CURTAIN CALL
Chapter 1 | Standoff
"I hate you."
"Yeah, I know."
"Seriously, I really, really hate you right now."
Fox felt the muscles in his shoulders and neck constrict under the bird's constant, unceasing whining. He ran a tense hand over his face, frustration rapidly coming to a boil just beneath his bristling fur. "I understand that, Falco."
"No, I don't think ya' do, Foxy boy." The bird's feet pounded to a halt, forcing the other two to turn and face him. He drew a wide arc around himself with his arms, circling in place. After completing the gesture he glared back at Fox, beginning to tick numbers off his fingers. "When I look around, I don't see any clubs. I don't see any bars. I don't see any hot lynxes or scantily clad cats." He leaned forward, arching one eyebrow. His next question was delivered in his most unequivocally condescending voice. "You wanna know what I do see?"
"...Sand."
Falco threw his hands up to the heavens, crying out to whatever cruel deity had cast him down into this torturous, agonizing purgatory. "Sand! Miles and miles of nothing but dry, sweltering, piss-yellow sand!" He kicked his boot at the ground out of rage, sending a small puff of the stuff into the air.
"That's not true," Slippy chimed in. "Look, there's a cactus over there." Their eyes followed his finger to a small green speck on the horizon.
Falco reared back his head, letting loose a groan that cradled a universe's worth of injustice in one tragic sound. "Oh, that's great! So we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, and the only thing nearby is a plant that's just a little more prickly than our very own Zeroof Lylat. All because you," he spat, jabbing a finger in Fox's direction, "just had to take a job out here in the Armpit Spiral of the galaxy!"
Something snapped in the vulpine's head. Despite not knowing if it was a blood vessel, his patience, or maybe both, he did know that was the last straw. He'd had enough. "We didn't have a choice!" Fox barked back, finally shoved past his breaking point. "I had to take the job!"
"Why the ever loving hell did you have to take this job?!"
"Because we were broke!"
"So? We're always broke!"
Fox jerked his head away, muttering under his breath. "Well, maybe we wouldn't be if you hadn't spent all our credits on cheap booze."
The bird sneered at his quiet comment, rolling his eyes at the accusation. "Oh yeah, 'cause all that money you dumped into the Great Fox turned out to be such a great investment after you rammed it into that oversized butterfly, huh?"
He shot the bird a dirty stare, trying his best to set him ablaze with his mind. "You're an asshole."
"Right back 'atcha, Orange."
Fox's claws dug into his palms, even though he wanted nothing more than to sink them into the ever-pleasant Indigo Dodo trudging behind him. He tossed one last withering look over his shoulder, glimpsing the avian stomping along with his arms crossed and head bowed, whispering what were surely creative profanities in a grumbly, low voice. Slippy was skipping along next to him, chipper and oblivious as ever.
Needless to say, morale had hit an all-time low when Fox debriefed the two on their current assignment. Slippy had stared at the coordinates for a few minutes, unblinking, attempting to process the mind-boggling distance between their new mission and Corneria. Falco hadn't taken such a reserved stance on the news. A few flipped tables and one trashed Arwing later, he'd finally locked himself in his room while weaving a tapestry of obscenities that still lingered in the vulpine's ears today. Fox sighed out a breath of torrid air. He could curse to his heart's content, so long he stuck around for the job. And despite his complaining, the bird was still here. In reality, it was hard to blame Falco for lashing out when none of them wanted to be on this mission in the first place. It had been a rough fall from the top for all of them.
The Aparoid War had propelled Star Fox to the peak of their popularity and notoriety. Fox had lost count of all the galas, balls and dinners that had been thrown for the three of them when they'd finally returned home victorious from the Homeworld. For a brief, glorious span of time after destroying the Queen, they'd lived in the lap of luxury, with every pedestrian on the street trying to get their autograph and every politician trying to shake their hand. Food, entertainment, apartments: it seemed like everything they wanted to have, somebody else wanted to give. Unfortunately though, wars turned out to have the annoying habit of ending, even when debts didn't. And being down a mothership in a time of rampant peace... Revenue proved scarce. As their fame waned and society returned to business as usual, the credits they had to their names had quickly shrunk from millions to thousands to barely enough for the bus ticket out to this desert hell.
Just a few hours ago, they'd been waving goodbye to the merchant craft that they'd shelled the last of their earnings out to for a ride out here. Unfortunately, the ship had dropped them off a few miles from their destination, so now they were shuffling up and down the dunes that rolled over the sandscape, plodding their way across the recently colonized planet Sylvan. Fox couldn't help but snort out a laugh at the name. The explorer who first found the planet must have either had a terrible pair of eyes or a great sense of humor. Maybe both.
The trio finally summited the hill they'd been climbing, stepping up onto its flat plateau top. The harsh sun battered their bodies as the ground leveled out underneath them. Both Fox and Falco had their heads down and fists clenched, doing their best to hold onto their final scraps of self-restraint and not devolve into beating the living daylights out of each other. Anger pulsed Fox's muscles, making it particularly challenging not to gravitate towards the bird's throat. They both forgot their frustration in an instant however, their eyes darting back up at hearing Slippy's gasp and subsequent excited voice.
"Guys, look!"
The pair again followed Slippy's finger to the horizon, but this time they were greeted by a completely different sight from the spiny plant he'd shown them before. Off in the distance was a sprawling wooden settlement, stretching out across the rocks and dust. Slanted tin roofs composed the skyline, with a lumbering clock tower standing tall in the center of it all. To the bitter, dehydrated mercenaries, it was simultaneously more beautiful and more depressing than anything they'd ever witnessed. Its image wavered and oscillated through the surges of heat billowing off the ground, but what they saw was unmistakable, was no mirage.
"This is the place," Fox panted out, breathless from the steep climb and baking light.
Falco glanced over at him, too exhausted to muster up more than a look of vague contempt. "This fire hazard is where we're heading?" The bird's eyes shifted between the settlement and vulpine quickly. "It's a magnifying glass away from going up in flames like an ant hill."
Fox rolled his eyes, resuming his walk towards the city. "Well then," he growled under his breath, "make sure your sparkling personality doesn't shine too bright."
"I heard you," Falco spat out behind him.
"That was the point, wonder-bird."
Falco's eyes narrowed, broadcasting his suspicion as he started to trudge along behind him again. "Wonder-bird?"
"Yeah," Fox retorted. "Wonder why I hired you, and I wonder when I'll fire you."
The avian didn't respond after that, but he could still hear words along the lines of "shove", "boot", and "up" being muttered behind him. Fox let out a long breath. He knew he was being hard on his friend, but after having to sit there and take it from him for the entire trip, his patience had worn thin. Falco knew just how tight a financial spot they were in right now. After all, he here on this dirtball with them, and not plowing some floozy on Aquas. Unfortunately though, that didn't stop him from being loud and clear about how much he'd rather be doing the latter.
To even land this job in the first place, he'd practically had to go to the military on his knees, begging for any kind of work they could give them. Eventually they'd found something for the trio: this recently colonized planet on the outskirts of galactic civilization, which needed help maintaining order. Cornerian scientists hoped the planet would one day serve as a refueling station and skipping stone into the rest of the galaxy, but as it stood, development was severely inhibited by the lack of military authority so far outside Lylat. Crime ran rampant out here, grinding any and all government construction projects to a standstill. That's where they came in. If they could just help establish peace out on Sylvan, they'd be paid enough to get back on their feet and buy a new mothership. Even as terrible as the operation was, at least after everything was said and done, they could return to the stars where they belonged.
"So Fox," Slippy began, still oddly spirited given the circumstances, "what's our plan once we're in town?"
The vulpine shrugged in response, tapping on his communicator a few times. After a moment, a short document popped up on its flickering screen. "Peppy said that he'd let law enforcement know we were getting in today. We should probably go find the Chief of police and introduce ourselves." Fox lifted one hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun as he tried to get a better look at the approaching town. The closer they came towards it, the more eccentric a sight it became. Some of the buildings appeared to be little more than loose arrangements of pale wooden planks and rusted scrap metal, strapped together into leaning and wobbling configurations. Some of the structures stood up higher off the ground than they had any right to given their unstable footing, looming five or six stories high. Sun-bleached acrylic colors were splashed on their exteriors, and the occasional sign advertising services and wares hung out over the dusty streets. The roads themselves were little more than wide sand and gravel paths, cluttered with barrels, steel drums, and wagons. Each side was lined with the porches of the make-shift buildings.
Most strikingly though, exposed pieces of technology were bolted to nearly every surface in sight. Dangling power cables criss-crossed over the streets, linking together a tangled network of glowing and crackling devices that adorned the facades of the buildings like hastily thrown-on jewelry. Rings of neon cast blue and red light on the brown walls. The dull gleam of dirty, unpolished metal reflected the blazing sun back into their squinting eyes. Fox's ears fluttered a little, anxious. It was disconcerting, the jerry-rigged combination of rickety architecture and engineering in one homemade package. If the crime out here didn't kill them... the vulpine had an eerie feeling that a crumbling house or stray high voltage wire would. Fox shook his head, trying to clear the distressing image out of his thoughts.
Just make it through this Fox, and everything will go back to normal.
He repeated the sentence in his head a few times, attempting to work it down into his subconscious. Yes, this ordeal was going to be unpleasant, but it would all be worth it in the end. His eyes drifted behind himself for a moment, avoiding the thought of having to spend the next few months in this glorified high school wood-shop project. Their footsteps were imprinted in the sand as far back as he could see, disappearing over the small hill they'd scaled earlier. A small breeze kicked up a few plumes of dust, covering some of their tracks. Falco seemed to have cooled off slightly, the vulpine noticed with an inward sigh of relief. He looked like he'd resigned himself to accepting his fate, realizing his constant haranguing was a waste of breath. Slippy's face was focused dead ahead on the town they were nearly inside now. His eyes flicked from side to side, inquisitive. Fox could only assume he was trying to size up the armada of gadgets and gizmos that were strewn about.
The vulpine turned back around after a moment, facing forward to get his bearings. He gulped. The city loomed only a few yards in front of them now, having approached much more rapidly than he would've liked. The trio halted for a moment, hesitating at the concept of passing over the invisible town border and officially beginning their mission. Fox's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. They could still turn around now. Pretend like they'd never been here and slink back to Corneria unnoticed. Nobody would ever have to know. Fox could hear his friends' feet shifting behind him, clearly having the exact same thought as him. His body ached to leave, his mind itched to flee this bizarre, rickety city.
And yet, the image of the Great Fox in his head overpowered his first instincts. He'd do whatever it took to get back to the skies where he belonged. Even this. Fox took a deep breath, closing his eyes. It was just a few months. They could survive here for that long. He stretched one leg out, and...
The powdery sand below him puffed up in the air when his boot hit the ground . His eyes reopened, and when he looked down, he saw his foot standing past the city line. He was in. He breathed out a quiet sigh, having passed the point of no return. His head tilted back up, and his sight drifted towards a surprisingly ornate, yet still faded sign pounded into the gravel a few feet ahead of him. Three words were sketched on its surface in chipped white lettering:
Welcome to Crossroad
Fox frowned a little, arching an eyebrow in expectation at the anticlimactic sign. It was a rather underwhelming greeting for the Heroes of Lylat, compared to what they were accustomed to. He peeked out into the street, expecting for at least one person to have showed up to meet them. The only thing present in welcoming the three mercenaries though was an empty street, devoid of any movement except the occasional buffeting of sand. Silently, the vulpine turned to face his friends with a questioning look on his face. He hoped that he was missing something obvious that they could point out to him, but unfortunately, the frog and bird both looked just as confused as he felt. Falco shook his head, clearly having expected his arrival to be treated as a somewhat bigger deal. Slippy scratched the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed.
Unfortunately however, Fox couldn't say he was surprised by their non-existent reception, given how poorly everything else had been going for them so far. He shrugged after a moment, rotating back around and strolling down the barren street. They weren't here to be celebrated, they were here to do a job. The sound of his teammates' boots shuffling in the sand followed after a few seconds. Their mission had begun. No turning back now.
/
"Dammit Miyu! Just toss me the glove and a few stars. I don't need any of your experiments blowing up on me out there. And hurry!"
The lynx let out a short huff, ducking down quickly beneath her workbench. Heavy machine parts clinked and clanked against the concrete floor as she flung them over her shoulder. "You're no fun anymore," she responded with a small pout.
"I can live with that." Miyu could practically hear her friend's arms crossing and eyes rolling as she spoke.
She felt around inside an open bin with one hand, eyes lighting up when she found what she'd been searching for. Standing back up, she looked down at the collection of small objects she was now holding: a few gleaming pieces of metal alloy, each cut and shaped into a twisting four-pointed throwing star. The edges had each been ground to a mercilessly precise point, leaving them razor sharp. In the center of each one was a small battery, a tangle of short, colorful wires, and a minuscule plastic container that she liked to call her "other fun box". Depending on what chemicals she packed into that little holster, upon impact, the star could detonate into a blinding flash of light, a thundering clap of sound, a vile cloud of gas, or of course, a good old-fashioned explosion. Lightweight, deadly, simple. And super badass, if she did say so herself. She tossed the handful of stars in her grasp casually over to the person who requested them.
"Thanks," Krystal said, being careful not to bump them too much when they landed in her cupped hands. She slipped most of them into her belt, but stopped to look at the last one for a brief moment. She turned it over in her hand, admiring the peculiar device. The weapon might've looked like something straight out of an excitable child's overactive imagination, but then, Miyu was probably around that age when she'd first dreamed it up. Besides, she'd been using these stars for long enough to know just how useful they were in combat. The vixen took one last second to enjoy the neon-blue, beautifully calligraphed "K" on its surface before finally stuffing it alongside the others.
Krystal looked back up, finding her feline friend bent over another table, screwdriver in hand, a look of concentration settled on her face as she tinkered with something. After a second Miyu turned back around, finished with her last minute adjustments. In one hand she held a thick, fingerless glove, offering it up to the vixen. It was solid white aside from the stitching, which was the same bright blue as the calligraphy on the stars in her belt. A metal ring looped around the base of each knuckle, each one wired into a circuit board on the back that could only be described as a subway map of chromatic, intercrossing cables and chips.
Krystal snatched the glove out of her friend's grip, slipped it onto her right hand, and spun around on her heel all in one fluid motion. Jogging over towards the exit to their hideout, she constricted and relaxed her fingers a few times, letting the leather settle against her fur. She sighed, smiling a little. After all this time, the familiar pressure it exerted on her palm and joints had grown soothing. Made her feel in control. While she was wearing it... she could do anything. A small bud confidence blossomed in her mind, but she shook her head quickly. This wasn't the time to muse. They would be here any minute now, and she had to be ready.
The vixen snagged her cloak off its hook on the wall, throwing it around her neck and shoulders. The thin, coal-black fabric floated down through the air, coming to a wavering rest around her calves. She buttoned the clasp on the front with one hand, feeling around on a nearby shelf for another piece of gear with the other. She frowned after a couple seconds, coming up empty-handed.
"Miyu," she started, glancing over at the feline for a brief moment before continuing her search, "where'd you put the Link?" After digging around in another tub and finding the object in question, the lynx lobbed a small cylindrical contraption over her shoulder without bothering to aim, the mechanical motion sending it sailing straight for Krystal's outstretched hand. She caught the projectile with ease, hardly bothering to look up herself. They'd been through this routine a million times before. And assuming she didn't get herself killed, they'd probably go through it a million more. As long as it took to finally stop them. She clipped the contraption onto her belt, hearing a small click as it locked itself in place by her hips.
Krystal stopped for a moment upon hearing the sound, its snap making her hesitate. Her eyes drifted down to the small device, her fingers still wrapped around it. So many memories were intertwined with this unassuming contraption. It was her last tie to a life long since expired. She ran her thumb over the short tube, feeling its cold metal nip at her fingers, taking in the contours of its dented surface. Her eyelids fluttered closed at the familiarity. She took a deep breath, letting her mind and body slow, relax.
In... Out...
The vixen repeated her ritual a few more times, feeling her heart calm, her anxiousness fade. She stood like that, unmoving, for a few more seconds. Then, she clicked down on the button set in its surface. The effect was immediate.
Lightning cracked through her mind and limbs, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips. Her eyes shot wide open at the electrifying sensation, as if someone had stabbed a dagger of pure adrenaline into her temple. Thoughts and ideas raced through her head, her consciousness suddenly stimulated into overdrive. Her entire frame locked up, muscles drawn into steel cords in automatic resistance to the sensation. It was just as intense as the first time she'd ever experienced it. Her irises luminesced a deep, oceanic blue as the surges of energy pulsed through her body, making her take fast, heavy breaths, only fading back to their normal cerulean when the feeling had begun to ebb. She shivered once, trying to shake off the remaining shock that always accompanied switching on the Link. She blinked a few times, refocusing on the dark room around her, grounding herself back in reality. Her concentration was broken by a voice playing in her head however, making her ears instinctively swivel to one side.
"Hey, that thing on?"
Her eyes locked onto the only other person in the room out of habit, but of course, Miyu's lips were closed, only pressed together into a small smirk. Krystal nodded quickly, going back to stocking up. The Link was a peculiar little machine, altering her mental activity in a way that made her... telepathic, for lack of a better word. She kept her own mouth shut, letting her next words run over her mind instead of her tongue.
"Hear you loud and clear."
The vixen could hear Miyu sigh across the room, relieved. "Good. I still have no idea what the hell is going on inside your little telepathy tube." She chuckled a little before her next thought. "Me trying to repair that thing is like a mechanic trying to perform brain surgery."
Krystal let out a short breath, amused. "Remind me never to let you operate on me then."
"Hey!" the lynx called out in her head. "I could be a kickass surgeon."
Now it was Krystal's turn to laugh. She grabbed a large rifle off the wall, slinging it around her back and readjusting it for easy access. The finely carved wooden stock stuck out to one side, her trademark 'K' branded into it in ornate lettering. "Sure you could, Miyu," she responded, layering sarcasm on thick over her sentence.
"Just think about it this way: would you rather have me or Fay operating on you?"
"Definitely Fay."
The yellow feline let out an indignant humph, offended. "Why?! That pampered pooch has never held a screwdriver in her life!"
Krystal arched one eyebrow, eyeing her suspiciously. "Maybe because her instrument of choice for brain surgery wouldn't be a screwdriver?"
Miyu shot the vixen a devious, sideways grin, obviously prepared with a clever response. "Well, how else am I supposed to tighten up the screw you've got lose up there?"
They both couldn't help but sputter and burst out laughing at that, giggling together for several seconds while trying and failing to regain their composure. They doubled over, having to lean on walls and tables for support as their laughter infected each other. Once she'd finally reclaimed control of her mouth, she gave the lynx an appreciative smile, wiping away a few tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes during their little fit. Krystal knew that she tended to get serious and wound-up sometimes, especially before an outing like this, but Miyu always seemed to bring her back down to reality.
She turned back around, a smile still making her lips twitch upwards, and scanned around herself for the last two, vital pieces of her loadout. A small sparkle caught her eye as she searched, and the vixen stepped over to investigate. Digging the objects out of a mountain of papers and junk, she found what she'd been looking for; a pair of silver revolvers. The handles were carved from a deep red wood, each one again branded with her distinctive, elegant mark. She spun the pistols around her index fingers once, flicking their cylinders open. Six bullets each, already fully loaded. One snap of her wrist clicked them back in place, letting her examine the rest of their forms. They both had intricate and twisting designs engraved into their metal surfaces, flowing from their bases up to their tips. The guns were perfect twins, with one notable exception: their barrels. One was long and drawn out, extending out several inches for a more precise, careful shot. The other was snubbed off, packing a bigger punch for a close quarters surprise.
Miyu liked to call them the "Overachiever" and "Underachiever", respectively.
She twirled them around a few more times before holstering them at her sides. She nodded her head once when she did, making a small noise of determination. Everything was ready. "I'm heading out. Keep the hideout safe while I'm gone."
She reached out for the handle in front of her. Its cool surface was resting in her hand when she heard Miyu's response behind her. "Sure thin-" the lynx started, but quickly cut herself off short. "Hey, Krysie, wait! Take a peek in a mirror before you run off."
Her eyebrows furrowed in response to the peculiar request. "Why?" As she rotated around to face the closest mirror though, she noticed the problem. "Oh." She lifted one hand up, gently touching her soft face. It was her fur... Her deep, sanguine, crimson red fur. The color ran from the ends of her toes to the tips of her ears, only broken up by her occasional white markings. It was stunningly, gracefully beautiful.
But it was also a lie.
She reached both hands up, undoing the hook behind her neck that held up a small pendant on the front of her chest. As she lifted it away from her body, the fur on the tips of her fingers and tail began to shimmer and glow. The further it moved from her, the more pronounced the effect became, her entire form beginning to glitter and glitch in the low light. Once she'd fully removed the necklace, suddenly, her entire body flashed a bright, blinding white. The transformation only took a split second, but once it was done, she stood there in her true colors: a more azure blue than the most captivating sapphire ever mined and cut. Thin white tattoos adorned her biceps and thighs. She sighed once, running her hands over her arms, taking in the way she was meant to look. The fur she wanted to wear proudly, but couldn't. At least when she fought, it meant she could be who she really was, inside and out. She shook her head once, clearing her thoughts. She needed to focus, and ruminations like that would only distract her. She looked back over towards Miyu, tossing her the necklace. She didn't waste time in looking up, catching it in one hand. The lynx set it down next to her, returning back to the project she had spread out across the tabletop.
"Nice catch," the vixen said, referring both to the necklace and her fur. She wrapped her hand around the door handle again, this time throwing it wide open. A familiar wave of heat buffeted against her body, and light poured into the shadowy room, making her squint. She looked around when she stepped outside, hunting for anybody who might be trying to ambush her. Her search came up empty though. "I'll see you later, Miyu," she called back into the hideout. She began to shut the door, but heard one last sentence from her friend before she could lock up.
"Good luck, Kursed."
/
Something was wrong. Fox gulped, hot air clawing over his bone dry mouth. Something was terribly, unnervingly wrong. All three pilots had their weapons unholstered, at the ready in their focused grips. They scanned the barren cityscape for even the tiniest speck of movement, for even the briefest flash of color, but everything in the decaying ghost town was ghastly still. Absolutely nothing moved. Nervous anxiety slipped its hooks into each of the vulpine's thoughts. Tactics and contingencies flashed through his mind, fueled by the sights taken in from his darting eyes. His legs tensed with each cautious step forward, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that they were carrying him towards a fatal trap. His ears twitched furiously, vying for the quiet scuff of a boot or tap of a gun, for any information that might give them the slightest warning of an imminent attack. Ultimately though, he was only met with maddening silence, sporadically interrupted by the jolting discharge of a nearby device. The sound would send them all leaping into the air, only a hair away from showering the innocent contraption in a hail of laser fire.
It had been unusual when no one arrived to greet them at the entrance to town. It was even stranger when the street they'd wandered down had been completely devoid of life. Their situation had become alarming when they'd found every single door locked tight, and even after minutes of creeping along the empty roads, not having encountered a single living soul. Brisk wind howled through the buildings above them, forcing the wooden structures to shudder under their own swaying weight. Fox could feel his heartbeat in his throat, his stomach twisting into knots and making him shiver himself. The town was deserted. As far as he could tell, there were only two groups of people here right now; themselves... And whatever had emptied Crossroad of people in the first place.
The trio stepped towards an intersection in the road they were sneaking down. The slew of overturned boxes and abandoned carts scattered about were the only hints that this town had ever been inhabited at any point, had contained any motion other than the occasional sand drift blowing down the avenue. Theories flitted through Fox's mind about what could have driven the settlers away, but each one was more bone chilling than the last. He shook his head, blinking away his imagination. If he let his guard down, got distracted now... there was no telling what could go wrong.
The vulpine glanced over his shoulder for a split second, taking in the other two mercenaries in stride behind him. Their heads swiveled from side to side, on red alert for an ambush around any and every corner. He gave them a quick hand signal, lowering his palm to the ground before pointing at the middle of the road and the side opposite them. They both nodded quickly, acknowledging the command while keeping their eyes locked forward.
Slippy, take position in the middle. Falco, the far side.
Fox's ears flicked around when he heard the pair step off the porch behind him, leaving him to cover their repositioning. He crouched down onto the dusty porch beneath him, watching them as they walked while small clumps of sand dug into his knees. The toad moved methodically towards a collapsed wagon splayed across the sand, taking cover behind it after stepping over the debris and detritus scattered across his path. Falco was less precise, breaking into a quick sprint past Slippy and rolling to a halt behind a stack of steel drums piled on top of one another by another building. His back sidled up against the cold metal, making Fox cringe as one the the containers shrieked against the wood below. It felt like the shrill sound echoed around them for endless minutes. However, eventually the noise ceased carrying, and the duo was comfortably in position and behind cover. They both glanced over at the vulpine, waiting for their next move. The muscles in Fox's torso constricted, and a bead of sweat rolled down over his temple, caused as much by the broiling sun as by the stress of knowing what came next. This was always the worst part.
He jerked his wrist upwards a few times in quick succession, then pointed towards his mouth and eyes. Both pilots understood immediately, even if they wished that they didn't. Slippy took a deep breath before giving Fox a short nod. Falco just shot back a fleeting thumbs up, readjusting a few settings on his rifle, eyesight parallel to the barrels he was ducked behind.
We peek on my mark. If you see something, say something.
Fox could feel his palms starting to sweat, his tail twitching unhappily. Best case scenario, they would swing their guns up and find nothing. Worst case scenario... The vulpine shook his head, blinking back the horrific images that shoved themselves to the forefront of his mind. All three of them had been in much worse situations than this before. They could handle themselves. He focused his attention away from the doubt plaguing his thoughts, instead concentrating on the familiar weight of the pistol in his hand. On how his fingers wrapped around its sculpted grip perfectly, on how after all these years, it felt like a simple extension of his being. The comforting sensation provided the foothold he needed to clamp down on his doubts, silencing them under an iron will. His body loosened ever so slightly. They could do this.
He raised a palm to his friends, holding up three fingers. They both shuffled upwards in anticipation when they noticed the gesture, preparing for the countdown. Some small part of his mind still wanted to tremble, but years of experience held him still, his breathing steady. He knew what came next.
It was showtime.
Three...
Two...
One...
"Now!"
Fox's legs exploded beneath him as he leapt up into the air, shouting the lone word out. His feet strained, shoved against the groaning wooden planks beneath him. Wind whipped in his ears and bit at his tail as he spun in place, thrusting himself out into the vulnerable openness of the street. He slammed his pistol down on top of the box he'd been using for cover, the dull sound cracking across the walls. His lungs instinctively took a deep gulp of air, his fiery eyes flashing as they tore from rooftop to crate to support beam in a fervent search for hostiles. He snapped from left to right, scouring the scene for any out of place color or shape. The fear churning in his stomach evaporated, replaced instead with a steeled, deadly focus. Instinct stole control of his body, guiding the barrel of his pistol from point to point along the cityscape. Fox's finger twitched on the trigger, primed to fire.
After a long minute of scanning however, after a tense eternity spent combing the area in front of him for any signs of their unknown enemies... He came up empty. Nobody was waiting for them here. No sentries had them in their crosshairs. He let loose a halting sigh of relief, feeling the cords in his arms tremor, his pistol pulling back an inch. At least for now, they were safe.
The vulpine glanced over at Slippy and Falco, shaking his head once to let them know that he hadn't seen anything. The toad mimicked his gesture, also returning empty-handed. Slippy looked a little pale and out of breath. He'd probably been holding it for those long seconds. Fox realized he was panting too, all of his attention having been concentrated into his senses, ensuring he didn't miss a single thing. Regardless, the vulpine could feel his posture relaxing ever so slightly. They were alright.
At least, that's what Fox believed until he heard Falco's sharp, short whistle from across the street.
Fox's head flicked to the side, trying to glimpse the bird around Slippy's cover. What he saw made his fledgling foundation of hope crumble back into cold anxiety. Falco's expression was gravely serious, locked on a point outside of his line of sight, around the corner of the building that the vulpine was using for cover. The avian's body didn't move an inch, and he didn't blink, never letting what he saw out of his vision. Barbed wire crawled along the bottom of Fox's stomach. They weren't in the clear just yet.
Fox made a rapid waving motion, catching the bird's eye for a split second. He made a few fervid gestures, desperately trying to get the bird to fill him in on what was so important. Possibilities overwhelmed his racing mind, each worse than the last. A weapons cache, a horde of hostiles, a ticking bomb... It could have been anything. Just when Fox thought he would explode from the tension of the unknown, Falco shot him back a hand signal that only escalated his vexing curiosity. He made a small loop with his fingers before silently balling his hand into a fist.
Point of interest spotted, no enemies visible.
Fox would have let out a ground-shakingly frustrated groan at the vague information if a rush of adrenaline hadn't clamped his mouth shut. What did Falco mean by a point of interest? His fists balled up at his sides, the fur on his arms standing on end. He could feel his thoughts beginning to blur together under the cocktail of stress and fear now broiling in his skull. This situation was far too much, far too soon. A little anger began to seep into his mind, directed towards the people who had sent them out here in the first place. The military had assured them this would be a straightforward job. All they had to do was journey out to this backwater sector of the galaxy and knock a few skulls together to re-establish the peace. Nowhere in the contract had anyone mentioned crawling through this scrap-yard, waiting to be executed by hell knows what.
The vulpine took a deep breath, letting his eyelids shut for half a second. He was allowing his emotions to get the better of him. He let the air flow out of his lungs, feeling a wave of cool calm tingle through his back and arms. Now wasn't the time for brooding. It was the time for doing, for solving problems. That was all they could do right now: solve problems. And at the moment, their problem was the point of interest that Falco had just spotted, whatever that might be. They would start there, and deal with anything else as it forced itself in front of them. They could take whatever this glorified landfill dished out. His eyelids drifted back open, a small glint in his eye, the tiniest smirk playing on his mouth.
Suddenly, the fog cleared from Fox's mind. His thoughts sharpened to a razor's edge. Ideas that had previously been obscured by hesitation became illuminated. Became deadly. The smirk on his face grew. They needed to get to the point of interest quickly and stealthily... And Fox knew exactly how to do that. A plan blossomed in his mind, a puzzle solving itself under his analytical gaze. His jade eyes flared with cold calculation, scanning his surroundings, finding every back alley, marking every pile of boxes. After a moment, his grasp around his pistol tightened, the hard metal and plastic clicking quietly. In this game, they were playing with their lives. And they wouldn't be bested by an invisible enemy.
A short wave of his hand caught Slippy and Falco's attention again, their heads turning to face the vulpine. This time though, he had a plan. Fox's fingers bent and looped, forming a few brief instructions for the frog. Slippy nodded once, shifting in place with anticipation. He glanced over at Falco, who was arching one eyebrow back at him. Fox relayed a few short commands to the bird as well, filling him in on the tactics that had just been painted in his mind's eye. Fox grinned a little after finishing, particularly pleased with the simple, yet unexpected and elegant plan he'd dug up.
Unfortunately, his smile evaporated in an instant, converting to horror when he saw Falco roll his eyes and stand up from behind his cover. The avian slung his rifle over one shoulder and started strolling down the road like he owned the place, first passing in front of the stunned frog and then the fuming vulpine.
Falco took a few more steps before turning back around to face the pair. He had a cocky look plastered on his face, walking backwards with a sideways grin and knowing, half shut eyes. He used his free hand to beckon for them, inviting the fox and toad to tag along in his little jaunt down Main Street. Fox found it hard to join him, considering his entire body was shaking with rage.
What the hell does he think he's doing?!
He'd had a plan! He'd known exactly how to tackle the situation, and then this pompous ass had gone and ruined everything! Fox gnashed his teeth together, his knuckles turning white underneath his fur as he balled them up at his sides. Why, oh why hadn't he pushed the bird out of the airlock when he'd still had the chance? It would've made the rest of his life so much more pleasant!
After a long, furious second filled with many creative profanities though, he bottled and corked his fury up, burying it deep in his chest. He could kill Falco for this later. In the meantime, he had to make sure nobody beat him to it. Fox stood up to a crouch, sliding over the cover he'd been ducked behind. He sprinted out from around the building, trying to catch up with the mutinous bird. He hesitated for a second after rounding the corner however, finally catching his first glimpse of the point of interest Falco had seen. He hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this.
They'd arrived at the center of town; a wide open, circular area clear of any buildings. The majority of the ground was yellow sand and gravel, aside from a large paved section of cobblestone in the dead center of the space. What immediately caught his eye wasn't the pavement, however. It was built on top of the stones. A lumbering clock tower pushed high above the rest of the buildings that ringed around it, casting a gargantuan shadow across the shuffling and shifting dust. Fox stared at it for a moment with curious eyes, held in place as he took it in.
The structure seemed to represent everything Crossroad architecture had to offer. It was plated with long, tall swaths of embellished wood and unpolished scrap metal, bolted and strapped together seemingly at random. The stretches of material separated away from each other in a few places, giving him a peek into the huge bronze cogs and steel cables whirring and flying inside. The tower didn't have the usual strong, straight lines ascending to the top that he would have expected, however. Instead, the walls buckled inwards and jutted outwards occasionally, forming indentations and balconies in its dully gleaming surface. None of this held his attention for very long though. Falco had already sauntered off well ahead of him, and was heading directly towards what had piqued both their interests.
Fox raced forwards, only catching up with the bird once they'd arrived at the most puzzling aspect of it all; rows and rows of hastily stuffed crates, arranged in disorganized battalions on the ground. Hundreds of the containers wrapped around the tower, forming a shallow maze that snaked through the entire plaza. The confusion on Fox's face only grew. The boxes must have been what caught Falco's attention earlier...
But... What are they doing here?
Thankfully, it seemed like Falco was wondering the same thing. They both took a quick look around to make sure the area was clear before glancing at each other and nodding. The pair found a crate whose lid was slightly ajar, and worked together to pry it open. Once they'd revealed the inside and tossed the top away, Falco only cocked his head a little at its contents, perplexed. The same could not be said of Fox. He gasped quietly, finally understanding what they'd waltzed right into. Finally understanding just how lucky they were to still be alive.
There were a few guns inside as he'd expected there would be, but nowhere near as many as he'd anticipated. There was some ammo and a few credits inside too, but again, these weren't what caught his attention. Mixed in with everything else was just... Stuff. A smattering of matched silverware, loose pieces of technology, a fine porcelain set. He rushed over to another crate, boots sending up plumes of sand, hands throwing open the top. He found more seemingly random odds and ends inside. The boxes didn't hold specialty military arms, or the contents of a local bank. These were people's possessions. His eyes snapped up from the box, locking onto the nearest building he could find. What he saw confirmed his fears, forcing a rough gulp down his throat. Its door had been reduced to splinters, smashed inwards, leaving a gaping hole in the front. With that, everything clicked in his head. Why the city was empty, why belongings were strewn across the roads, why all the houses they'd found had been locked. The people here hadn't abandoned their settlement. They were hiding.
They'd just stumbled into the middle of a city-wide robbery.
Ropes constricted around Fox's heart, freezing it in his chest. The bandits could be anywhere, carrying out their raid. And once they'd collected enough belongings, they'd retrace their steps... Leading them right back to where the three mercenaries were standing, unguarded, out in the open. The vulpine opened his mouth to make a panicked call to find cover, but it was too late. Unfortunately for the three of them, the bandits were already at the end of their process.
Every muscle in Fox's body turned to iron upon hearing the small, metallic click of a gun being cocked only a few inches behind his head. A quiet voice in his ear sent a nauseating shudder down his spine.
"I'd hold it right 'bout there if I were you."
Fox froze in place, grinding his feet into the sand. Not a single muscle in his body twitched, not one hair fluttered. He knew exactly what would happen if he disobeyed the command. His shoulders instinctively locked in place up by his neck, his grip on his pistol tightening into a painful vice. Despite all that though, he stayed totally, absolutely still. Years of experience and close calls were all that kept him from instinctively flipping around, swinging his gun up and pulling the trigger. A bandit had snuck up on him while he wasn't paying attention, and if he so much as squirmed, he was sure his new friend would be happy to give him a brand new piercing straight through the skull. Keeping his body as motionless as possible, he breathed out a short sentence.
"Good advice," Fox said quietly, keeping his words steely and level, still facing forward. "Can I ask who's giving it?"
The voice behind him snorted a little, apparently amused by the question. The vulpine's ear flicked once when he heard the man spit onto the ground below. "I don't think you're in much of a position to be askin' questions of me and my friends, son." Fox's heart sank at what happened next, a new shot of desperation being injected into his mind. In response to the voice's sentence, a dozen tough, unkempt looking bandits slinked out into the open from behind the army of boxes and barrels around them. He could hear even more enemies closing in from behind them, their boots shuffling in the sand, metal buckles and ammo clinking as as they moved. Eventually the hostiles in front came to a halt while the noises in his ears fell silent, stopping once they'd encircled the three mercenaries in a small ring. Fox's eyes snapped between the thieves in his line of sight, sizing them up. Each robber had a distinctive mix of rough-cut fabric and light combat armor clasped across their bodies, and a few wore tall, wide brimmed hats to keep the baking sun off their heads. Their fur was matted, their hair grown out long. Fox bit his bottom lip, anxious. Every one of them had a cocky, cruel smile plastered on their face, each aiming their weapons directly at him. Although... The vulpine squinted, trying to get a better look at their armaments. For what felt like the millionth time that day, he found himself shocked yet again by what he saw. Half of the vulpine's mind wanted to recoil away from the lethal objects, all primed and eager to fire, but the other half of his brain was intrigued, perplexed by their exceptionally odd designs.
Put simply... They looked like they barely deserved the title "gun". Each one appeared to have been stripped down to the absolute minimum number of parts it needed to stay in one piece. Some of them were held together by loops of twine tied around the barrel, or with electrical tape wrapped across the handle. Plates of scrap metal were bolted and bent around their lengths, screws rattling in a valiant attempt to keep the entire weapon together. Every single metal surface was rusted into a dull orange, with only the occasional flash of gleaming iron and steel breaking through. Even odder were the obvious attempts to repair some of them. Clearly, many had lost vital pieces of their bodies over time, but this hadn't deterred the bandits from using them. Instead of throwing them away, blocks of wood had been hewn and attached to their forms in the place of sleek plastic shielding, metal piping had been sawed away and inserted seemingly at random into their stocks, and coils of metal had been casually jammed into their firing mechanisms. One of them had even replaced their gun's sights with a wobbly loop of wire, giving the bandit an uneven circle to aim with in which objects would ideally die if he pulled the trigger. What caught his eye though wasn't the alarming replacement of parts or the structural integrity of the pieces; it was the cacophony of wires, flashing lights, and circuit boards soldered onto the exterior of each one. No two guns were the same. One had small tubes running between the barrel and a small canister strapped to the side, another had a sparking bayonet attached to the front, and yet another had a small plate next to the magazine that superheated the bullets before firing. Most of them he simply couldn't make heads or tails of. They all had one thing in common though. The vulpine had to hold back a small whimper. They were all aimed right at him.
The tip of Fox's tail twitched and flicked as he stared down the barrels of a dozen of the homemade weapons, with surely many more pointed at the back of his head. Even if none of the fired properly, they'd still all be wiped clean off the face of the planet by the resulting explosion from the glorified pipe bombs.
And yet... They were all still alive, for now at least. Why hadn't the thieves just executed the three of them where they stood? Fox's brow furrowed as he raked his mind for an answer to his own question, still keenly aware of the primary lethal threat mere inches behind him. If the bandits had wanted to question them, they'd have knocked them unconscious already and transported them to a more secure location. If they'd wanted to loot their gear, they could just as easily do that off of their dead bodies. So if they didn't want anything from the three of them, then... Fox's eyes widened, understanding hitting him like a ton of bricks. There was only one reasonable explanation. The robbers were just stalling for time. There must have been another group of other bandits nearby, clearing the area to make sure that the three mercenaries were all alone, that they didn't have any backup to launch a counter-attack. But of course, there wasn't anyone lurking around in the shadows to protect them. It was just the three pilots. Once the robbers realized this and secured the perimeter, their time would be up.
A bead of sweat rolled down the vulpine's back. They were on a rapidly dwindling clock. His mind suddenly burst into a sprint, vying for any way to turn the tables on their assailants, of cheating the system and catching them off guard, but every plan he came up with had some fatal flaw that would get them all killed. His teeth clenched together. He needed more time to think.
"Don't I have the right to know who's got a gun pressed to my head?" Fox asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. If he could keep them talking, maybe that would give him the time he needed to get out of this alive. "I thought that was just common courtesy."
The voice behind him grunted, sounding as if Fox had just made a valid point. "Fair 'nuff. We're with Doc Graves gang." Fox flinched ever so slightly when the voice stepped in closer to him, pushing the barrel of his pistol up against the back of his neck. The hot metal stung his skin, and the buzz of some device strapped to the weapon assaulted his ears. Slippy and Falco both breathed in a little at the movement. The vulpine shut his eyes tight, silently begging his friends not to do anything rash. He just needed a little more time to think, and everything would be fine. If the shooting started now, they'd end up as little more than grease stains on the sand. His fists clenched at his side, desperately hoping he wasn't about to hear the crack of a gun from either side of this negotiation. And thankfully, mercifully, both of the other pilots seemed to understand. They fell back into silence, not contesting the move. "Now," the voice resumed, unfazed, "may I ask who I have the pleasure of holding up on this fine day?"
Fox's eyes darted around the boxes, looking for a concealed escape route, searching for a hidden explosive. All his endeavors were frustratingly fruitless though. "My name is Fox McCloud. Leader of Star Fox," he replied automatically, sounding slightly distracted, still consumed by his frantic search. Why couldn't he find a way out of this? His knees began to wobble under the stress, under knowing how precious few moments he had left to solve this.
Think Fox, think!
The voice behind him fell quiet, pensive. After a second the vulpine heard the fabric of his clothes stretch slightly, sounding like he was shrugging his shoulders. "Can't say I've heard of y'all before." Falco let out a short, exasperated breath of air at that. Clearly the bird was still having difficulty adjusting to their noticeable lack of infamy here.
Fox opened his mouth to respond, to continue searching for some clever trick that would buy them their freedom, but he was interrupted by the sound he least wanted to hear at that moment; a ping from the robber's communicator. His heart sank as he heard the man's clothes rustle again, this time lifting his arm up to check the message he'd received. A message that would confirm that they were all alone. A message that would be their death knell. Fox bit his tongue, wanting to cry out for just one more minute, for just one last chance as his eyes darted around the landscape in one last ditch effort to find a way out. But of course, he wouldn't be granted such reprieve.
A numbness washed over his mind and body in that moment, draining the fear and adrenaline out of his body that had been coursing through his veins ever since he'd set foot in this death trap. This was it. This was where it ended for the three of them. Fox's grip on his pistol finally loosened, his shoulders and neck falling forward. They'd all come so far together, had fought through so much together, and now, they were going to be executed out here in the middle of nowhere together. All because he'd failed them. A pang of guilt pricked in the back of his head. He wanted so badly to turn around, to tell the other two how sorry he was, but the bandits had denied him even that right. He tried to force up one last wave of hatred for his attackers, but the feeling completely escaped him as he was stared down by death itself. So instead, he simply closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable bullet that would end his life. That would end all of their lives. Behind him, he heard the voice produce a sharp noise, but it sounded muffled and distant in his ears. He focused inwards, losing himself in his own thoughts during his final moments. It was strange. Fox had always expected to feel some overwhelming emotion when he was about to die, maybe regret, sadness, pride... But not of that proved to be the case. Instead, his entire being was consumed in a wave of calm.
However, that quickly changed when the voice cried out again, panicking. The loud noise snapped Fox out of his reverie. He was dumbstruck for a moment, only able to make out one brief word at the end of the bandit's cry.
"...Kursed!"
Fox didn't even have time to question the odd word before a deafening crack ripped through his core. The sound tore into him and sent him reeling, stumbling to the ground. He hit the dirt hard, burning sand grinding against his fur and skin. His vision was blurred by the enormous shockwave that had just pulsed through his head, his ears ringing from the violent explosion. His thoughts were jumbled, set askew by the roar he'd just witnessed. After a moment, his eyes finally refocused enough that he was able to vaguely make out two rough shapes in front of him. The first was the robber who'd had a gun to his head for the previous, eternally long minutes. He now lay motionless on the ground next to the vulpine, a small trickle of blood coming from his open, shocked, horrified mouth.
The second shape was much further off in the distance, little more than an indistinct blur on a nearby rooftop. Fox tried to get a better view, but his head was still pounding, his vision still spinning. Only after a burst of effort and concentration did he finally understand what he was seeing. A stunning blue vixen, knelt down high above the rest of them. She had a massive rifle pressed up against her shoulder, aiming it down onto the group of them. Fox couldn't help but gasp when their eyes locked across the space. She was... Beautiful. Gorgeous. Even her incredible fur color couldn't distract from what really froze him in place though; her intense stare, the fiery determination flaring in her cerulean eyes. The blue fox appeared to hesitate as well when their gazes locked. Her fingers readjusted around her gun while her mouth opened a little in surprise. But her indecision didn't last long.
She pulled the trigger back one more time.
/
A/N: Ha! Bet you weren't expecting a western to be the next thing I published! Guys. I'm so pumped for this story. As opposed to the fluff fest and serious story that Brace for Impact is, this is going to be a much lighter, action-y, experimental and humor-y kind of thing. I had a ton of fun writing this, and I have a whole bunch of fun things bouncing around in my head for this story. That being said, I'm not planning more than the broad plot for this story out in advance. I really wanna take this one chapter-by-chapter and see where it ends up.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! I'd be remiss if I didn't give a giant shout out to Sanitarium right now. When I first tossed the idea for this story out to him a couple months ago, I was ready to throw it in the recycling bin and never look back. He talked me into giving it a shot though, and gave me a bunch of great ideas to work with. He also beta read this chapter for me, which helped a ton in getting the tone just right. Thanks Sani! You da real MVP.
Alrighty, I'll wrap this up here. I'd expect the next chapter of this relatively soon, although I wanna get back to Brace for Impact now that I've had some time away from it to think about where I want the plot to go. Thanks in advance to anyone who leaves a follow, favorite or especially review on this! With something as... out there, as a Star Fox western, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Okay, I think that just about covers it. Hope you enjoyed, Groundis out!