Greetings! Elarix here writing you from the OBX. I took a break from writing the final chapters of Hunting Party to shamelessly ride the Pokemon Go wave. Most of the following humor is really immature and political, and if that's not your thing I understand. This episode is a one-off, and it in no way represents the rest of Misadventures to come.

Disclaimer: Any similarities to persons living or deceased is purely intentional.

...

Wait

Episode 3: Pantímon Go


In the dusty, orange plains of Papetoon, a protective aircraft shelter provided a strong bulwark against the gusts of wind and sand. The structure resembled a fat column resting on its side, halfway embedded in the ground. The inside was spacious enough to house a military cruiser of the largest grade, and it did—the Great Fox, to be precise. At least it usually did. On this day, Star Fox's leader and founder, James McCloud, had taken his team and said ship to complete a mission. That left Fox and his upstart team to police the base.

Fox was currently in the personnel complex of their headquarters—a single-floor building attached to the side of the aircraft shelter. He was sitting in the rec room supposedly managing supply shipments. It was the only job he was able to work while his leg recovered from their most recent escapades, and he was getting tired of solely working on a computer.

Fox's ears perked up when the buzzer rang, signaling someone was outside the front door. Excited to leave his current boring task, he leapt to his feet and called out, "Don't worry, I've got it!" to the rest of his teammates—who probably weren't listening anyway.

He navigated through the short hallways of the run-down building, which was just as dusty and dirty as the Papetoonian desert outside. Finding a base on Corneria was impossible for Star Fox, as James was an impulsive leader and blew all their money on the Great Fox—not to mention four arwings for the team and a variety of military equipment. It felt like being new wine trapped in an old wineskin, but it was much easier to afford a base on Papetoon instead of Corneria.

Once Fox arrived at the reception area—which was slightly more cleanly than the rest of the complex—he studied a security camera monitor to check on their guests. There was no telling what type of dangerous characters would show up on their front porch: criminals looking to ransack their base, enemies they'd made during their missions, or a representative from Space Dynamics come to collect the Great Fox's monthly.

Looking through the fuzzy security cam, Fox was able to make out a female koala surrounded by a troop of monkey suit-wearing guards. The vulpine discerned that they probably came for a contract rather than rob them, so he hopped to the door to let them in.

The koala entered with her security entourage, each of whom glanced suspiciously around the reception area.

"Welcome to Star Fox PMC (working title). What brings you here, ma'am?" Fox stepped behind the counter, pulling up a blank contract to get a head start.

"Thank you, son," the elderly koala said. She had a blond head of well-groomed hair, and wore a forest green pantsuit with a blue business jacket. "I'm Pillory Clitoris. You've probably heard of my campaign."

"Yes ma'am, and good luck to you!" Fox said, effortlessly putting on a smile. "Anything I can do to help your candidacy?"

"Well, I was hoping to find James McCloud here," Clitoris said as she lowered her voice. "Are you his son?"

"That's me, Fox McCloud. I'm afraid my dad is out right now. But I can ring up a contract and we'll fulfill it as soon as possible."

The pant-suited koala narrowed her eyes at Fox, sizing him up. "Actually, maybe you could help me better than he could. You see, I'm tied neck-and-neck with my rival, Sandy Beavers. In initial polls, he's attracted the majority of the younger generation—silly promises such as free education, free ice cream, free money... and I think free cannabis or something. I desperately need to woo his younger supporters if I'm going to nab the nomination for my party. In short, I need to be 'hip.' Can you help me do that, Fox?"

Fox scratched his head. "Uh... I'm not sure. We don't normally do operations like this. But if you had something in mind...?"

"I do, in fact," Clitoris said. She removed her phone, placing it on the counter in front of Fox. "You see, there's this new craze taking Corneria and her colonies by storm: Pantímon Go. I assume you've heard of it?"

"Yeah, it's that new Pantímon game that came out last week. Haven't played it myself, but I used to watch the Zoness cartoon as a kid."

"You see, Fox, I need to prove to this younger generation that I'm up with the times—that I understand them. That I'm a totally badass grandma, if you'll excuse the language! That's why I've come for you; I have several important speeches lined up, and I don't have time to collect those cute little monsters for my character. I'll give you till noon tomorrow to catch as many as possible, and pay by the creature. Can you handle that?"

"Yes ma'am!" Fox said. He would have preferred hunting down some dangerous outlaws in the Papetoon wastes, but it seemed like an easy enough job that he could even complete while sitting on the toilet.

"Ultimately," she continued, "I want to get Beavers to endorse me. Preferably before he dies."

Fox rotated the monitor to face the koala. "Can you fill out this contract for me, please?"

Clitoris completed the form and signed it, then made to leave with her body guards. Before she left, she stopped and presented a large round button to Fox.

"While you're at it, here's a little pin you can wear for me, son." And she pinned the blue button to Fox's flight suit.

"Glad to be of service to you, ma'am," Fox answered. After the group left the reception area, Fox sighed and closed the door. He took the opportunity of solitude to glance down and read the pin, which was difficult reading upside down. It prominently featured a blue H penetrated by some kind of arrow. Underneath it a line of text read, I'm with Her...

...pes.

Fox looked up, blinking.


The tod returned to the rec room, carrying Clitoris' pink jewel-encrusted phone. Cupping a hand over his muzzle, he shouted, "Hey everyone: we got a job to do!"

When no one responded from around the complex, Fox rang up his teammates on his wrist communicator. Still no one answered, even though all of them were required to wear the device. Quickly growing frustrated, Fox set the ringer to EMERGENCY and called them once again. This time he got their attention.

Slippy was the first to walk in. "What's up, Fox?" he asked as he plopped down into a beanbag chair, which was actually the same consistency of his pudgy skin.

"Does the name "Pillory Clitoris" ring a bell?" Fox responded.

"Ew! She's competing for Cornerian Chancellor. Personally I support Donald Trump—"

"Slippy!" Fox interrupted him. "You can't just come out and say "Donald Trump!" You have to parody him!"

Slippy raised his hands to placate Fox's anger. "Hey, Trump's already a parody of himself! We don't need another half-assed satirical name!"

"Alright, sorry for making a big deal out of it. As I was saying, Mrs. Clitoris wants us to expand her Pantímon Go account."

"Whoa, she plays Pantímon Go?" Slippy exclaimed.

"She does now," Fox explained. "She wants to be a "badass grandma," as she put it. Why, do you play it?"

"Heck yeah I do!" Slippy exclaimed. "Why do you think I've been taking so many walks? You know Pantímon Go is the only game you can't play on the toilet!"

"Did someone say "Pantímon Go?"" Miyu asked cheerfully as she walked into the room.

"No way, you play too?" Slippy cried, looking up at Miyu.

"Doesn't everyone?" Miyu returned, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Slippy. "Hey, what level are you?"

"Seven. I don't get out as much as you do. You go on a lot of jogs, right?"

"Every day," Miyu smiled. "Hey, you could come along with me if you wanted to. You could work off some of that flab as well!" And she poked Slippy's stomach, to which he flinched.

Falco was the next junior Star Fox member to enter the rec room. Noticing Slippy and Miyu's phones opened to the app, he whipped out his own phone and sat on the couch beside them. "Wow, I should've known you all played! Have you found any clubs near here? I found a couple in town, but I need some help taking them out."

"First, what faction are you?" Miyu asked, raising a clawed fist. "Your answer could decide whether or not you live."

While the three teammates babbled on about Pantímon Go, Fox stood open-mouthed across from them. They tossed back numerous terms he didn't understand, and already he was beginning to feel left out of the group. He decided to interrupt before the situation escalated out of hand.

"Guys, hold up!" he shouted, waving his arms to catch their attention. "This is serious! You can worry about your games later. Right now, we need to help Pillory Clitoris level up her own Go account!"

Falco eyed Fox curiously. "I thought we did video game parodies last episode?"

Fox slapped his hand over his face, while Slippy elbowed Miyu. "Hey, you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We can go into town together! All four of us! You got embryos to hatch?"

"Course I do. Come on Fox, let's grab your car!"

"Wait a minute!" Fox shouted again. "I have something to admit. I don't know how to play Pantímon Go."

Falco waved him over. "Oh, that's fine. Open up Clitoris' account and we'll teach you shit."

Satisfied that he was getting somewhere, Fox stepped over to the trio and presented them with the fabulous pink phone. He gave them the passcode and opened the device, which immediately pulled up an email app.

"Oops, this must be her Pmail account," Fox mumbled, moving to close the application.

"Wait a minute!" Miyu stopped him, grabbing his paw. With her other hand, she pointed to an email chain at the top of the list. "What's that?"

Fox shrugged. "I dunno. It... it looks like some government emails."

"Oh-ho-ho, damn son," Slippy boomed, "She's got official emails on a private email server?"

"Well, I guess there's some sort of explanation for it," Fox weakly argued.

"Check and see if there's anything classified," Slippy urged. When Fox didn't make a move, Slippy grabbed the phone and searched for the term among her archived messages. "Holy shiznit! There's like... two thousand of these things! You know how easy it would be to hack into her email and read top secret messages? Heck, even most of your average apps have access to emails. This is just whole new levels of stupid."

"That's enough, Slippy," Miyu chided him. "We shouldn't be prying into a woman's personal stuff."

"Oh yeah?" Slippy taunted. He searched through the messages with a different term, scanned through an email chain, and highlighted some text for Miyu. "Then how about here where she labels your favorite candidate an atheist shrew?"

Miyu swiped the phone from Slippy, reading the message herself.

"...That bitch!"

"How can she say that about him?!" Falco agreed, crossing his arms. "Beaver isn't an atheist! He's agnostic!"

"Yeah, and for a shrew he sure cares a lot about the lower classes. He's got my vote."

All of the Clitoris trash-talking continued to make Fox feel like the odd-man-out, on top of not playing Pantímon. "Listen, guys; it doesn't matter who you support. Fact is, we're getting paid to do this. Now let's get back to the mission, alright?" He hurriedly regained possession of the phone, navigating to a pair of panties on the home screen and opening the app up.

"Looks like she hasn't even made an account," Miyu observed. "Might as well make one for her."

They started by creating a koala avatar with a similar appearance to the chancellor candidate. Once they tried entering her name as Pillory Clitoris, it rejected them.

"Huh," Falco grunted, scratching his head. "I wonder why it won't take the name."

"Someone else name their character that?" Miyu guessed.

"No, it says we aren't allowed to use vulgar names," Fox read.

"So all of a sudden it thinks Pillory Clitoris is somehow vulgar? That's ridiculous."

"Here, give it to me." Slippy took the phone, entering xXPilloryXx as the character name. "All solved! Now you have to choose a starter Pantímon."

Slippy handed the device back to Fox, who realized the phone had entered an augmented reality mode. "Hey, this is pretty cool!" He pivoted the phone around the room, holding it at arm's length. Eventually, it came to rest on three different monsters.

"Your options are Ballsacksaur, Squirting, or Choudmander."

"Uhhh..." Fox pointed the phone between the three monsters, each of whom looked adorable and kinky at the same time. "Gosh, it's so hard to choose. Screw it, I'll go with Choudmander."

"That's the one I picked," Miyu said. "It doesn't make much of a difference, though."

"So, what am I supposed to do with him? What's the goal of Pantímon Go?"

"You just gotta get off your ass and start collecting Pantímon," Falco said. "You want to train them at strip clubs, which you can find at public landmarks. If you catch multiples of the same Pantímon, you can transvolve them into their next level. That's what Pantípairs are for; they put pairs of panties on them, which starts them on the road to becoming female. You also choose from one of three teams to join: Promiscuity, Paraphilia, or Abstinence."

"Decisions, decisions..." Fox muttered. "What would Clitoris choose?"

Slippy grinned, knowing exactly how to push Fox's buttons. "Well, her husband is pretty p—"

"Whoa Slip, not cool! How dare you go there."

Miyu hopped to her feet, giving Slippy a hand up as well. "Come on, let's get going! We can fill you in on the rest during the drive into town."


The four junior members of Star Fox piled into Fox's car—a deep blue Messara, which he helped purchase on his 18th birthday. Though at the time most modern vehicles made the jump to hover suspensors, the majority of sports cars remained wheeled.

Fox backed the car out of the garage and drove it towards town. It was difficult to free his mind from the constant thought of Papetoonian dust dirtying his car, so he tried reading some Pantímon articles instead. While driving on the straight, two-lane road out in the empty desert, he glanced down at his own phone to read some news pieces.

""Pantímon Go causes fatigue and sore legs,"" Fox read aloud.

"Gamers aren't used to walking around this much," Miyu explained. "They're unfamiliar with the term "exercise.""

Instead of reading any one article, Fox just brushed over the headlines. ""How Pantímon Go invades your privacy." "How to play Pantímon Go in your car without mowing people down"—Oh, fuck!" He swerved his Messara, barely avoiding a green figure standing on the road.

"That was a cactus, Fox," Slippy chided him from the passenger seat. "It wasn't even on the street."

"Yeah, well, you never can be too... "Pantímon Go player hit by driver also playing Pantímon Go?!" Is this game even safe?"

"Of course it is!" Miyu assured him from the backseat. "You just have to use your head and stay out of trouble. You're not sitting in front of your computer anymore; you're in the wild and wacky outdoors, where anything can happen."

Fox kept reading the article titles, voice climbing in frightened pitch as he read each consecutive one.

""Muggers use beacons to lure Pantímon Go players," "Man robbed, stabbed while playing Pantímon Go," "Pantímon Go players fall off cliff!""

"Look, each time someone dies playing Pantímon Go, the average IQ if the Lylat rises." Falco crossed his arms and stared out the window at the passing terrain. "It's just natural selection doing its thing."

"Falco, people are dying playing this game! It's making them do stupid shit!"

Falco flapped his wings in exasperation. "Come on, Fox! You can't seriously believe that a video game is making people kill themselves; you have to blame the people themselves. Robots aren't taking over the world or whatever. These are the same headlines that made the news when wrist comms first came out."

Fox continued reading. ""Pantímon Go is losing daily users," "Why Pantímon Go won't last," "5 Reasons Pantímon Go will fail," "WHY YOU SHOULD DELETE PANTÍMON GO RIGHT NOW!""

"Whoa Fox, calm down!"

"Jesus!"

"Gandhi, Fox, remember Gandhi!"

Fox steadied his grip on the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road. "You're right, I'm sorry. Got a bit worked up there. Are you... are you sure this game is fine to play?"

"Been playing it for a week," Slippy spoke up. "I'm perfectly normal!"

"Your underwear's on backwards, Slip."

"What? How can you see me underwear?"

"'Cause it's on the outside of your pants."

"Guys, I don't know what I'm doing here," Fox broke in. "What exactly am I looking for? Where do I go?"

"Depends on what type of Pantímon you want," Slippy explained. "You can catch bikini type Pantímon at pools and beaches, cross-dressers at women's clothing stores, necrophiliacs at graveyards and morgues, and normal male types at Pantístops and strip clubs. We might run into a few of those."

"Huh, we're passing a graveyard right now," Fox pointed out. "Should I turn in here?"

As if in response, Clitoris' phone vibrated and emitted a ghostly farting sound in Fox's pocket.

"Dude, there's a Pantímon in that graveyard!" Falco exclaimed. "Sounds like a Quofing."

"Quofing?"

"Yeah! He transvolves into Queefing. You should totally try to catch him."

At Falco's behest, Fox turned into the graveyard and parked his Messara. Falco and Miyu met on one side of the car, while Fox and Slippy stepped onto the sidewalk.

"I've got an idea," Miyu posited. "Falco and I can take our embryos for a walk to hatch them. You and Slippy can catch that Quofing and take your car to find more."

"Sounds like a plan," Fox agreed. "Are you all up for an all-nighter catching Pantímons?"

"Pantímon," Falco corrected. "Sure, we can run around town all night. You especially Fox; you need to catch as many as you can before Clitoris comes back tomorrow. We'll all take a nice preschool nap to celebrate."

"Slippy and I will meet you back at the base at noon," Fox said. "If you want to meet up sooner, just call. See ya."

"See ya!" Falco and Miyu jogged off down the street while the vulpine and frog entered the graveyard. Fox stared down at the bedazzled phone, following the GPS towards the miniature icon of Quofing. Slippy got bored in the meantime, so he whipped out his own phone and left his Pantímon app.

"Hey, Pillory Clitoris is giving a speech right now. Wanna watch?"

"Tune in, quick."

Slippy opened the livestream, which pictured the koala behind a podium surrounded by numerous political figures, families, and celebrities.

"...I may not know who made Pantímon Go," she was in the middle of saying. "My problem is figuring out how to get them to make Pantímon Go... to... the... polls!"

While the crowd erupted in forced laughter, Slippy fell to his knees clutching his stomach.

"Slippy, what's wrong?!"

The amphibian was unable to answer. Instead, he projected a spray of vomit over the closest gravestone, hacking and coughing all the while. Even after the initial disgorge, he panted for a few seconds before inflating his cheeks and launching another volley onto the white marble headstone. Fox didn't think it was possible for Slippy to turn anymore green than he already was, but somehow the amphibian pulled it off.

"Can't... take... the cringe!" Slippy choked out. "EEEEKKKGHGHKKEEGHAAHH!"

Fox frowned, nudging the frog with his boot. "It wasn't that bad... besides, you ruined this dude's gravestone!"

"Oh it's fine," Slippy assured him, reading the engraving in the stone. "It just says, "RIP Linkin Park.""

"That's weird," Fox mused. He examined the nearby gravestones as well. "Here's one for Fall Out Boy... Asking Alexandria... Hollywood Undead, Bring Me the Horizon, Breaking Benjamin, Escape the Fate, Red, Skillet, TFK! Nine Lashes! 30 Seconds to Mars! Three Days Grace... My god, the list goes on!"

"Guess we stumbled into the graveyard of rock bands who suddenly went pop, huh?"

"Either that or just lost their touch. Geeze, there are a lot of them. Well come on, we've got a Queef to catch."

"Queefing. And it's first gender is Quofing."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, the difference is where the fart escapes from. Didn't you see the new Ghostbusters?"

"Alright, we can talk about this later. At least I found closure on all my favorite bands. After that Quofing!"


Meanwhile, Falco and Miyu were walking down Main Street, each of them sharing an earbud connected to Miyu's phone. They were currently re-watching the classic Pantímon anime from their childhood. Halfway through the episode, the screen went red, with the black shadow of a Pantímon silhouetted by cartoonish blue rays of light.

"Who's that Pantímon?!" a cast of voices cheered.

"That's Menopause," Miyu guessed.

"No way!" Falco argued. "That's Psycock! You can tell by his giant—"

"Iiiiiiit's Psycock!"

"Yes!" Falco pumped his fist. "I am on fire! I watched this show when I was a kid on Zoness. Except we didn't have the shitty dubbed version with these horrible Cornerian voice actors. That's where Pantímon was started, you know."

A notification popped up on Miyu's phone, and she paused the app to tap on it. It opened a news app which had just begun streaming a speech—a speech by their choice candidate, Sandy Beavers, who was campaigning on Papetoon against Clitoris. He was on old beaver with white wisps of hair and an accent Falco wanted to have when he got older.

"You know why I'm on his side?" Falco asked Miyu. "Because his hair reminds me of Einstein."

"My only fear is that he'll drop dead at any second," Miyu said in a dour voice. "Just look at the poor old man. He's shaking, he's got bags under his eyes, his hair is falling out. It sounds like he desperately needs sleep. Please don't die, Beavers. Please don't die!"

Beavers looked up from his speech notes, addressing the crowd of college students and union workers before him. "And, I promise to get you all... I promise to get you... e-each and every o-one of y-you..."

Miyu gasped as the beaver collapsed on the stage, the microphone landing inches from his reddening face. "Noooo!" The senator coughed and choked for a few seconds before his eyes closed and his head fell limp.

"Well, at least he never had to endorse Clitoris," Falco said.

To both of their amazement, Sandy Beavers coughed himself back to life. He dragged himself a few inches towards the mike, gasping out, "...Give everyone a free Pantímon Go Plus account!" Then his head lolled to one side and his tongue rolled out, X's over his eyes.

"Excuse me, but you guys look like you play Pantímon Go. Correct?"

Miyu and Falco slowed to a halt. They looked up from Miyu's phone to see a yellow Labrador wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans. He was holding a phone as well, only his was opened to the Pantímon Go app.

"Yeah, what's up?" Falco asked. He didn't say it aloud, but somehow the Labrador looked like more of a douche than he himself did. From the tight T-shirt and the tails of tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves, to his stylish close haircut, he practically oozed pure tool.

"My friend said he found a Nonaphalia on the other side of town! Just thought I'd help you out. I can drive you there in my car if you guys want to catch it."

"Dude, thanks!" Falco exclaimed. "Lead the way!"

Falco found it hard to believe that someone who looked so much like a douchebag could be so helpful, but he guessed he was bad at judging people's outward appearances. The yellow Lab had them follow him to his car, which was a black Messara like Fox's. But as they were getting into the back of his car, the retriever stepped back from the vehicle. He placed his paws on his jeans, shaking his head judgmentally at the two.

Confused, the pair of junior mercenaries got back out of the car. "Something wrong, bro?" Falco asked.

The Lab's tone was confrontational. "Do you guys even know who I am?"

"Should we?" Miyu asked.

"So you don't even know who I am, yet you feel safe enough to get into a car with a complete stranger?"

"Well yeah, you're just a fellow Pantímon—"

"Do you realize how easily I could have kidnapped you two? Don't you get it? There's no Nonaphalia—I made that up, and you completely fell for it. You guys should be more careful from now on. Pantímon Go is a very dangerous app, and you shouldn't play it without parental guidance. For all you parents watching, don't let your children use this app without supervision!"

"Wait, what the hell is this?" Miyu demanded. "You mean you were trying to kidnap us?!"

"Whoa there," the Lab said, holding up his paws. "My name's Joey Coleslaw—I'm a kidnapping awareness activist! I make EwTube videos about how easy it is for kids to get into trouble on social media and stuff!"

"So this is just some stupid stunt done for EwTube views, is it?!"

Miyu grabbed the Labrador by the neck of his shirt, practically lifting him off his feet. Falco hurriedly tapped her on the shoulder, trying to calm her down.

"Hold up, Miyu! Don't get violent!"

"Do you have cameras on us right now?" Miyu glared at Joey Coleslaw, his face mere inches from her own.

"Y-y-yes we do!"

"Good!"

"B-but we blur your faces out, so it's all fine!"

"Oh yeah? Well blur this!"

The lynx kneed Coleslaw in the groin, then brought her tough skull slamming down on his after he keeled over.

Falco covered his beak with his wing, staring down at the motionless activist. "Ohoooo shit, girl! You dropped that bitch like a bar of soap in a washed-up celebrity star prison!"

"I'm coming for you next!" Miyu shouted into the bushes, pointing a finger. As expected the plants rustled and out jumped one of Joey's friends. Instead of checking on his friend, he dropped their camera on the sidewalk and took off down the street.

"Can you believe this pervert?" Miyu growled, kicking the Labrador in the stomach. "Everyone wants to ruin a good thing! I swear, the entire world is a killjoy."

"I'm subscribing so I can see when this video comes out," Falco laughed. "I can't wait to see Coleslaw get it in the nuts over and over again! And in slow motion, too!"

"Come on Falco, let's leave him." Before turning to stroll casually down the sidewalk, Miyu worked up a wad of saliva and spat on the helpless EwTuber for good measure.

As the pair disappeared down the street, Joey coughed out, "It was just a prank, bro..."


Still in pursuit of the illusive Quofing, Fox and Slippy navigated through the graveyard using their phones. Each was inextricably glued to his/her cellphone, zeroing in on the purple-colored necrophiliac. By the time they looked up at their surroundings it was much too late.

The pair of mercenaries had wandered into the middle of a funeral.

All around them were Lylatians dressed in somber black garb. White plastic chairs lined the green turf in rows, at the very head of which rested a dark oaken coffin flanked by displays of flowers. The funeral-goers eyed Fox and Slippy, but other than that they treated them as friends of the deceased, and didn't make a move to expel them from the gathering.

Fox grabbed Slippy's arm and bent down to hiss in his ear. "Slippy! We walked right into the middle of a funeral ceremony! What're we gonna do now?"

"According to my GPS, that Pantímon should be a few paces in front of us." They both looked down the rows of chairs at the coffin, gulping as they did so. After viewing the casket through their phones' augmented reality functions, they confirmed that Quofing was indeed inside.

"Slippy, I say we leave this instant! We can't play Pantímon Go during a funeral!"

"Fox, you have no idea how rare Quofing is! He only shows up at like 2% of graveyards!"

"Then what do you propose we do, huh? Just waltz right up there, whip out our phones, and throw Pantípairs at a dead person?!"

Slippy desperately glanced around the gathering of mourners, but he figured out a solution. "Fox, it's an open casket right now. All we have to do is get in line, pay the deceased our respect, and snatch that Pantímon off his carcass! Look at it this way; would you want to be buried with a farting monster for the rest of your life?"

"It only exists on our phones! It's not real!"

"I thought so. Now let's get in line and wait our turn!"

Reluctantly, Fox let Slippy drag him over to the line of mourners filing by the open casket. Nobody suspected a thing, but the pair garnered some judgmental looks for their inappropriate attire.

Once it was their turn to spend time with the deceased, Fox and Slippy huddled around the corpse and secretively pulled out their phones. In a series of hushed whispers, the mechanic-in-training instructed Fox on how to catch the Quofing, which Fox inwardly thought looked like a purple testicle with cancer. Through the phone's screen, the monster danced around the dead body, which was once an elderly female hare.

It proved difficult for Fox to snag it with a pair of panties, but when he finally did he could barely keep his celebration in check. Slippy quietly high-fived the vulpine, which still drew the attention of multiple funeral-goers. They turned to tiptoe away from the casket, but as soon as they did they heard a puff of air escape from behind them. They froze in place, clutching their cellphones.

"Slippy, was that Quofing again?"

"Nuh-uh," Slippy grunted. "Pantímon don't make noises once you've caught them."

"Well it wasn't me," Fox swore.

"Wasn't me."

The mercenaries slowly turned around to face the open coffin again, sweating as they stared wide-eyed at the motionless occupant.

"My god, the dead woman just quofed."

"Queefed, Fox. She queefed."


After a long afternoon of walking, Miyu and Falco stopped off at the park to rest up a bit. Instead of an actual supper, they each bought a pair of hotdogs and sat down on a park bench to eat. Miyu held her phone up for them again, and the pair managed to catch the most crucial moment of Pillory Clitoris' second public appearance of that day.

The female koala stood behind another podium, this time flanked by none other than Sandy Beavers. The aging socialist was looking pretty good, considering he died just a few hours earlier. Clitoris had him haphazardly propped up against the speaker's podium, and she had to stop him from falling over every few minutes as she spoke.

Once she was done talking, the koala let Sandy Beavers take her place at the dais. As she tried to mimic the old beaver's voice she opened and closed his mouth with her paws.

"Hello fellow college students! I am Sandy Beavers! I know I promised you all free shit, but Pillory has shown me the error of my ways. We were all smoking pot when we thought we could get free tuition and premium Pantímon Go accounts. It's time for you all to grow up and realize nothing is free. Not even free handouts, because the government still taxes those. As of this moment, I hereby suspend my run for chancellor, and endorse Pillory Clitoris! Yaaaay!"

"Booo!" the live audience erupted, throwing bottles, textbooks, and tin foil pipes at the stage.

"Well, that went over about as well as I expected it to," Falco commented.

"Don't lose hope, Falco," Miyu consoled him. "We can still support Sandy's dead body! Now if you'll excuse me, I need to use the little girl's room. Don't wander far."

"I'll be waiting," Falco answered. "Probably check on my embryos' progress. Just make it quick, and keep your eyes open for a Coprocobra in there."

"Will do."

After Miyu hopped off towards a row of portable restrooms, Falco opened his Pantímon Go app. While checking the development progress of his embryos, a notification came up signaling a Pantímon was nearby.

"Ohhhh shitnuggets!" Falco cried as he jumped up and spilled the tail end of his hot dog onto the ground. "It's an Arsenine! I gotta catch that little fella. Never gotten one of these before..." Falco glanced up from his screen, looking in the direction of the porta-potties. "I bet I could catch it before Miyu finishes... yeah, I'll only be gone a minute!"

Still nervously glancing towards the green plastic stalls, Falco set out after the Arsenine, sprinting as well as he could with his phone in one hand.

Meanwhile Miyu sat in a stuffy restroom cell, her phone out as well. She was flicking pairs of panties at a swaying Coprocobra on her screen.

"Say, whaddya know. You can play this game on the toilet!"


"Nice work, Fox!" Slippy congratulated his leader. Fox had just caught his fifth Choudmander in the graveyard that day, which meant it was time to combine them into their next gender form.

"Congratulations!" a peppy robotic voice droned from the app. "Your Choudmander transvolved into... Cameltoemeleon!"

Fox dropped his phone in the grass, then raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, you know what? I quit. I just quit! I'm done with this game. I don't even know how this was acceptable in the 90's, so I guess all of these jokes just flew over my naïve child head. What is this even rated? I wasn't going to comment on all the ridiculous, immature, stupid stupid stupid names they gave the creatures, because you three just seemed to go along with it. You acted like it was normal! Heck, even Clitoris acted like it was normal. But "Cameltoemeleon" is the last straw!"

Fox gestured down at the monster on his phone screen, at a loss. "What even is that? I feel like if this was in Zoness they'd blur it out with pixels! And that goes for all the rest of the Pantímons, too! Each one of them looks like it was doodled by an immature high school student on the inside flap of his biology textbook!"

"Easy there, Fox!" Slippy coaxed him, resting his hands on the vulpine's shoulders. "It's all for the reward. It's aaaaall for that big fat paycheck you'll receive from Clitoris tomorrow!"

Fox leaned against Slippy, panting from rage. "You're right, Slip. I-I'm sorry for that outburst." He clasped his hands and took a series of deep breaths, repeating, "Remember the money, remember the money, remember the money..."

"There you go," Slippy encouraged him. "Now, there's a Pantímon strip club in the mausoleum over there. If we visit it we can train your Pantímon to perform better, get them to higher levels, and even face off against other players. What do you say?"

At the mention of a Pantímon strip club in the middle of a mausoleum, Fox felt the volcano of angst boil up in him once again, but he bit his lip and forced it back down.

"Alright, we visit the... strip club," he grimaced. "Lead the way."

Together they walked the remaining distance to the mausoleum that sat on the edge of the cemetery. It was a large stone building made to house a dozen or so family members in a single, above-ground structure. The mausoleum was shaped like a classical temple, with a triangular pediment and columns that stood in rows around every side. At the bottom of a small set of stairs leading up to the structure was a stone plaque engraved with a series of words. As the two Lylatians passed, Fox paused in front of the plaque to read them aloud.

""Here lie the worldly bodies of the family—"" But Slippy grabbed his arm, cutting him off.

"Fox..." the amphibian intoned with much difficulty. "It's best if you didn't know."

Fox nodded, trying not to inadvertently read the rest of the plaque. "Yeah, you're right Slip. I shouldn't. Let's... let's get on with it, then."

The pair climbed the few short steps up to the raised dais surrounding the mausoleum, then slipped inside the heavy front doors. The family crypt was warmly lit by the orange beams of the sunset, which oozed in through multicolored stained glass windows. The walls and floor were made with finely polished blocks of granite, easily reflecting the bright speckles of light from the windows. The building itself was shaped like a Greek cross, with four separate wings extending in perpendicular directions. The walls of each passage were lined with roll-out coffins that operated in a similar manner to filing cabinets. Except instead of files they were dead people O.O At the ends of each hall stood large stained glass windows depicted various religious scenes. At the center of the mausoleum was a short decorative fountain surrounded by wilting flowers.

"This is a strip club?" Fox asked in disbelief.

"I'm one hundred percent certain," Slippy answered. "As we've told you, necrophiliac Pantímon live around here. Now forget about all the dead people and train your Pantímon."

"You're right. I can't let the past control my future, nor the dead control the living. Let's educate my Pantímon in the ways of perversion for the sake of Pillory Clitoris."

Fox began navigating through a series of menus in the app, but Slippy poked him in the side and pointed across the fountain. "Wait, we're not alone!"

"I know, there are like fifty or so dead people."

"No, there's someone on the other side of the crypt. Look!"

Fox followed Slippy's green digit towards the stained glass window across from them. Framed against the saturated window stood a black silhouette that look like it had come straight from the clearance section of Party City after Halloween was over. The definitely feminine figure strolled down the hallway and paused just on the other side of the fountain, now thoroughly illuminated by an overhead chandelier of candles.

At the sight of the girl, Fox felt his pulse jump into high gear. She was an astonishingly attractive onyx-furred panther, petite and unthreatening in size but with an icy scowl that could kill all on its own. She had short black hair with violet highlights that swept down the sides of her face, pointing forwards at anyone fortunate/unfortunate enough to face her. The amethyst prongs of hair looked like they could trap anyone who attempted to steal a kiss from her in an iron maiden.

Her wardrobe was an unconventional mix of gothic, costume, and contemporary fashion design. The panther wore a black velvet dress with a lace-up front and a purple blouse underneath. The top of her dress left her thin shoulders bare, while the long sleeves ended in decorative, draped frills around her gloved paws. The frills on her sleeves matched those lining her skirt hem, which fanned out around her thighs like a lampshade. Fox shamelessly let the outfit entice his eyes further downwards, following the skirt to her purple stockings with garter straps, and finally a pair of platform boots that must've gone out of style before either of them were even born.

But whereas most gothic outfits would have included silver accessories, she opted for gold instead; from her gold lip-piercing to a polished, upside-down cross necklace, the jewelry and chains matched her steely amber eyes. Completing the outlandish outfit was a black parasol made to resemble a spider web. The girl tapped her tall-soled boot, waiting for a response from either teammate.

While Fox had drooled all over his flight suit, Slippy had easily maintained his composure. The amphibian grabbed Fox's arm, dragging him down so he could hiss in his ear. "Fox, what's with this chick? Halloween is three months from now. Is she getting a head-start on trick-or-treat?"

Fox snapped back to reality, hurriedly sucking in the strand of drool dangling from his mouth. "She's a goth, Slippy," he whispered back.

"A goth?"

"Yeah, a goth girl. And I have a particular thing for goth girls, if you know what I mean, Slip."

Slippy eyed the extremely loud outfit over the small jets of fountain water. "That costume doesn't look very gothic to me."

"Goth girls can wear whatever the heck they want, Slip!" Fox angrily hissed, "As long as it's dark and edgy!"

"A trash bag is dark and edgy," Slippy shot back. "That suit has too much bling to be gothic."

"Have you no heart, Slippy?" Fox turned to face the wannabe mechanic directly, fixing him with judgmental eyes. "She's trapped inside a body she doesn't understand, in a world she never asked to be born into. She was probably abused by mean parents who told her it was just a phase, bullied and excluded at school by peers who didn't understand her, and laughed at by online trolls who make fun of her Twilight fanfics. Her only relief—her only escape from this hell of a life are her Evanescence albums, the pillow of Edward Cullen she cries herself to sleep on every night, and the razor blades she slits her wrists with in the bathroom."

"S-sorry, Fox, I-I-I didn't mean to be insensitive—"

"And it totally turns me on!"

Slippy paused with his mouth open, about to apologize further when Fox's last admission hit him in the face. "Whoa whoa whoa, so I'm the one without a heart? How can you get aroused by self harm?!"

"Never question another man's sexual preferences, Slip."

"You're only 18!"

"And with any luck, she is too," Fox concluded. "Now, are you going to help me get into those spooky purple garter straps or aren't you?"

Slippy grimaced and looked disdainfully across the trickling fountain, but eventually gave in to Fox's pressure. "Geez, I let you talk me into some doozies. Like skipping college to become a mechanic for a PMC outfit, for example. You want to impress her with your Pantímon skills, correct? Well here's your chance. You've joined opposing teams. You're on Promiscuity, and judging by her outfit, I'd say she's on Paraphilia. You know, I bet she's into Necrophiliac types, which is probably why she's camping out at this particular strip club."

Fox huddled closer to Slippy so their battle plans would go unheard. "Rats! It would've been easier if we were on the same team. Then we could work together, right? Instead I'll have to whoop that sweet Halloween candy ass in a dual! I can do that, right?"

Slippy nodded, then referred to his phone. "It says here she's the strip club's sugar daddy, meaning you'll have to defeat her to seize the club for your faction. She's several levels higher than you, so be careful. I'll stand by your side and guide you."

Fox visibly cringed at the thought of relying so much on Slippy. "Er, Slippy, I rather you not spoil my chances with this little pair of milk duds. Why don't you wait outside and give me hints through my earpiece?"

Slippy gave Fox a disgusted look of betrayal. "Wow Fox, that's surprisingly low for you. I bet you must feel pretty small right now. After all the trouble I went to, helping you build up Clitoris' account and all, this is how you repay me?" He shook his head. "Despicable. Just like Falco and Miyu. And I thought you were different."

Fox wrinkled his nose and stared above the amphibian's frame. "Yeah yeah, I'm a jerk. Now scram out of sight and give me those hints. Purple hoes before bros."

"I hate you," Slippy growled, exiting the mausoleum and checking his ear piece.

With Fox's embarrassing friend gone, the vulpine felt an awkward weight lift from his shoulders. He stood up, cracked his knuckles, then spun around to face his adversary. She seemed to realize that he wouldn't keep her waiting any longer.

"Well now, let's get down to business!" Fox exclaimed. "I've come to capture this Pantímon strip club for my faction, and you're in my way. I'm prepared to take it over your dead body, only you'd get off on something like that. And I'll totally do that if you wanted me to! Feel free to hand the strip joint over now, or completely throw the battle in my favor. I promise it'll be less painful that way."

The girl seemed taken aback by Fox's forwardness; she didn't pick up on the fact that he was faking it. Baring her eye-catching wardrobe, the panther seemed rather introverted. But she worked up the courage to respond, and not in the way Fox was expecting. The feline raised a small mechanical box to her neck, placing it against her vocal chords and holding a button down. The piece of equipment seemed to vibrate, and the sound escaping her lips sounded more robot-like than natural—incapable of pitch modulation, emphasis, or inflection.

"I'm prepared to fight. I don't want to lose this mausoleum to anyone."

Not wanting to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already did, Fox ignored the electrolarynx. He remembered one of the veterans James brought him to visit many many years ago using one as well. It had scared the crap out of him as a small child then, but he didn't want to make the cat feel embarrassed about it. Instead he just continued the conversation.

"Why are you so adamant about not losing this club? Is this the final resting home of your ancestors, and you don't want to dishonor them?"

The jungle cat's eyes narrowed, and she glared at Fox. "No, screw my family. I hate them all! I worked too hard for this cemetery strip club, and I'm not about to give it up." She had to jam the device against her throat to convey emphasis.

Fox crossed his arms, staring smugly out of the corner of his eye at his opponent. "And what is your name, thou witch?"

She appeared to falter before responding, "Black Mamba," which Fox immediately judged to be an alias.

"My name's Fox," he returned. "Well, Mamba... prepare to lose one graveyard strip club! Cameltoemeleon! I. Choose. You!"

With a dramatic flourish, Fox tapped several buttons on the pink phone before flinging it across the room like he would an actual Pantípair. The device bounced off the far rim of the fountain before clattering to a stop near Mamba's platform boots. From the other side of the mausoleum, the phone emitted a disappointing roar and a bit-crushed fire sound effect, barely audible over the water fountain.

Black Mamba placed the electrolarynx to her throat. "Did you actually just throw that at me."

"Yes, I totally did!" Fox confidently shouted. "It's what they do in the cartoon! But now it's your turn to choose, evil succubus!"

While Fox skirted the ornamental fountain to retrieve his phone, Mamba made her selection as well. Though when Fox stopped at her feet to pick up Clitoris' phone, she timidly took several steps away from him. This prevented Fox from staring up her skirt, which turned out to be exactly what he had planned by throwing said phone.

"Curses," he whispered, clenching his fist.

After Mamba made her selection, a ghostly blue and purple octopus appeared on Fox's phone, challenging his Pantímon.

"You are no match for a level 17 Hentaicle, Fox."

"We'll see about that," Fox smirked. Thrusting his hand forward like he remembered from the show, he shouted, "Cameltoemeleon, use..."

A/N: Look, for the sake of my audience and this story's rating, I will not be depicting a fight between one "Cameltoemeleon" and one "Hentaicle." You can easily find millions of similar videos in a new tab. Scene Change!


Once Falco reached the location of the illusive Arsenine, it disappeared from the GPS map.

"Dangit!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. The Arsenine had lead him into a back alley between a cheap Zonessian restaurant that served butchered dishes from said planet and a Parcheesi joint. Being in the afternoon, the alley received little light, and was only lit by a flickering incandescent bulb. Wet, crumpled newspapers, banana peels, and other trash littered the alleyway, giving it an unappealing look. Overhead, the Papetoonian breeze whistled between the gap in the two buildings, creating a natural haunting soundtrack. All of this combined to give Falco the willies.

Disappointed that he had just missed the Pantímon, and eager to escape the dismal alley, Falco turned to leave, when a notification buzzed on his phone. He glanced down at it, and was elated to see that Arsenine had returned.

Falco used the AR function on his phone to scour the alley, eventually realizing the Arsenine was hiding in the dumpster. He lifted the lid to the dumpster and raised his phone, but once again the Arsenine mysteriously vanished. In its place... was a collection of black military gear. Falco lowered his phone, gawking at the handguns, bullet belts, assault weapons, and tactical gear that rested in an open trash bag.

Falco moved to switch to his call function, intending to alert the Papetoon police, but Arsenine had once again materialized on his phone.

If you want to catch me, a dialogue box below the creature read, You'll have to take this gear.

Falco narrowed his eyes, recoiling from the phone. "Pshh, no! Why the heck would I do that? I mean, it's just an Arsenine. I don't want to risk getting caught with all these weapons just for some, for some..." His eyes wandered to the Pantímon's face, which was predictably shaped like a butt. He stared into the large, manipulative eyes on either cheek, feeling as if he could lose himself in them. Overall, the sensation felt like being hypnotized.

"Then again, Arsenine is a rare Pantímon," Falco heard himself mumble. "It's not like you have the opportunity to catch one every day. Who knows when my next chance will be. After all, if I get caught, I can just say Pantímon Go made me do it. Yeah, that's what I'll say!"

Falco reached into the dumpster, closing the trash bag around the weapons and slinging the pack over his shoulder. "Alright, Arsenine. Where to next?"

Go to the alley between warehouses 19 and 20, the dialogue box read. You will receive your next instructions there.

"Hot zippity!" Falco exclaimed. The app charted a path through a series of back allies that would keep him out of sight, ending between the specified warehouses. Falco cheerfully lugged his burden of tactical gear along said path, until he arrived at the warehouse district.

The location was perfectly removed from the public eye, with warehouses 19 and 20 situated on the very outskirts of town. Here the concrete roads ended before a vast sea of sand and clay hills. And in the last light of the setting sun, Falco could make out the black silhouette of an armored vehicle stationed near the alley's exit.

When he entered the backstreet, several ranks of Papetoonians met him, standing at attention as if they were military personal. Though each was dressed and armed with the same gear as Falco carried on his back, underneath the bullet-proof vests they wore regular civilian clothes, indicating they had just come off the street. Additionally, each had a phone opened to the figure of Arsenine, and each animal had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he wasn't completely present.

Falco looked down at his phone for instructions.

Put on your gear, Falco, Arsenine ordered him.

The avian did as he was told, strapping on the combat armor and ammo belts over his flight suit, then holstering his pistols and slinging the assault rifle over his shoulder.

I place these sheep under your control, Falco. Now climb inside the vehicle. In there you will find the remainder of your instructions... and your target.

It's for the Pantímon, Falco told himself, climbing into the armored truck. It's for the Pantímon! Arsenine made me do it. Pantímon Go made me do it!

Inside the vehicle, he found an open manila folder with several sheets of paper and prints of blurry images. Among the photos were a black limo, a group of bodyguards... and one female koala by the name of Pillory Clitoris.

Over the candidate's head, a red X was viciously scribbled.


"Cameltoemeleon, NOOOOOO!"

As Fox's Pantímon fainted and collapsed onto the virtual floor, Fox himself fell to his knees weeping. "We had so much to win, my Pantímon... my partner... no, my friend! We were so close to seizing this family tomb, yet so far!" He clenched his fist and gritted his teeth, bending over his phone. "But I promise you, by noon tomorrow I will win a strip club for your brethren to train at! Pole-dancing and everything, all in your memory!"

Black Mamba was taken aback by Fox's show of emotion. Throughout the battle, she had taken Fox's charismatic antics in stride, distinctly acting without emotion whereas her opponent exuberantly cheered and cried whenever something happened. Though he never made fun of her electrolarynx or outfit, his forced persona alone made her uncomfortable.

"It's just a virtual Pantímon," Mamba tried to coax him.

"Nonsense!" Fox shouted, raising a fist. "He became a great pal in the short space I knew him! ...or her... But-but I failed her as a trainer! And now she's dead—gone forever!"

Eventually, the panther worked up the courage to approach Fox. She gently kicked him in the side with a platform boot, then pointed with her closed parasol at his phone. "You know Pantímon don't die, right? You've at least seen the show, even if you are a noob."

Fox's jaw slowly opened in comprehension. "You're right! They're never killed in the show, they just get... knocked unconscious? KO'd? They faint?"

"They climax, and need to recharge," Mamba explained. "Just send your Cameltoemeleon to the infirmary and they'll give her the appropriate steroids."

In a sudden movement, Fox grabbed her boots and bowed low to the floor. "Thank you, Black Mamba! I never thought a demoness like yourself could be as charitable as an angel!"

Mamba recoiled, kicking Fox off her boots. "Yuck, weirdo! Don't get too close. But... come back again when you're really ready to fight me. I warn you; you still won't be able to wrest this strip club from me."

"We shall see about that."

The pantheress showed him to the door, allowing him to step back out into the warm night. But before she could close him out, Fox spun around and asked, "So before I go, by any chance could I get your number?"

SLAM

The door swung shut in his face, sealing his fate. Fox frowned and hung his head, resignedly walking down the stone steps. At the base he found Slippy sitting back against the dedication plaque, watching a video on his phone. He stepped over to the frog, glaring down at him and catching a few seconds of the video. The one and only Trump was giving another speech, and Slippy was engrossed by his choice candidate.

"...When elected, I am going to build a wall. And it's going to be a great wall. It's going to a beautiful wall—the best and tallest you've ever seen. I tell you, everyone's sick of this problem, and the law abiding citizens here are the ones paying for the crimes of others. I've said it once, and I'll say it again. I am going to Build. A. Wall. To keep out all these rampant Pantímon Go players—"

"SLIPPY!" Fox shouted down at his accomplice.

The wrathful outburst startled Slippy, who nearly dropped his phone before fumbling with and eventually catching it. He looked up at Fox, confused. "Oh, hi Fox. How'd your match go?"

Fox smiled evilly at Slippy. He bent over until he was mere inches from the frog's face, dropping the chivalrous, flamboyant act he kept up in front of Mamba. "I lost."

Slippy's cheeks turned red, resulting in a disgusting off-brown color only a Coprocobra would find attractive. "Oh, that's a shame, Fox. I was hoping you could steal that club from her."

"And do you know why I lost, Slip?"

"Maaaybe because you weren't a high enough level?"

"Because you stopped giving me instructions, that's why!"

Slippy grimaced, sliding back into the plaque and the ground to get as far away from Fox as possible. "Ah, well, everyone loses once in a while. Ass Ketchup couldn't win a match to save his life, and somehow still ends up with every badge in existence. Winning isn't everything, Fox. I thought the TV show taught you that."

"Oh no, winning isn't everything. Having a go at that tight pair of skull-covered panties is, but I lost that chance because my lifeline was watching a speech by the goddamn Antichrist! Do you know Trump killed one of us furries to get that mop of hair?"

It was Slippy's turn to get up in Fox's face. "Hey, he's not bald! But even so, I would happily sacrifice myself to rest atop that glorious head!"

Fox straightened back up, folding his arms. "You? The only hair you have is on your—... never mind, I wouldn't evoke that image on my worst of enemies. Alright Slip, I think we're even now. I kicked you out of that strip club for a chick, and you watched a Trump speech instead of helping me. Satisfied?"

"You still insulted my candidate..." Slippy pouted.

"I reserve the right to insult your candidate, regardless. Now the night is young, Slip, and we'll be out here till noon tomorrow catching as many Pantímons as possible. Are you gonna help me this time? Remember, it's for the good of Star Fox."

Slippy looked down, scratching his chin. "I dunno... we're technically helping Pillory Clitoris through this."

"Slip old pal, the first rule of being a mercenary is that you have no ties to anyone. As long as we're offered money, we serve, regardless of who the employer is. And who knows? Next week Trump may hire us to investigate some paranormal activity in his towers, and we all get gender-swapped in an awful parody of the new Ghostbusters movie."

"Really? 'Cause I would be so up for that."

"No, don't even think about quoting me on that."


Before noon the next day, Fox and Slippy had trudged home to Star Fox HQ. All through the night and early morning, they scoured the town for Pantímon until they drained it dry. Fox even managed to beat another player in a match, who for some reason was also up at the same ungodly hours as they were. But after witnessing a sunset and sunrise in the wrong order, and wearing their feet down all throughout town, they were completely exhausted.

Once they returned to the base, they were surprised to find Miyu present without Falco. Upon asking the lynx where he was, Miyu simply shrugged, explaining he had ditched her after she went to use the restroom. Miyu had turned in late the previous night, but as far as she could tell the avian never returned. Eventually they wrote it off as Falco being Falco—that is to say the blue party animal—and assumed he was lying wasted in a 24/7 bar somewhere, probably having blown all his money on hookers.

As the clock approached noon, they received a call from one of Clitoris' aides that they were en route to Star Fox's base. At this time James returned with the senior members of Star Fox from their own mission. To check up on his son's excursions, James met Fox in the reception area.

"Well now, Fox, I'm glad to see you didn't burn the place down while we were gone."

Fox didn't even look up from the reception area's computer, instead pulling up Clitoris' mission file. "Yes sir. But we did receive and fulfill a mission all on our own."

"Oh, really? What was it?" James propped his elbow up on the reception desk, sizing up the blank walls for some photo shoots he was planning. "And don't tell me you played video games for a contract again."

Fox opened his mouth to speak, but immediately closed it. Instead he focused on the mission file.

Understanding Fox's lack of a response, James lowered his sunglasses and rubbed his face. "Honestly Fox, you can hardly call that last one a mission at all, especially since they paid you in virtual money you couldn't actually use outside Arcadia. And I let you borrow the Great Fox to fly to some video game paradise out in space just for that? I swear if you don't get paid for this job—"

"Dad, dad chill!" Fox interjected. "We're getting paid! We took a job from Pillory Clitoris!"

"You accepted a contract from Pillory Clitoris?!" James exclaimed, studying Fox with wide emerald eyes. "Wow son, you really are growing up! I'm amazed you could put aside your political opinions and actually serve a candidate you didn't like. That right there: that really shows appropriate mercenary tact."

"No dad, I actually support Clitoris. I'm with herpes!"

"Oh..." James placed his sunglasses on so he didn't have to face Fox directly. "Well, son... Papetoon is a representative democracy, and Corneria is a free coalition. As a citizen, you're completely entitled to your decision, no matter what you choose or for what reasons. If that's your opinion, that's completely acceptable in the Lylat. You be you, Fox. Just know that..." He placed a hand on Fox's paw, leaning in close. "...I'll be praying for you and your decision."

Fox shook his father's paw off. "Screw you too, dad. Now would you please leave? We fulfilled Clitoris' contract, and I don't want you ballsing this up for us at the last second."

"Really now? What was the contract? What'd you have to do?"

Fox shamefully buried his face in the monitor, avoiding his father's gaze. "We caught a bunch of Pantímon for her."

"Cool beans!" James cried. "I would've loved that job! You know Peppy, Pigma, and I caught some rare ones on Katina! We even took over a strip club, but I don't think we'll be able to hold it since we're based on Papetoon."

"Et tu, father?" Fox moaned.

The sound of a rumbling motor reached the vulpines' ears.

"Oh, that must be the crusty hag now," James commented. "Well, I better be going. Give that granny a slap on the ass for your father. And if a finger or two slips in there son, you let it happen!"

"Dad!"

"Really son, I'm serious. If I was 20 years younger, and she was someone else, I'd totally hit that—"

"Wait, shhhh!" Fox hushed his father. "That doesn't sound right. Clitoris came in on a hover limo. That sounds like something much bigger—and with wheels, too."

"You're right..." James mused, perking up an ear. What followed next was a series of gunshots as the mystery vehicle swerved to a stop, causing both Fox and James to duck low. James crawled over to Fox beneath the desk, shouting over the gunfire.

"I thought you said your mission was to catch Pantímon!"

"It was, dad!" Fox whimpered.

"Then why the blazes do we have a shootout on our hands!"

"I-I don't know!"

James thought for a moment before replying, "They must've figured out Clitoris was coming here somehow, and decided now would be the best time to ambush her."

"You mean—!"

"Precisely Fox!" James fixed his dark shades on his son. "Someone's trying to assassinate Clitoris, and they're using Pantímon Go to do it! Do you know how many privacy issues that app has? Do you?!" He raised his wrist comm to his muzzle, angrily shouting orders into the communicator. "Pigma, Peppy, where the devil are you?! There's a gunfight outside and you're relaxing right in the middle of it! I know we just got back from Katina, but get your asses to the reception area, on the double!"

"On my way, James!" Peppy's response came.

"Sure thing, boss!" Pigma's followed shortly afterwards.

One after the other, Peppy and Pigma ran into the reception area, ducking down low when James urgently gestured for them to. Miyu and Slippy joined the gathering as well, also lying low to the floor. While Slippy cowered behind the desk, Miyu crawled nearer to James as he gave out orders.

"Listen up," James shouted. "Pillory Clitoris and her entourage are pinned down out there by some unknown assailants. The security feed shows an armored vehicle between her base and our limo. Whoever's attacking her, they sure chose the wrong PMC to mess with! Pigma, Peppy, we'll attack from behind the vehicle and force them away, allowing Clitoris to take shelter in our base. Junior squad, I want you all to stay here. Just keep the old witch safe and get her to pay up on that contract. I don't want any of you to get hit by a stray—Miyu!"

Apparently Miyu wasn't having any of that. Not content with cowering inside their base, she ran on all fours towards the front door and slipped outside. Soon the gunfire was broken with the sound of her laser-based blaster.

"Dammit! That girl's got spunk," James cursed. "Alright Peppy, Pigma, you're with me. Let's go!"

The hare and stocky pig—stocky being a conservative description—tailed James to the door, running out with weapons blazing. Fox hunkered down behind the door, waiting to receive Clitoris when she came and watching the firefight with excitement. At last, James and his team forced the armored vehicle and the black-clad assailants away from Clitoris' limo, allowing her to park in front of the reception area. The elderly koala jumped inside, surrounded by a wall of body guards.

"Mrs. Clitoris!" Fox greeted her. "We have a safe room in back. If you would kindly follow me—"

"Sorry Mr. McCloud, I've got a speech in front of several big donors I have to attend in ten minutes. I will however take my phone." And she grabbed the jewel-studded device from Fox's paws.

"W-w-wait a minute!" Fox exclaimed as the koala made to enter her limo again. "We fulfilled your contract! You still have to pay us!"

"Oh, about that," Clitoris sighed. "Universal media coverage of Pantímon Go has turned negative, so my PR consultant has suggested I distance myself from it. The game is just connected to too many crimes, and all video games regardless of genre foster toxic male masculinity and violence, resulting in rampant serial killers. I have one study from 25 years ago with unclear results to prove it. Oh, and Macrohard just became my second biggest donor. I'm afraid I won't be able to use those Pantímons after all. Toodle-loo!"

The candidate turned to exit the building just as a stray bullet struck the concrete wall next to her hand. "Eep!" she cried, emitting a rush of air from her nether regions. And as a foul stench filled the air, she left the compound and drove off in her limo.

Fox and Slippy stood in the open door frame, watching the hover-car tear across the sand.

"Did she just... did she just queef?" Fox asked, jaw dropping.

"No Fox," Slippy answered in a serious tone. "And that's what scares me. That, my dear friend, was in fact a quof."