor someday.," Pepper said cheerfully, severing the connection.

Diego sat there, his mouth ajar in shock. He bit his lip and stood up suddenly. When he spoke, his voice wavered, halfway between yelling and crying. "You didn't warn them, Sir."

Pepper spun in his chair to face the soldier. His eyes did not convey much guilt. "You said it yourself, Private. The Fortunians do not have the firepower to withstand the attack, anyway."

"But . . . they could have evacuated! We'll never make it there in time to stop the invasion."

"We're not going to attempt it, soldier."

"The Venomians'll slaughter them!" Diego snarled finally. "We have to send troops like we promised. They don't have enough to fend for themselves."

"Out of the question!" Pepper said, standing up behind his desk. "I will not put my soldiers' lives in danger for this. We need the time to build out own defenses. The Venomians will be too busy fighting . . ."

"Murdering," Diego corrected.

". . . the Fortunians to attack us immediately." Pepper continued, his eyes narrowing as he grabbed Walker by the shoulder and began to lead him to the door. He opened it, pushed him gently outside, and began to close the door when the dog caught it.

His gray eyes-still holding a look of disbelief-locked with Pepper's as he asked one last question, each word cutting through the air like a white hot dagger. "You're going to let them die, then?"

The old hound's eyes shown with sorrow that was almost too much for him to bear, but his voice was cold, practiced, and all but devoid of emotion. "They're collateral damage."

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Author's Notes: Yeah, I know it's short. It's just sorta something to inform you all that I haven't died. I hope you like it. In other news, check out my blurty at www.blurty.com/users/jeshibouncyball/ to catch up on my other writing endeavors. You'll like some of the stuff I have planned.