At 4:45 in the morning, Wolf was waking up in his quarters. He sleepily turned to the wall next to his wide expanse of a bed and pressed a button on the wall to summon one of his commanders. The button only made a small buzz when he put his paw on it, but he knew that somewhere over the vast military domain that Venom had become a much louder buzz was most likely waking up one of his underlings. He blinked a few times and waited—he wanted to be fully alert when the commander came.
Commander Matthews was the one chosen by the impartial computer system to be summoned to Wolf's quarters. He was by far Wolf's favorite commander, and rumors flew among the lower soldiers about the privileges and abilities that he had along with that status. It was said that Richard Matthews was the only fox, or indeed, any animal at all, who could suggest contradicting Wolf's orders without a slap across the face. Anybody who was favored by Wolf was a rare animal indeed, as well as incredibly lucky.
Matthews knocked on the metal door of Wolf's quarters. The hollow sound echoed around the hallways of the building, breaking the silence that was surprisingly present throughout the main base of the Venomian military. The door slid open noiselessly and Matthews entered.
Matthews saluted Wolf as he walked in, and Wolf returned the salute. "Thank you, Commander, for being so prompt," said Wolf, fully attentive by now.
"You called, General Wolf?" asked Matthews.
"Yes, Commander. I wish for you to bring the prisoner to the torture chamber immediately," Wolf said. Venom was one the few places left in the galaxy that employed the use of torture chambers. Usually very primitive, they still got the job done, and many stories were told of the horrors that occurred there during the Lylat War.
"With all due respect, sir, why are you torturing one lowly Private?" inquired Matthews tentatively. "He is worth almost nothing to the Cornerian Military."
Wolf's eyes flashed dangerously, but the rumors were true. Commander Matthews was the only one who could dare contest Wolf's will. "It is not the destruction of the wolf I care about," began Wolf. "A good general does not wish to clash the opposing army physically to defeat him. No, that is not all war is. It also requires a contest of wills, a conflict of spirit. Taking on the Cornerian Military directly is not my plan. My plan is to make them afraid, to make Venom an unspeakable name among the ranks of the opposing army! Fear is our best weapon, Matthews, I'm sure a Commander of your high status realizes that."
"Of course, sir," replied Matthews. "I shall move the prisoner immediately." He turned to leave, but Wolf stopped him.
"Arrange a video communications link with the heads of the Cornerian Military as well. I want them to see this." He smiled evilly, as did Matthews.
"Very good, sir," replied Matthews, and was gone.
At five o'clock that same morning, hell began for William Dawkins.
The door to Will's dark cell slid open, waking him up from his disturbed sleep. An important-looking fox was standing in the doorway. He was tall and sported a deep red-orange fur, with a white underbelly. He grabbed Will roughly by the collar of his military uniform and hoisted him to his feet with surprising strength. He then moved Will toward the doorway and shoved him out, punctuating it with the phrase, "Move, scum."
Seeing not much else to do at the moment, he complied, trudging down the hallway with the unknown fox at his back. He was led into a dark chamber and pushed in by the fox. The fox followed Will and headed to a wall that was lit with many small unidentifiable lights. Will couldn't see what he was doing and soon lost interest.
His attention turned to his hunger. Oh God, was he hungry. He had had nothing to eat for a little less than a day and decided he was going to do something about that. "Hungry," he croaked in the direction of the fox.
The fox finished whatever it was that he was doing and turned toward Will. "Beg for food from General Wolf. I'm not going out of my way to make your life any better." He then turned smartly and strode brusquely out of the room, leaving Will to his own devices again.
But not for long. The door slid open and in entered General Wolf himself. "Any change of heart, Will? Going to spare yourself a miserable fate?" he asked tauntingly.
"No. Hungry," Will said.
"You will be fed later tonight. But for now you will have to survive," Wolf said coldly. "You are in my power now, and your life is about to become a living hell." He then turned the lights on, and Will looked around at a horrific sight.
Torture devices. They were everywhere, and all of them looked painful. While Will was gaping at the instruments of terror, Wolf was establishing a connection with General Pepper. Suddenly the video screen flickered and General Pepper's face appeared looking very confused. As recognition settled on his face, it twisted into a look of abject hatred.
"Wolf," he spat.
"Pepper," Wolf replied, with an air of sarcastic formality in his voice. "Although, it's General Wolf now, don't you know?"
Pepper sighed quietly, obviously having no answer. "What do you want?" he said resignedly.
"For you to see this," Wolf said, moving aside to reveal the battered body of the wolf standing weakly behind him.
There was a long moment of silence, weighted heavily with every possible emotion. Pepper stared long and hard at the image of this poor soldier, left to endure a worse fate than a fiery end in space. Finally, he spoke. "What in the world do you want with him, Wolf?"
Wolf flashed his evil smile. "I'm going to kill him. Slowly, painfully, I'm going to kill him right here where everyone can watch." Pepper began a protest, but Wolf moved over and pressed a button and his voice was stopped. His mouth moved vainly but made no sound. "Wouldn't want your pathetic whining to ruin the moment." He then turned around and hoisted Will up by his uniform, sitting him down in a nearby chair.
"Sit."
William stiffened, expecting the worst. Suddenly two metal arms shot out, metal claws tightened painfully around his neck. He tried to talk, but he couldn't—the claws didn't allow that kind of expansion. "Now, now, don't move," said Wolf. "Oh, and don't flinch here; it'll only make it worse." There was a painful second, then a sharp sound, like a dart fired out of a blowgun. It all burst out of Will, he screamed as metal barbs extended a half-inch into his neck. Claws then grabbed his arms and legs, piercing them too. He was immobile except for his eyes, which flew around the room wildly.
"I would advise you not to scream, as the tension will simply cause added pain in the locations where you are restrained," said Wolf with the disinterested air of one recommending which shirt to wear. "Don't move," he added as he went over to a cabinet just out of Will's vision. He came back with a whip, broken at the end with nine separate strands, barbed with metal objects. "A modern cat o' nine tails," Wolf remarked. "I felt it was needlessly dismissed as it is oh so effective." He snapped it once and turned towards the hapless wolf.
Will hardly remembered the whipping long afterwards. Wolf began at his front, cracking it so many times that his fur was red instead of black. Then he moved around to his back. The chair back disappeared, slid away, and Wolf bloodied and broke his exposed back. Finally Wolf somehow removed the whole of the chair structure, leaving Will painfully hanging attached to the barbs everywhere. Things were starting to blur, get hazy…
The world snapped into focus suddenly. Wolf was pacing in front of him. "The adrenaline shot you just received will keep you conscious enough—conscious enough to know that you are about to die." He held up William Dawkin's prized blasters. "These are very fine guns. Fitting that I'm going to kill you with them. Now, last chance, animal. Will you join the Venomian army?" He knew Will couldn't answer, and he didn't want this pathetic heap of bones anyway, but it was his last game before the finale. "No?" He fired one of the claws and Will's leg fell free. The sudden weight shift dug the barbs in deeper.
"Will you join the Venomian army?" Sssseew!
"Will you join the Venomian army?" Sssseew!
"Will you join the Venomian army?" Sssseew!
William Dawkins was hanging by his neck, the barbs cutting. His skin was so torn that the barbs lost hold and he fell to the ground. Wolf pointed both blasters at his head, crying triumphantly, "Fear the Venomian Might!"
KABOOM!
Commander Matthews was perusing the base, overseeing more military preparations, when a glint in the sky caught his eye. At the same moment, a lieutenant ran up to him, looking excited. "Sir, we have incoming fighters, backed up by multiple frigates and even some cruisers."
Matthews bared his teeth grimly and pointed firmly. "Go, fool, and intercept them. We can't have our plans stopped now. Go!" The lieutenant scurried off and began yelling his own orders rapidly. A chain reaction began, and soon the base was in full motion. Matthews began sprinting for his own section to call them into action when the bombs began to fall. The ground was peppered with red flowers blossoming with fire and destruction. Some screams could be heard over the din—unlucky ones.
Matthews kept running amidst the flames. His field was in sight; he ran desperately. Hell was about to break loose.
Wolf and Will were learning of these developments in an explosive manner. One of the bombs struck the prison facility directly, and a gaping hole was left in the building. Wolf was thrown by the blast hard against the wall. Striking his head, he fell unconscious.
Will rolled over painfully and saw his blasters at eye level on the ground. Slowly reaching forward—so much pain, he thought—he grabbed them and tucked them away into his holsters on his pants. Then he began crawling out the hole in the building towards what appeared to be safety.
Outside was a holocaust. Broken bodies littered the ground. Cornerian ships were flying overhead. Not knowing exactly what to do, he fired a few blaster bolts into the air in a hope that he would attract attention. One Arwing turned towards him and began a descent, but exploded in a yellow plume on the way to the ground. He fell to the ground suddenly, not even realizing that he had been standing or what an effort it had been. There was a gap in consciousness—next thing he knew, someone was shaking him awake.
"Will! Will! You alive, man!"
Will rolled over and looked at the face of Kevin Thorton. "Dead…a dream?" he mumbled incoherently.
"Jesus Christ, Will, you look like you've been through hell! We all thought you were dead, didn't even get a replacement they wanted to mount an attack so fast." He picked up Will and slung him over his shoulder. "Come on, we ain't outta here yet." Will caught a glimpse of another explosion and realized he was still on Venom's surface. Yet only one thing was on his mind for some reason, which he tried to communicate to his wingman.
"Water…thirsty," he gurgled weakly.
"Goddammit, Will, you've gotta be really far into shock. Don't die on me." Kevin laid Will in the back of his fighter. "We'll be off the ground in a sec, Will. I'm gonna get you back to our ships…you'll be fine, I swear…" He ignited his thrusters and took off into chaos. "Things could get a little rough; make sure you're strapped in there."
With all of the brilliance of his well-earned title, Kevin swerved through enemy fighters in an attempt to reach a cruiser. Finally he spotted the ship Jupiter hovering just above the clouds in the atmosphere. He sent out a frantic message. "This is Omega-2 to Jupiter. Request permission to dock now!"
A female voice responded, "Permission granted. Are you hit?"
"Negative," Kevin replied. Just then, the Arwing shuddered slightly and angry words poured in through a second comm. channel. Kevin looked to the right and saw a Wolfen fly, the pilot shaking his paw. "Strike that, Jupiter, I've just taken damage. And I have a soldier who's in pretty bad shape."
"Copy that, Omega-2, dock at port landing bay."
"Roger." Kevin guided his wounded ship in towards the landing bay, but the fighter wobbled and changed course erratically. "Damn, stabilizer damage." he muttered. Meanwhile, Will was in the back, strapped into a seat especially for picking up stranded soldiers in battle. His senses were dulled, and he was having a hard time following what was going on. It seemed that they were landing…but how he got here from the prison was a indiscernible blur. Kevin was the pilot, he knew that, but what exactly had happened? It felt like a dream somehow…
A jarring thump cut off his fragile train of thought. It appeared that they had landed. Kevin was unbuckling him, lifting him up. Finally the dream-like state was lifting, and the full weight of his injuries fell upon him at once. As the world faded and medics wheeled him away, he heard Kevin's voice almost pleadingly calling, "It's gonna be OK, man, you're gonna be fine, gonna be OK, gonna be OK, gonna be…"