I squirt insulation grease into the microfiber rag and fold it in half. I rub it together until the rag is moist, then I pick up Carmen's cycling chamber and massage the grease into her connecting ends. Once that's finished, I brush the interior of her battery housing. Then her battery. There's a knock as the utility room door opens. In walks a female rabbit with all white fur and greenish eyes and a body that I should want to kill for. She wears the smart green uniform of a Junior Lieutenant like she's going to a sexy costume party.

If anyone else was here, I would stop what I was doing. I would stand and salute like I'm supposed to when an officer walks in. But no one is here, and because it's Hera, all I do is nod. She looks me up and down like she's trying to find something written on my body.

Months and months have passed since the Merriweather family buried their military boy.

"How's it going?" she murmurs, the acoustics of the metal room magnifying her voice.

"Good as could be expected," I shrug, piecing my rifle back together.

"Peppy said he missed you after the border skirmish with that Fortunan scout fleet. You disappeared after the debriefing."

"I came here. Didn't feel like talking."

Hera puts the full force of her lungs into breathing out of her nose. She paces to the side like an animal in a cage.

"Any idea what you're doing for shore leave on Aquas?"

I snap another piece of Carmen together.

"I'll be around."

Hera sighs.

"Are you in one of your moods now?"

I finish reassembling my rifle by snapping the gas magazine into the housing. It's not my fastest assembly time, but well within expectations for a Marine of my experience.

"Suppose I am," I mutter.

"Look," Hera says, "I've wanted to talk. You've changed. You've stopped trying to make friends on the ship. You're hot and cold with everyone, even me and Peppy. Two weeks ago you told me that I mattered more than ever to you. Now it feels like you're avoiding me."

I look up at her. I dig deep for something I can tell her. Something that will make it better. I'm empty.

"Sorry," I tell her.

She holds herself and looks off to the side. It looks like she shivers, but I know she's never cold on the ship. She told me that she was bred to live in space.

"When this started, I enjoyed it. It was worth the trouble," Hera whispers, "I like you, James. I think you like me, too. Both of us knew this wasn't going anywhere serious, but I don't think we were looking for that in the first place. We were fine as long as brass looked the other way."

"Figure I'm not worth the trouble now?"

"I know he was your friend. From what I can piece together about your past, you've lost people. It takes a lot for you to get close, and I think maybe you're trying to keep your friends at a distance because you're afraid of how it would feel to lose them."

"Do me a favor. Leave the shrinks out of this."

"Maybe I could if you were willing to talk to someone!" Hera snaps, "According to your records you never once saw a counselor. Peppy says you shut down when he tries to bring up Kent."

"Are you sure you wanted to talk? This sounds like an inquisition."

"Then talk. Say something."

"Seems you've got enough to say for the both of us," I tell her.

The flesh of her face must be blazing red. Her fur is turning pink.

"Maybe you don't care about yourself at all, or maybe that's the only thing you do care about, but one way or the other people care about you. When we see you bottling everything up, we don't think that you're fine. It makes us think one day, you're going to collapse under the pressure. We want to help you, but we can't do that if you don't let us in."

I look down at the ID tags hanging from my neck, at the rifle in my hand. I think about how I got here, and if any of it still matters.

"Maybe… Maybe I've been collapsing since before you and I met. Maybe you just didn't notice until now. Did you think of that?"

Her bottom jaw tightens and she won't look at me.

"I can't talk to you when you're like this. If you change your mind and pull your head out of your ass, I'll be in the rec room. Peppy's coming down after he's done at the firing range and you should join us. You don't even have to talk. You can just sit there with Peppy and me and the others on this ship who care. We'll buy you a drink. You could use a few."

"Is that an order, sir?"

"Fuck you, Marine."

Hera shakes her head, maybe with disgust, as she makes her exit. The shimmy of her cottontail doesn't make me smirk anymore.

I wait a few minutes to make sure I won't run into her. I grab my helmet and stroll down the corridor. I was on guard duty at one of the Diamond's weapons lockers before my square-away time, and I haven't bothered to take off any of my armor or gear yet.

It could be fate. It could be a coincidence supporting a conclusion that the universe doesn't pick sides and is largely indifferent to us all.

Don't look at me for an answer. I just work here.

I don't see it when it flies out of the timeless void of space, crossing the path of the Seventeenth Flotilla. I hear it, just like everyone else hears it, not with my ears but in my head. A chirruping screech like wind chimes made of broken glass. It tears through my skull. I drop my helmet and grab both sides of my head. Fall to my knees and cry out loud as the scream scrambles my grey matter.

The action stations alarm rings out as the scream dies. I grab my helmet and heft Carmen back over my shoulder, sprinting down the hall to a narrow viewport.

There's no other way to describe the thing that has appeared in the middle of the Seventeenth's formation: a moth, almost the size of the Diamond Sky itself, with a crowned head and two pairs of chittering mandibles and a long gray abdomen. Four enormous wings stretch from each side of the beast like an angel, glittering with purple and blue metallic scales and yellow eye shapes like peacock feathers. It seems to move by flapping the eight wings, even though there's no air in space to flap against.

Dreadnaught-class cruisers in the fleet launch fighters and Aries-class patrol ships fire clouds of blue laser blasts. The moth scatters the bolts with a flap of its wings and the head swivels around to face the Diamond Sky. There aren't any pupils in the purple compound eyes but I know it's looking at me. I can feel it.

The moth spreads its wings and another scream splits my head. The pain swells right in my eyes like they're being crushed with a nutcracker. Something breaks through and I see flashes of crystal palaces. Swarms of crablike creatures with pink eyes. Massive four-legged monstrosities crashing through the towers of Corneria City.

Then it's like every voice I've ever heard speaks to me at once. They tell me that what I have seen is the future.

I'm looking into the moth's eyes as the scream ends. The wings fold together into a pod-shape around the body, and it tilts to the side as one end of the pod glows bright yellow. A thin orange beam sears out of the end into the Trafalguis-class cruiser Green Knight, slicing the ship like a cake. The beam sweeps across the Flotilla and blows apart four more support ships. The explosions illuminate the blackness and then the moth spreads its wings again, throwing out tiny pod-like objects that streak through space like guided missiles with faint green trails. They bury into the surrounding ships in the Flotilla.

Then the floor quakes and the alarms take on a different, more urgent tone.

"DANGER! Hull breaches detected! All personnel avoid Deck Frames C-21 and E-43. Pressure suits are advised," a computerized voice announces from the intercom.

I strap my helmet on and release Carmen's safety. Then I sprint down the corridor.

The rec room is in Deck Frame E-42 and so is Hera.

Marines and fleet personnel rush past as I watch the frame markers fly by and look for a ladder down to Deck E. My comlink is full of frantic messages from CIC. Damage control teams requesting Marine support for sealing the decompressions. A few moments later, they're telling us to put on hazmat gear and be on guard for biohazards.

"All Marines, be advised!" My comlink shouts as I pass Deck Frame D-39, "Code Yellow, repeat Code Yellow. All Marines take arms and secure damage control, auxiliary life support and CIC above all other priorities."

My pace slows as crewmates swarm by. Four years with the Marines and I've never heard a Code Yellow. It's means we've been boarded by an enemy.

I switch to an open channel and charge into Deck Frame D-40 and start looking for a ladder alcove.

"Hera! Hera, it's James! If you've got a comlink then say something!"

I keep shouting and I hear dozens of crackled, panicked voices. One of them sounds like Peppy.

I bump into an avian just as I hear her.

"James…"

"Hera tell me where you are."

The alarms are almost too loud to make out what she says.

"In the rec room. Something happened… an explosion or something. I can't move."

"I'm gonna be there soon babe. Hang on."

I grab both sides of the ladder and slide down to Deck E. Gray smoke stings my eyes. The yellow alarm lights spin like ancient lighthouse beacons through the murk.

"Don't. It's really bad here, James. I think… I think there's something here…"

Carmen is heavy in my arms as I charge through the smoke. I'm breathing deep breaths and coughing but I'm still stomping forward.

"James…" Hera croaks, "Oh God."

Then she screams. I hear it in my comlink and it echoes down the corridor.

"HERA!"

I sprint forward and duck my head low so I don't breathe smoke. She never stops screaming as long as I keep running. It only gets louder. Something runs past in the smoke, something shaped like a person but different.

Her screams get louder, then something chokes them off. She's screaming, choking, gurgling, then screaming again, higher.

I'm almost there and I trip over something, bashing my helmet into the bulkhead. I look back and there's someone wearing a damage control suit. He's lying on the floor and it looks like there's something on his face but I don't stop to check. The open doorway to the rec room is up ahead, cast in flickering orange firelight. Hera's screams reach a fever pitch, then silence.

My tail is stiff and cold. It senses, before the rest of me, that I'm about to see something I'll take to my grave. The chemical taste of the smoke is on my tongue, dribbling down the fur of my chin as I heave into the orange glow. Just before I do, there's a chittering screech like a cicada in the next room.

The flames are coming from a massive hole in the wall of the rec room, leading into Deck Frame E-43. A gas line ruptured with the rest of the wall and the safety systems haven't stopped it from becoming a flamethrower. Overturned tables and bodies of my crewmates are scattered around the floor. In the back of my mind, I see and process these details, but only one thing really matters and it's right in front of me.

Someone took pieces from a mantis and a scorpion and threw them together, then painted the thing a dark, polished purple. It stands two meters tall and cradles Hera close to its stomach in four glistening arms. Her uniform hangs in shreds, supple white curves against a purple exoskeleton. Head pressed into the horrifying insect face, green eyes gaping into six staring globular rubies. For a moment I think she's kissing it. A strangled retch escapes her lips and I see the bug jamming something thick and long and throbbing down her throat. Her arms and legs jerk as it worms the tube deeper into her body.

I hear myself howl. Carmen comes up and two laser bolts plow into the bug's carapace. The tail spasms and it throws Hera's pale body to the floor, the probing long tube lashing out of her mouth slick and wet.

Two more shots tear into its face as it skitters towards me holding its tail erect, screaming like a teapot. I lurch back and flip a switch on Carmen's side, holding down the trigger. Instead of spraying rapid-fire shots, there's a whirring sound as gas builds up in the chamber. The bug spreads its claws and rears up in the rec room doorway, showing me its stomach.

I thank the bug by releasing Carmen's trigger, and she sends an armor-dissolving disruptor shot into the thorax.

The shot burns bright and orange for just a moment and the thing screams, glows and disintegrates in a flash of yellow that shoves me against the bulkhead. I gasp in smoke-filled air and lunge through the fluttering cloud of ash back into the room. There's a crackle on my comlink. Peppy rallying the Marines for a charge on Deck Frame C-21. It might as well be a light year away.

I step over the bodies towards Hera's sprawled, naked form. I croak her name, but I'm too familiar with the limp way she's lying there, like a sack of meat. I think of how I've blamed her, how Kent could have lived if I'd stayed with him instead of saving her. Now she needs to be alive. I can't fail them both.

"Hera?" I whisper again, crouching down, reaching. I can't turn her over. I'm afraid of what I'll see.

Hera does it herself.

First her arm stirs, stretching to push against the floor. There's a second where it feels like hope, rising in my chest. Some part of me knows something's wrong because I stand rather than help her up. Then she lets out a rattling breath and her head swivels at me. I shrink back, holding Carmen tight. Horror punches me in the gut.

Hera's eyes are milked over, quickly darkening to a dull purple. Her mouth gapes pornographically open, a jellied mix of spit and blood sliding over her lips. Her lips and eyelids are black, flaking away like chipping paint, revealing glowing green cracks in her skin.

I stumble against the wall at the edge of the hole. My tail hides between my legs as the flaming gas line sputters and dies. Hera stands and stretches her arms at me, offering her naked corpse. Her head hangs back over her shoulders like it's too heavy for her neck. Her body summons memories of frantic post-briefing quickies in her cockpit and thrusting shore leave trysts, but I can't stop picturing myself fucking a slack-jawed corpse with dull purple eyes. Whatever is inside Hera's body has defiled my memories of her. Infected them.

The hot, violent disgust in my stomach, so much that my knees almost buckle, is the reason I don't shoot her. The spell breaks the moment I look away and see the bodies of a dozen other crewmates rising from the ground, purple-eyed with glowing green cracks in their flesh. I groan loudly and put a shot through Hera's face. She stumbles back, then keeps coming until I put three more shots into her chest. My eyes are hot and my cheeks cramp with how long they've been pulled away from my jaws. My vision blurs with moisture. It's still clear enough to see the other walking dead surround me.

I dive through the hole, into Deck Frame E-43. I can't tell what the room used to be because all the equipment is gone except for the heaviest stuff bolted to the floor. It's a hallmark of a room that's suffered a decompression. I don't question how the hull breach was sealed. The moaning of the corpses in the next room occupies my brain down to the stem.

But when I flip around, bringing Carmen up to the hole in the wall, it's impossible to miss the glowing mass plugging the dented bulkhead. A hexagon of black resin, dark roots securing it into the Diamond's hull, a faint honeycomb-like sheen visible in the glowlamps. A translucent bubble in the center of the hexagon glows bright greenish-yellow, three black horns extending from the black resin as if to protect it. The bubble looks like a globule of the orange salmon caviar that Connor likes to put on his eggs every morning, only the size of a beach ball. The analogy is uncomfortably close when I see a tiny copy of the bug I just blew away writhing inside the bubble, no bigger than a lobster and growing larger by the second.

My brain wipes over the despair of watching Hera die then having to kill her again for just long enough. I earn my nickname and piece it together. The pods that the moth shot out into the Flotilla.

The pods pierce the ships and create these things to plug the holes up. The plugs hatch the giant bugs, and the bugs kill or infect the crew with… something. Killing them just so they can rise from the dead like cartoon zombies. Soon enough, the ships are overrun, one way or another.

The dead crewmen start coming through the hole, reaching for me. Years later, I will wonder how I kept together in the middle of all the horror.

"CIC, this is PFC J. McCloud," I growl into the comlink, unclipping the three concussion grenades from my belt, "Prepare to seal Deck Frames E-42 and E-43. Damage control untenable. Code Yellow."

I tear the foil wrapper off the bottom of each grenade, exposing the microadhesive. I stick one on each side of the egg hatcher. The bug inside seems to understand and starts squirming against the membrane, grown to the size of a small water pig. An undead shepherd dog dressed like a Marine moans and claws for my helmet. I whirl around and blast him in the stomach, then the chest. He falls back, still squirming to get up, as the others close in.

I stick the third grenade to the hull, right under one of the hatcher's roots, then shrink against the wall as twisted hands reach for my face. The baby bug's claw pierces the egg membrane with a splatter of glowing yellowish pus.

"Remote arm!" I snap, and in the corner of my visor three red icons appear stacked one on top of the other, the word ARMED next to each. Tiny red lights blink on the grenades.

I duck under the arms of the zombies, butt-stroking a uniformed feline in the chest and bolting for the doorway.

"PFC McCloud, CIC. Acknowledged. Deck frame seal in twenty seconds."

I hear it in my comlink but I'm too busy running to respond. I don't remember starting the grenades on a fifteen second-fuse, but the seconds are ticking down in red at the corner of my visor. The dead moan as I thump down the corridor. There's a cicada-scream and a skittering of heavy insect legs behind me. I don't dare look back. The twisted shadow on the wall is enough.

Get out before they seal it. Get out before it blows. Run. Keep running.

Eight seconds on the counter. Seven seconds. Six. Five.

The ship's hull rattles with an explosion. The floor rocks under my feet and throws me into the wall, then flat on my chest. The bug chitters and I roll over, trying to bring Carmen up but her sling snags tight on a bulkhead support. She slips out of my hands, the sling looping around my armpit as the bug looks down with six red eyes.

It raises a pair of claws, whipping its tail into the wall with a crash. Wet mandibles chitter together and the probing tube slithers out from between them. A groan rises deep inside my body as the thing's leg brushes my foot.

Zero. A flash before the blast wave smacks my face. I blink and the bug is dragged away by the roar that space makes when there's nothing stopping it from tearing apart everything keeping you alive. A body in a damage control suit flies overhead, bouncing from wall to wall before disappearing. Warping metal screeches. The walls of the corridor tear away and I'm lifted from the floor. My lips pull away from my teeth, and my mouth and nose are sucked dry of moisture. I stare into the star-dotted blackness. Carmen's rifle sling digging painfully into my armpit is the only thing stopping the vacuum from dragging me by my feet, down the corridor. Throwing me into the hungry void.

I think about letting go. Joining Kent and Hera and Sophie in the silence. Cradled in the stars forever. It would be so much easier than all this fighting. I'll let the blackness take me away.

Mother. You knew how I loved the stars. How much I wanted them. You promised I could have them. It wasn't until now that I understood why. Among the stars was the chance to find you.

Somehow, under the roar, I hear Peppy's gravelly voice on the comlink. Calling for reinforcements. The Diamond Sky is going down.

I look into the stars, remembering that night better than any moment over the sixteen years since. About what she said to me before she vanished from my life forever.

Even when it's darkest… Never give up. This isn't how I die.

I twist and grip Carmen's rifle sling with my other arm. Up near the ceiling, less than a meter past my feet, is a deck frame marker that reads E-43. A pressure door slams down from the ceiling and cuts off the roar. I flop down on the floor and untangle Carmen's sling, kissing her stock for everything she's done for me. One second later I'm on my feet. I'm still armed and I'm still breathing, and exactly that much is right in the world.

I charge down the hall, looking for a ladder. I make my way to Deck D, then Deck C. The ship quakes throughout my journey. The occasional passing viewport gives me a view of the moth tearing through the Flotilla. A pulse laser blast from the Diamond shears off a petal from one of the wings, and in retaliation the moth destroys another support ship.

Frenzied messages from Peppy as I sprint through Deck Frame C-26. One more panicked call for reinforcements. They're being overrun. I pick up the pace even though my lungs burn for air. I almost run right past the next zombie without realizing it. A scrawny equine swings an arm and croaks at me. I whirl around with Carmen's butt dug into my shoulder, pausing for just a second to be sure. The purple eyes and green cracks over the equine's flesh tell me enough. Two shots in the chest to knock it down. Three more until it stops moving.

I continue on and the zombies get thicker, traveling in packs of three or more. Most of them are dressed like Marines. It gets easier just to run past them than to take the time to shoot them all. They don't use guns and can't run that fast.

Passing under Deck Frame C-21, I hear a familiar voice yelling out and the sound of gunfire. A glowpanel swings loose from the ceiling and blaster-hits blacken the hallways. I'm cautious of all the bodies I'm stepping over, but none of them spring to life as I charge through the medbay door. Beds are flipped over and a hovering suppression droid is trying to put out a fire on the autosurgeon machine.

Blaster shots streak across the space. Around the corner, I see Peppy and two other Marines firing into an enclosing group of zombies, led by a chittering bug at the rear. The zombie crowd grabs and consumes one of the Marines, his screams piercing the ceiling. Peppy and the other Marine shout and fire, falling back behind a barricade made of stacked crates. I shoot the zombies in their backs, aiming for whatever spot puts them down the fastest. Blowing their legs or head off seems to work best.

I'm able to put about six of them down before anyone notices. Some of the zombies turn around and Peppy yells something. The bug screeches and skitters forward. Eight zombies start closing in, and I manage to mow down three before they get too close. I let Carmen hang by her sling and feed my sidearm to a zombie Labrador, blowing the top of his skull off. A feline's claws rake into my armor plates as I lurch back. I grab the corners of a hover-stretcher and swing it into an undead rat wearing a deck gang uniform. I make a battering ram of the stretcher and knock another two zombies on their back, then pin a badger in an officer's uniform against the bulkhead with it. I bring Carmen up with one hand and press her barrel into his face, then pop his skull like a balloon. I put two shots into the heads of the other two zombies before they can get up from the floor, then I kick the rat back down to the ground and stomp his skull. It caves inwards with a sickening crack, gushing black and red across the ground. I put two in his heart for good measure. Then I blow the legs off an avian in a nurse's uniform before she can climb over the barricade and claw Peppy's face. Then I hear Peppy yelling. Firing shot after shot into the bug as it slams the Marine next to him up against the wall and shoves a tube into his face. I charge Carmen up and fire the shot into the bug's back. It burns away in a yellow flash that knocks the crates over and puts Peppy on his ass.

There's a moment of quiet, which is odd because I know the alarms are still howling. Peppy looks at me breathlessly, at the sprawled bodies of undead crewmates. I swallow and walk over to the slumped body of the Marine, checking for a pulse. He missing one, and part of me is glad. I don't want to think about what it might look like for these things to infect something that's still alive. I put two shots in the Marine's head to make sure he won't get back up, then I turn to Peppy.

He gets to his feet with a wince, touching his side, stretching his shoulders out.

"What happened to you?" he grunts, unable to stop looking at the sprawled corpses.

"I ran out of clever things to say," I tell him, "So I thought I'd better save your ass instead."

He looks at me, puzzled and almost angry. Then he remembers something he once said, far away from here, and lets a single weary laugh escape his mouth.

"You son of a bitch," Peppy mutters, a faint suggestion of a smile crossing his face.

"What's the sit-rep?"

"We're losing. Last I heard, us and Blackbird are the only cap-ships left. Our warp drive's out so we can't retreat. CIC went dark two minutes ago."

I glance up at the ceiling. "That's only one deck above. What about reinforcements?"

Peppy's mouth stretches, something between a smile and a frown. "Just the two of us," he grunts.

"Shit. How up to speed are you on these things?" I say, kicking a zombie corpse. I notice that the cracks in the skin have stopped glowing.

"I got the gist. Bugs came off the moth-thing. When they get through the hull, they kill whatever they find. The ones they kill get back up as freaks. Not sure if the freaks infect people too. Don't let them touch you."

"I wasn't gonna shake their hands. What about the bug-hatcher? There was another hull breach up here."

Peppy clears his throat.
"Damage control managed to seal off the breach and torch the pod that ate through the hull. A few of the baby bugs must've gotten out before they did. They grow fast. Full-sized one snuck up behind them and then tore through a bulkhead. We were trying to secure this place before you came, but we need to get to CIC before we lose the ship."

I nod and we nervously make our way to the corridor. Peppy, always with his head on the mission, surprises me with the next thing he says.

"Did you see Hera before this whole thing started? I know she wanted to talk…"

I press my teeth tight together and jet a breath out of my nose.

"She's gone," I answer.

Peppy's face sinks. His efforts to keep a stiff upper lip are fruitless this time.

"Jim…" Peppy whispers, "I'm so sorry."

I swallow and try not to go back to that place, to her glassy eyes and the intimate memories that will never be the same.

"CIC," I grunt, "We've got to get to CIC. If Pepper's still alive, we'll find him there."

We take off into the collapsing ship. No clever comments are traded. We take every step dreading that the ship will crack apart any moment. We encounter swarming zombies and the occasional chittering bug, and we deal with them the way Marines are expected to. We watch each other's back. I save Peppy's life almost as many times as he saves mine.

Colonel Pepper is the only one still alive when we reach the CIC. Back pressed against the transparisteel viewport, he fends off the encroaching horde of zombies with his sidearm. Peppy and I mow the zombies down with charged shots, flanking them on both sides, until the last one falls. We help a bewildered Pepper to his feet. Against all expectations, the Diamond Sky has managed to hold herself together.

The viewport frames the giant moth, flapping enormous wings. The head swivels until the compound eyes are facing us. I can feel it looking at me. With a final scream, it vanishes into the depths of space.

I knock my head back, the glass to my lips, with a hoot of encouragement from surrounding patrons. The whiskey burns its way down my throat, fueling the furnace in my chest. Peppy and I smack our shot glasses into the surface of the bar together, sliding them to the right. The glasses clink up against the tight group of six others. I don't remember ordering the third shot, and I don't remember drinking it.

But I must have, because I've just finished my…fourth? Right. My fourth.

"Hey," Peppy croons, leaning over the bar at the burly amphibian bartender, "Whaddaya got on draft in this place? I think we—we—we better pace ourselves, yannoe Jim? Else we might get drunk."

"A little late there, Peps."

The bartender wears a leather vest over a stained white A-shirt. His green flesh bulges with a kind of bulkiness that I can't decide whether he's more fat or muscle, and it's probably not worth finding out. The twisted half-smirk on his wide mouth says that he can't decide whether he's going to tolerate us or look for excuses to throw us out.

"Favorite draft in Krakenport is Whale Watch Lager," he belches.

"How 'bout something to wash out the taste of barnacles and fish? I've had it in the back of my mouth since we landed in this city. It's in the air," Peppy remarks.

I try to hide the snort coming out of my mouth. The bartender's nostrils flare and his thin lips purse up. I think he's made up his mind.

"A pair a' Luath Drafts, please," Peppy grunts, cutting the bartender off as he opens his mouth to respond. The frog starts making rounds along the rest of the bar.

Peppy flops back to his stool, his dust-colored ears swaying. He rocks from side to side and glances over at me.

"Commendations. Promotions. Hell, they're talking about a medal for the two of us, Jim. Can you believe it?"

The good feelings brought on by the booze and chuckles slide away.

"I hear they do that when you save the ship from going down and rescue the flag-officer."

"They're reassigning Pepper, too," Peppy grunts, "He's moving up in the world. Office in the Citadel and everything. That'll come in handy, don't you think?"

"In handy for what?"

"Putting in a good word for us! I wanna transfer to the Flight Academy on Corneria. Trade up the jarhead uniforms for a pair of wings and a fighter with my name on it. You should come with me! I'm sure Pepper would smooth the transfer out for a pair of the Commonwealth's newest heroes. And, yannoe, they want to keep us happy so we'll keep quiet about what we saw. That… moth, and what it did. Easier to go with the official story and act like we ran into an unplotted meteor shower on the way back."

"You're yelling," I sigh. Peppy giggles and lowers his voice, as well as his head, for a few moments.

"C'mon though," Peppy mutters, "You're tellin' me you can't see the possibilities? For the future?"

"I keep seeing the past. Like the ten thousand people who died around us a month ago. Hera was one of them. That doesn't give you trouble sleeping?"

Peppy's face falls and he puts a hand on my shoulder. He looks around the length of the bar, but no one is paying attention.

"Of course it does, Jim. Not a night goes by that I don't think about it. But my way's always been to try my best to move on. Rebuild. Use what time I've got left on the living. I'm not saying I don't grieve. Just that…if you keep dwelling on it all the time, instead of letting it lie, what are you doing except prolonging your pain? And what for? She's not in pain. Kent's not in pain, either. They're beyond it, James. They wouldn't want us to suffer, just for the sake of their memories."

I shrug away from his hand and look down at him. With the amount of alcohol in both of us, I'm not sure how to act. There's a dangerous level of truth in both of our voices.

"If we move on and let it lie, how does their death mean anything?"

"Who says death has to mean something? People die all the time for pointless reasons that don't make sense. Isn't it more important that someone's life means something? The legend of a person is written in tha' days of their lives, not the hour of their deaths…who was it said that?"

"Lord Drake. The first poet laureate. He—th— said it the day Cornerus the Great died. When they crowned Lucius Cornerian the first King of Kings."

The words come out in a monotone, like I've had the answer memorized for some time. At some point, the burly frog placed two pints of Luath Draft in front of us.

"Hey, that was pretty quick for a fox that skipped college. You didn't have to use the InterLink or anything," Peppy smiles, elbowing me in the side.

"There was a lot of poetry in my childhood," I remark. I reach for my drink, hoping it can wash away some of the memories my answer dredged up.

Peppy's hand catches my forearm and I can't hide the annoyed scowl when I look at the rabbit. It's hard to keep it up when he's got that homespun smile underlining his warm brown eyes.

"Look," Peppy says softly, "They would've wanted us to live our lives. If Kent was still here, he'd be right behind us asking… where he could sign up for flight school. If Hera was still here, she'd be ragging on all of us until we could join her in the skies. This is what I want. I think you'd like it, too. She was teaching you to fly, wasn't she? We could watch each other's backs, like we've done all this time. Tell me you'll think about it."

I can't say no to that face. Especially after four shots of aged whiskey.

"I'll think about it," I say, just quiet enough that only his long ears can pick it up.

"That's the ticket," Peppy nods, belching, then wrapping his furred hands around the glass of Luath Draft and raising it up, "To Kent, and Hera, and the Seventeenth. Hoo-rah."

"Hoo-rah," I echo.

We clank our glasses together and drink deep and long. There's still more than a few sips in the bottom of our glasses when Peppy slams his down on the bar. He spins around and slips off his seat.

"Time to break the seal. I gotta piss," he tells me, disappearing towards the refresher. I raise my glass in support of his mission as I take another sip. I set it down and look into the foaming amber brew.

The booze brings out the weakest parts of me. I can't stop dwelling on it. Death is an reality for a Marine. We're trained to deal with it. Why does it feel so hard to move on?

Sophie. Kent. Hera.

I suppose Colonel Pepper is my friend. He's invited Peppy and I to his quarters enough times. Expressed his interest in following our careers after saving his life. Maybe, as a superior officer, he considers himself more of a substitute father to both of us, which makes my fur bristle.

I know Peppy is my friend, but there's still an undercurrent that I can't verbalize. Something that we haven't figured out yet. At the beginning of this year, I would've jumped at the chance to enroll in the Flight Academy. There's a level of prestige to it. Perhaps the opportunity to command a position of military pride, to better rebuff any future interactions with Connor.

But now, the Cornerian military seems to have only brought me death and disappointment. Flight school will be an exercise in remembering what Hera taught me while blocking out the last horrible moments of her.

Still.

Peppy is my friend. Easier to follow his dream than be left alone to figure out my fate on my own. I'll drink to that.

I bring the glass to my lips and tip it back, the Luath Draft swirling warmly down my throat. I lick my lips and stare through the foam-stained glass at the rest of the bar patrons. It acts like a telescope, focusing on the brown-furred male at the end of the bar. His distorted face keys off something in my mind, something that makes my ass clench and my tail go stiff. I put the glass down, shrugging it off and blaming it on the booze. I get a clear look at the canine at the end of the bar and the feeling comes back. The years have tugged his face down towards the floor, but there's no mistaking that scar. It snakes down his forehead, between his eyes, past his muzzle.

No.

It's not possible, but it is.

Sixteen years of wondering where I would even begin to look, and he's here. Drinking under the same roof. Jaster Moran. My father's scarred old confidante, who disappeared from Nimbus Lake, the same night as my mother.

I try to look down at my empty glass, instead of at him. The bartender asks if I want another round, and I don't even look up. I need to get sober.

I watch Moran out of the corner of my eye, even as Peppy comes back and orders another round of shots, which I refuse. Peppy shrugs and is more than happy to take the shot for me. Moran stays at his seat, nursing a beer. He seems to notice my glance a few times, but there's no recognition. He doesn't move to get up or leave.

I gulp down water to help balance out the whiskey. My bladder urges me towards the refresher, but I don't dare let him out of my sight. Peppy asks if there's something wrong.

I barely answer.

The whiskey is still pickling my brain when Moran pays his tab and heads for the door. I slap a few Liat notes on the bar and make sure that the bartender sees them. I count to ten and slide off of my bar stool, then exit.

Aquas' sun, Triton, glares harshly over the floating city of Krakenport. I keep a comfortable distance behind Moran, slowly following him along the sidewalk as an orange skycar slides past me over the street. Interrogating myself for the details, I try to figure all the ways this isn't Moran, but it all fits. The face, the scar is printed on my brain along with the rest of that night. He's even wearing the same wool coat.

A tight paw on my shoulder makes me bristle and reach for the sidearm on my hip. I glare angrily at Peppy's drunken face as he loudly demands to know why I left him. I glance back to make sure I haven't lost Moran, and drag Peppy along with me.

"Jim... Jim," Peppy grunts, "Where are we going? Are you gonna say something?"

My back tenses up as Moran peeks over his shoulder at us and makes a right turn. I grip Peppy's arm harshly.

"Look. I need you to head back to base. There's something I need to take care of. Alone."

"What? What the hell is-"

"You need to trust me, Peps. Don't ask questions. Just go back to the base and pass out. Forget you saw this. Please. Go."

Peppy blinks at me a few times. His breath is hot and sour with booze. Even under his dulled brown eyes and limp facial features, there's a glimmer of fear. Maybe I could've thought of something clever to get him to leave if I was sober, but now there's only panic.

"What's wrong?"

One more glance at the corner where I last saw Moran. My torso is alive as my heart and stomach pound out different beats.

"There's no time. Please."

Peppy frowns and steps back. He looks at me like he doesn't recognize the fox standing in front of him.

"I'll… see you back at the base," he murmurs. I nod and take off around the corner.

My insides churn as I try to find him among the scattered pedestrians. The feeling passes as the wool coat crosses the street a few blocks ahead and disappears around another corner. I start running down the street, then the rational parts of my brain fight through the booze and slow my legs down.

Play it cool. Don't attract attention. I turn the corner and I'm back on Moran's tail.

The returning sobriety in my head keeps telling me what a bad idea this is. I don't have a plan, and I don't know what I expect to find. Didn't Peppy just say something about letting things lie instead of prolonging the pain?

I can start doing that, right after this.

On another day, with another mind, I might have just let Moran disappear into the crowd. But that's not today. Today I need the answer that the stars promised me. I need something beyond just death and disappointment.

I follow Moran to an upscale gated apartment complex about half a klick from the bar. I pass by as he enters a code into a keypad, even nodding casually as he sends me a glance. The keypad beeps and the gate unlocks. Moran goes through. I grab the gate just before it closes. I shadow him up two flights of stairs, as he pulls out a key fob to open a third floor apartment. I try to think of a good way to start.

"Hi there," I say.

The pit-bull's ears jerk and he takes a step back, grimacing at me. The scar tugs at the sides of his face.

"Hi," he grunts. His voice is like a whining violin string full of tension. It doesn't match the monstrous body that I remember as a child, but neither does the rest of him now that he's up close. Jaster Moran's skin hangs loose off his angular canine bones, a body like a melting candle.

"Have you been living here long?" I ask, "I've been looking for a place around here for when I settle down. I'm a soldier."

The pit-bull grimaces. His brow wrinkles above his beady eyes.

"This is a gated community, we have a residence office..." Moran replies. His eyes trail down my chest and rest on the sidearm holstered at my hip. They look back up at me and his ears flatten.

"How did you get in here? Have you been following me?!"

I'm out of ideas.

"When I was a kit, you worked for my father Connor McCloud on Corneria. Sorry for tailing you. I need to ask you some questions."

Moran's face relaxes as the beady eyes run over the details of my face. He breathes out, his jaw limp, as he finally puts it together.
"…little Jimmy," Moran wheezes, "I'll be damned."

I can't help smiling as I nod. Jaster Moran looks around, almost to see if there's anyone else, then back at his door. He opens it up and invites me in.

The place is nice. Clean white walls, and a glass shelf full of keepsakes from a lifetime of travels around the Lylat System. All of the furniture is polished and new, including a holoprojection entertainment system and a portable computer display still open on the coffee table. A geometric chandelier hangs down above an expensive-looking dining room table in the next room. There isn't much small talk for us to make after we sit down on the leather sofa. I get to the question I came here to answer. Moran clears his throat and tries to begin a few times, smiling nervously each time he can't find the right words.

"Well, me and your mother… Moira… we were having an affair," Jaster remarks eventually, "Moira wanted to leave Connor for a while, even before you were born. I'm sorry if that's hard to hear, Jimmy."

It's so ordinary. So much like the rumors that I'd grown up ignoring. There's a dull sting to the words, a sting that sits in my stomach. I wonder if I was nothing more than an afterthought to my mother.

"We eloped here, to Aquas," Jaster continues, "But from the beginning we had problems. I was afraid your father would find us, and what he would do when he did. So I…I was against your mother going back for you. We had arguments about it for a while. As far as I was concerned, your dad had money and you'd be taken care of. Eventually, your mom started to think that you wouldn't accept her, even if she did go back. She thought you would be too angry with her for leaving."

My breaths whistle tightly out of my jaw. I clench my fist over and over. I think back to how often I wondered why she'd left if she loved me. It didn't sound like a lie when she said it that night. I breathe back in and try to stay stone-faced for Moran.

"Over the years, she started to blame me for it. She felt guilty. She wanted to write you, send something when you were old enough, but I kept telling her to wait," Moran explains, "Five years ago, she told me she'd had enough. Just looking at me reminded her of how she'd done you wrong. She left. Said she was going to Zoness. I haven't seen her since."

Five years. Shortly before I'd joined the Marines. Had she tried to contact me since then? Maybe Connor stopped me from seeing whatever word she'd sent. Quickly I start to wonder if I even care, at this point. I swallow and keep up my stone face, but Moran can see through the cracks.

"Jimmy, I need to apologize. It wasn't my place taking a mother away from her kid like that. Telling her she couldn't look back. It haunts me," Moran says, "I was afraid of your father. So was she. But that doesn't excuse how we let it affect you."

I don't think, even though I know I should.

"You're forgiven," I reply, my voice hollow. Moran smiles and pats my knee as he gets up.

"Moira would've been proud of the fox you've grown up to be. I hope you find her. I really hope you do. Can I offer you a drink before you go?"

I nod and Moran disappears under the geometric chandelier. Zoness. He said she was somewhere on Zoness. I guess that's a start. Hopefully a drink will help wash down the bitterness.

A deep part of my brain, the part that lets my tail sense trouble before the rest of me, tells me to get out while I still can. Go back to base and drink away all memory of this. I don't know how to tell what's real anymore if it still sounds like she loves me and everything else tells me she didn't. Figure I might as well start drinking it away here.

Glasses and ice cubes clink together in the next room. My chest feels too small for my lungs and I look for a distraction on the walls, on Moran's glass curio shelf. It's full of souvenirs from his travels all over Lylat. Fichinan puzzle boxes, fossils from Titania, sculpted volcanic glass from Katina. Framed images of Moran at sporting events and tourist attractions and casinos. In each image, there's a different doting female on his arm. A few canines, a feline, even a porcine. I don't see my mother.

I guess that was my first hint.

Then the open portable computer on the coffee table comes to life with a notification on the screen. The text hits me like a kick in the nuts. It's an email about Moran's increased annuity payments… from Nimbus Banking Group. The planet spins under my feet, and it's not just the booze. It clears up as Jaster comes back through the doorway, carrying two glasses of whiskey on the rocks.

I stand up before he takes another step. My bottom jaw trembles as my eyes trace that scar, splitting his face in half.

Moran senses that something is wrong. He frowns at me like I'm a broken mirror.

The words slide like battery acid off my tongue.

"My father's been paying you… this whole time, hasn't he?"

Jaster's brow wrinkles and he starts to tell me that he doesn't know what I'm talking about. My sidearm is in my hand, pointed at his face. My heartbeat is steady, even as the glasses fall out of his hands and shatter on the floor. Shards of glass and ice slide across a bleeding puddle of whiskey.

"Please don't lie to me," I tell him, "That wouldn't be the healthy choice."

I take a step forward as Moran nervously raises his hands. His beady eyes stare down the barrel. The brown folds of fur jiggle as he shakes his head softly at me. The breaths come out of his mouth in short chatters that remind me of the bolter nest on Papetoon. I chose my next words carefully.

"Just tell me, and I'll go. You can run far away if you want. Leave Connor to me. Just tell me what happened sixteen years ago. Tell me where my mother is."

"I—I—I can't…"

I bring the pistol across his face, so hard that Jaster Moran falls to his knees. He whimpers as his pant legs soak in whiskey.

"WHERE IS SHE?" I bellow, pressing the barrel under one of his ears, "WHERE IS SHE?"

"Ahhh God," Moran croaks, "I'm a dead dog if I say anything."

"We all die sometime. Maybe dead later if you do. Definitely dead now if you don't."

Moran just cries and shakes his head.

"Where is she?! WHERE IS SHE?!" I roar, hitting the side of his head, "I'll do it you sonofabitch. You'll die right here on your knees if you don't TELL ME where she IS!"

I hit him again, hard enough that his face almost kisses the floor. I notice that whiskey isn't the only thing soaking his pants now. He mutters something low and horrible.

I crouch down, digging the gun under his chin.

"What was that? Where is she?"

His face is tight when he looks up at me with watery eyes. The scar looks like a seam about to burst.

"At the bottom of Lake Nimbus," he says.

I stumble back and almost drop the gun. Trinkets fall from the curio shelves as my back crashes into them. My guts twist into knots and I realize that I've held my breath. I gasp out and start gulping in air like I'm about to drown. The gun still points at Moran.

"W—what? W-w-what?"

Tears stream out of Moran's eyes, down the path of his scar.

"I knew she was leaving that night. I waited outside until she came out to her car. Stunned her. Took her out on a rowboat and weighted her down. I sank her in the lake."

My hand shakes as I look down the iron sights at him, on his knees and weeping. I can't stop seeing him the way he was that night. A shadow, an omen. The images flood back. Afternoons wandering the banks of silvery Lake Nimbus with Sophie. Eating sandwiches and looking up at the stars. Gazing into the mirror surface and wondering where my mother might have gone, if she ever thought of me. The way she held me in her hands that final night, promising me the stars.

I try to focus on her kind eyes and that first touch of love that I can remember. She tells me she loves me and Lake Nimbus crashes through the windows, crushing us under the pressure. The bubbles clear and the flesh under her orange fur is gray and soggy, eyes milked over and blank like eggs. Looking at me through the murk, empty and lifeless.

Tears stream hot through my fur. I groan and try to will my hand to stay steady, but it can't be convinced. My throat hurts but I can't stop the words from escaping. They have to come out. When they do, the sound is a quiet wail that doesn't sound like it belongs to me.

"Why would you do that to my mother…?"

Moran's whole body shivers. He can't take his eyes off the gun. He chews his lip and tries to swallow enough saliva to let him speak.

"Connor," Jaster Moran breathes, "Said it had to be done. Promised he'd set me up with a new life far away. I… I don't know why. Ask Connor."

The planet spins under my feet again. It doesn't stop. I can't slow the flood of images. Growing up under Connor, sharing confusion over why Moira McCloud abandoned us both with no idea how to coexist. His most sincere hugs as he promised he would never leave me like she did. The teenage suspicion that my father was the reason she'd left, refusing to go away even after Sophie's scoldings. Walks along Nimbus Lake. Gazing into its mirror surface, reflecting the stars that I was promised. My mother's eyes: blank, hollow, and dead.

The vomit rises up through my chest. My aim falters and Moran moves just a little. I bring the gun back up, but the bile burns at the back of my throat and I have to put my hand over my mouth. The gun sinks back down and I know what's going to happen next. I'm going to collapse. I'm going to fall to my knees and puke, and then I'm going to sob. The gun is going to tumble out of my hand and with a little luck Moran will pick it up and put me out of my misery. He'll say it was self-defense. I keep seeing her dead eyes.

A switch goes off. My mind recoils in horror. Something seizes control of my body, but it isn't me. It can't be me.

My hand stops shaking and I level the gun back at Moran's scar. The gun barrel kisses him on the forehead and I glare into his eyes.

"Say goodnight," I whisper.

"Jimmy," Moran sobs, "Jimmy you said you'd let me go-"

"I know what I said. Now say goodnight."

His breath seizes and he searches my eyes for something, something he never finds.

"Goodnight," he says, calm and clear.

I nod and try not to remember anything.

Then I pull the trigger and paint the wall with his brain.

It's one of those dark and stormy nights that people tell scary stories about. The amber haze of light pollution from Corneria City is like a distant sunset. Black clouds above block out the stars. Grass is slick with fresh rain and the willow tree is a soaked curtain of crystal beads. I part the curtain and water drips icily on my fur. My father's house stands dark and jagged through the mist, with a tight group of windows on the third floor glowing yellow like an evil, all-seeing eye. The normally calm mirror surface of Lake Nimbus is a roiling gray blanket covering a disturbed sleeper.

My shore leave ended a day after I caught the merchant freighter to Corneria City. Somehow I managed to get through customs without triggering alarms, or maybe I just haven't been reported AWOL yet. None of it matters now. I glance at the chronometer on my wrist. It's past midnight.

I walk the banks of Lake Nimbus, not looking at the water or thinking about the evidence that might be found in the lake bed, buried under sixteen years of sediment. I check my sidearm and confirm for the third time that the gas magazine is full and the battery is charged. The skies above rumble with thunder.

In ancient times, people used to think that lightning and thunder was the fury of the gods, angered by mortal sins. But the McClouds have always been a family without God.

The front door isn't locked. I don't turn on the lights as I make my way through up the stairs, through the halls. I know the place well enough and nothing has changed. No doubt the mansion would be covered in dust if VZ-26 wasn't here to clean all of it off. Light blazes from the doorway of my father's study down the third floor corridor. I'm almost disappointed that there are no bodyguards here to stop me when I see a bipedal figure emerge from the study. The neck is unnaturally long and thin, and so are the arms and legs. The head has a pair of enormous eyes, almost fly-like, which start to glow white in the darkness. All polished white and black parts, coming down the hall with the hum of servomotors. My father's steadfast valet droid, VZ-26. The synthetic voice rides the line between polite and elitist, and that is by design.

"Master James. Master James, I must insist you leave. Master McCloud forbids your-" is all VeeZee manages to get out before I shoot it through the chest. Sparks light up the hallway as its chest tears open. The hallway plunges into darkness again and the metal body thumps roughly to the floor. I never stop walking until the door creaks open.

The flames in the massive fireplace cast dancing shadows on the bookshelves and paintings. A grandly carved desk sits against the massive windows, and an ornate carpet depicting the founding of the Cornerian Star Empire stretches across the floor. At the corner of the carpet is a high-backed red leather chair. A bottle of whiskey, opened and half full, sits at the side of the chair, and in the chair is my father Connor McCloud. He's holding an old fashioned crystal glass in his hand and I can smell the whiskey from across the room. His immaculate gray fur and double-breasted suit both have the look of being slept in. They don't match the cold, weary eyes that look up and down at me.

"Four years…" Connor mutters, "You've gotten so much bigger."

"First time in my life where it feels like you're smaller than me. I hear some people shrink when they get old. Or get insomnia. Trouble sleeping, Dad?"

Connor's lips pull back from sharp white teeth. He chuckles, shakes his head and takes another drink. My prayer that he chokes on it goes unanswered. Either God doesn't pick sides or She isn't listening.

"You may be on to something there. I knew you were on your way. I've always kept an eye on Moran, wherever he's ended up. Maybe if I'd kept a better eye on you, I could have spared both of you the meeting. How are you planning to deal with what you've done?"

"Haven't given it much thought," I reply, shaking. I don't know why I'm letting him talk this much, letting us dance around the topic. I don't like that it's so much harder to point the gun at him.

"Well… I've erased all records of the payments to Moran from NBG. Arranged with the Krakenport police to dispose of any evidence that links him to us. They'll probably going to write it off as a home invasion gone bad. I'll fix it for you."

I bring the gun up so that it points at the foot of his chair. I still can't point it at his face, and it makes me angrier.

"Your whole life it's been so easy for you to fix everything. Just by waving your name and your fortune around and making people dance. But it can't fix everything. It can't silence a guilty conscience crying out for revenge and it can't stop me from killing you."

"Then what is stopping you, James?" my father whispers. His voice is almost pleasant. Paternal.

"You haven't told me why," I say, "Why my mother died that night. After sixteen years of lies you owe me that much."

Connor shifts in his chair and takes another drink. He takes his time doing it. When he's done, he glances sadly at the fireplace.

"Your mother thought that I was having an affair. I was, but… it hardly seems to matter now. Our relationship began to sour when she was still pregnant with you. She hired a detective, some freelancer, to help get the evidence. I suppose she was trying to gather it for an amicable divorce settlement," Connor sighs, "Your mother and this… gumshoe managed to find more than they ever would've expected. They found things that couldn't be allowed to see the light of day. Things that could've destroyed me and this family."

A dry laugh escapes my father's jaws. The firelight makes his face look decayed.

"She ended up finding out too much for her own good. She had to know that even if she managed to blackmail me and walk away with a thick alimony and you, she still knew too much. It wasn't a question of a divorce court letting her take you away. She would get you and whatever was left once the police took me away. I wasn't going to let that happen. Moran took care of your mother. On his way off-planet, he took care of her freelancer trash as well. The result wasn't… ideal, but she left me no choice."

I feel relief at his answer. His ease at letting the truth flow out is refreshing. After all that's happened, the things I've seen, I don't think it's possible to hurt any more. He proves me wrong.

"I didn't do it for me. I did it for you."

The gun falls at my side and I take a few stunned steps closer. In the firelight, the carved wooden walls are nearly the color of blood.

"Me?" I come back, "I never wanted ANY of this! All of this bullshit and all the vultures that hover around you! I never wanted your life!"

"It's not about what you want," Connor snaps, leaning forward, "It's what you were born for! Leading this family! It's the only thing I've ever wanted from you, James. You don't think it stays with me? You don't think it hurt, doing that to someone I used to care about, someone who gave me my only son? Keeping it inside and lying about it all these years? It hurt. Power often requires sacrifice. I accepted what had to be done. She was going to take you away. She would've destroyed this family and everything I built for you."

"She would've freed me of it," I bark, "Of you. She promised me a life where I could choose my fate. That's all she wanted for me… and you murdered her for it."

"I would do anything to protect this family," Connor replies, bringing the glass to his lips.

It's not so hard to bring the gun up this time. I come close and hold the pistol to his cheek. Connor lowers his glass, disappointment in his eyes. His lips curl in an angry sneer.

"How many times have you imagined this moment?" Connor whispers, "Killing me. End the McCloud line right here with my death and you spending the rest of your life in a prison cell. Your final rebellion. Is it worth it? Do you hate me so much you'll let it consume everything?"

His eyes are still just like mine. They're cold as ice but they're alive and familiar and they love me, even if the love is indescribably fucked. My hand starts to shake and it makes me angry. Murdering Jaster Moran was so easy. It wasn't until I saw his blood on the wall that I even knew what I'd done.

I'm a murderer now, so this should be easy. I've killed people before. How many of them deserved to die less than Connor McCloud?

A few grams of effort is all it takes. Too much for my trigger finger. My hand is still shaking when I let the gun fall to the floor.

"You're the one who's going to die in a prison cell," I whisper.

Connor's nostrils flare indignantly.

"What?"

"You heard me. It's all coming out tomorrow. Cops, news networks. Everyone's going to see the bodies used to build up your family legacy, and then they're going to tear it down piece by piece."

"You do realize that can't happen unless you plan on copping to a murder charge yourself."

I shrug with a scornful laugh.

"We'll rot in the clink as father and son. We can have family afternoons walking the cell block, hand in bloodied hand. People always said we should spend more time together."

For the first time, I see terror in his eyes. It spreads to his face. He was ready for death, and death doesn't scare him near as much as this. I smirk and make my way for the door. Nothing feels more right than this does now.

Connor keeps calling for me as I leave. I might as well be deaf until he calls me "Son."

I whirl around, furious tears at the corners of my eyes, about to scream at him for daring to use the word.

I lose my breath when I see that Connor is crying as well. I have never seen him look so…weak. I never will again.

"Is…is this what you really want?" my father asks.

My chest tightens. There will never be a moment where we understand each other.

"This is the only thing I want," I answer, leaving before he can change my mind.

I never get the chance to go to the police, or the news networks. Connor sends out a time-release email to the Corneria City Police Department, then puts my pistol in his mouth. The police find his body an hour after they get his suicide note.

I'm discovered and held in custody on suspicion of desertion and the first degree murder of my father. I spend my hours in the cell wondering how likely it is that I sleep-walked back to the mansion in the night and killed him. Even after the investigation finishes and I'm cleared as a suspect, I wonder. The letter mentions only enough of our last conversation to explain how he got my pistol. Death was easy for Connor to accept if it meant passing on the McCloud birthright. Maybe he even saw it as what he deserved. Being forced to live with what he'd done, watching his son and his empire destroyed in punishment for his sins, wasn't something he was willing to bear.

I hold the funeral as soon as I can. I don't say any words. Others are more than happy to do the job for me. The mourners make their rounds to pay their respects to the new head of clan McCloud. Icharos Phoenix puts a hand on my shoulder and tells me that he considers me a brother. Icharos tells me that he and Connor had such grand plans for Corneria and the Lylat System, and how he'll honor my father's memory by bringing those plans to life.

Peppy and Colonel Pepper are stunned at the funeral. I'm thankful that they don't ask too much. Even when he hugs me, Peppy can't force himself to fake that homespun smile of his. There's a question he wants to ask, very badly, but he fears the answer.

Colonel Pepper pulls some strings and has the charges of desertion dropped. I have been honorably discharged from the Cornerian Commonwealth Marines for psychological reasons. The records are fudged to show my admission to the Cornerian Flight Academy with Peppy instead of going AWOL before even applying. He leaves me to grieve, but says that his door is always open to heroes like me.

Connor didn't bother to change his will. Aside from a gift for Icharos Phoenix, I have been left with everything: I own Nimbus Lake and Connor's bank accounts, along with a controlling stock interest in Nimbus Banking Group. It takes a few weeks to sell all the stocks and move the money into a trust fund in my name. When it's all over, I have joined the wealthiest 3% of the Lylat System's population.

I don't go to the police, or the news networks. By now, the only one who would be punished is me, and I've been through too much to put myself through any more. I tell no one about what really happened to my parents.

I alone will bear the weight of the truth.

After I cremate Connor's body, I have an urn with his likeness fabricated to house the ashes. I carry him down the stairs, into the crypt of dusty bones and collected secrets, and place him in the darkness among all the McClouds that came before him. I feel it's the one gesture he is owed.

Then I spend the next few hours in the mansion breaking furniture and pieces of dry wood. Scattering them around the house and dousing the insides of each corridor, each room and each drape, with petroleum fuel. Even a house as old as the Lake Nimbus house is mostly fireproof.

My head is spinning from the fumes by the time I make it outside. I fill an empty wine bottle with the last of the fuel and jam a cork and a fuel-soaked rag into the opening. I wait for my head to clear before I light it. I fling the bottle at a window and it crashes through with a sound that feels like a whip on my back.

There's a rush of air as fuel ignites. I feel such blessed release that I almost cry, but I've used up all the tears I have left. I back up to the shores of Lake Nimbus and wait as window after window fills with orange light. An explosion tears open the west wing, and everything comes aglow.

I watch my father's house burn until nothing remains but smoking lumber and blackened stone. The flames are dying as the sun rises over the trees to gaze at what I've done. My face tightens up as I turn away from the McCloud family graveyard.

Everything hurts. There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds. I stumble towards the woods like I'm in a dream. I don't know when I'm going to stop moving, or what I'll find when I get there. I just know I'm leaving Corneria.

Whatever it is I'm looking for, I know it isn't here.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I promise that this story won't be a big angst-fest. Much of the next arc will be James picking up the pieces of his life and searching for purpose in the aftermath of what you saw here, building relationships and strength needed to become Lylat's great hero. I think James' story deserves a pretty gritty tone, from the hardboiled detective narration style to the fact that it's all framed as his reflections as he sits in his Venomian prison cell waiting to die. We all know how this ends for James, but what makes this story worthwhile is the experience of getting there and how he witnesses the events that shape Fox's world, even the events that Fox isn't aware of. Please let me know what you think in the reviews section. I'll keep working on the next arc as long as people want to read it. Until next time -TU