Yup, another short one from Wolf's sick brain. Pretty much picks up an hour or two after Krystal went to sleep.
Wolf's fists smashed down in a rhythmic tempo, one steady wet smack after another. Rage consumed all that he was, ration and mercy had long since been abandoned. He didn't yell or swear, all of his energy, all of his being was focused on the brutal beating. He knew that his younger siblings were watching in horror, worried, but too afraid of him to do anything about it.
His mothers swollen eyes stared blankly back at him, he didn't know if she was already dead and he didn't much care. Her fur was matted with blood that streamed from every one of her facial orifices. His fists and claws had opened the skin in more places than one could count and his own blood rained down in a steady stream from his slashed eyeball.
His fists continued to fall, the once white carpet had been stained a vivid red in a circle around her head. She had stopped fighting back a long time ago, it seemed like hours, but was more likely little more than a minute. His heart pounded in his ears, the adrenaline kept the immense pain in his destroyed eye down to a manageable level. Regardless of the fact that he was just 15, he had managed to easily overpower his intoxicated mother.
He spotted a long shard of glass a few feet away on the floor, its tip stained red. It was the same piece of glass that had just permanently blinded him. He knew what he had to do, an eye for an eye. He reached for the shard.
A strong grip on his arm jolted his brain. His mothers broken face disappeared and was replaced by a large canvas sack hanging from the ceiling. It swayed away from him and made its way back in its pendulum path. Blood slowly dripped from the soaked bottom and left a red line indicating the path that the bag had travelled.
He whipped his head around to see who held his arm back from striking the sack again. The black and white masked face of a husky looked at him with a dead-pan expression. Wolf recognized him as sergeant Goi, the former field medic who made his living providing basic medical care to the general troops and pirates here at the Sargasso base. Goi cocked an eyebrow at him and released Wolf's arm.
Wolf turned back to the sack as two soldiers unzipped the side and a very bloodied rat tumbled unceremoniously out, sprawling out on the mat with a groan. The two men grabbed the rat under the armpits and dragged him out of the room. Goi shot a last look at Wolf before following the others out, leaving Wolf alone in the small empty room.
Wolf slumped down against the wall and stared at the empty, blood soaked sack that hung from the ceiling. He didn't know why he had just beat the rat within an inch of his life. There was most likely a reason, this was the usual punishment for more serious rule violations by the general staff. He couldn't just fire them, they knew too much, so he had to beat obedience into the thicker ones. They appreciated his mercy, as a blaster bolt to the forehead would also solve the problem.
The fact that he couldn't remember what the man had done to warrant the punishment was unsettling. If he didn't have a reason for it, then it was just violence for the sake of violence. Even the most uncivilized predator had a reason for its violence. Without a purpose, violence was unnatural.
Even more unsettling was the fact that he slipped into some sort of delusion. He looked down at his palms, his claws had punctured them, leaving eight small holes. He closed his eyes and saw his mother's broken face staring back at him, her eyes clouded and dead. He knew the rest, after all, he wrote that chapter in his life. She hadn't been the first person he'd killed, but she was still the one he was most glad that he did.
A growing migraine forced him to get up and go in search for something to calm himself down. Walking towards the private elevator in the back of the base, he couldn't help but think about the mission that he had already lined up for tomorrow. He didn't like the idea of keeping it in the dark from Panther and Leon, Leon especially. Leon was the co-founder of Star Wolf and his wing mate, but he had to spring this whole thing on Krystal. It wouldn't tell him much if she had a day to prepare for it, plus he was pretty sure that Panther was helping her out.
The mission wasn't even a good idea honestly, there were far too many unknowns and maybes involved, but the cargo involved was too important to ignore. It would either be a good test of her abilities, a bad one, or one or more of them could be killed when something went wrong. Hell, that was the fun part, life or death stakes made things interesting, deep-down its why most people flew fighters and got themselves into gun fights. Something about proving that you were the better man when you gambled your life against someone else's was hardwired into all intelligent beings. He would bet that that was what drove Krystal somewhat, and it was that that he was counting on for the operation tomorrow.
He noticed that every time he entered a new section of the base, the lights turned down to half of their output and were much easier on his aching head. REX was truly a godsend when it came to operating complex structures like the base. He could control every automated feature of the base simultaneously, a task that would require upwards of fifty people. The animosity he had felt for the AI in the past had long faded and he was truly grateful for his unwavering help. He turned the corner and found the private elevator sitting open, waiting and ready for him.
"Must be slow around here if you can focus on me, REX" Wolf said out loud, knowing that REX could hear him.
"It is one-fifteen in the morning, Venomian Standard Time, commander. Most base personnel are sleeping, so yes, it is slow around here," came the dry response.
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks." Wolf acknowledged the AI's consideration as he rode the elevator to the top floor of the base. The lights on the top floor were off completely so he waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness before continuing on. He used to walk around here blind, but Panther had a habit of sleep walking and he didn't want to run into the black furred feline.
He walked silently to the automatic lounge door and waited for it slide open. He walked straight for the fridge and peered inside, grimacing at the harsh, white light. Fuckin' great, was his only thought as he stared at the whole two selections of drinks that filled the fridge. Two years ago, he would have grabbed a liter of Vodka and drank until he passed out. That was generally the way he solved most of his problems then, but now he was on his third liver and decided that Wolf O'Donnell dead from liver failure would be a stupid headline for the evening news. Therefore, there was now no alcohol on this space station, a decision he regretted at times like this.
He grabbed a bottle of water and found a bottle of pain killers on top of the fridge. Turning the bottle over, he read the label, Extra strength- take 2 every 12 hours.
Well, fuck that, he concluded as a he popped what looked to be five into his mouth before washing them down. He sat in one of the lounge chairs and turned it to face the window that looked out over the churning asteroid field. As he watched the chunks roll silently, he couldn't help but think about what the end game for him was. He ran a criminal empire, the likes of which the system had never seen, he flew fighters, killed people, and earned more money that some of the planets in the Lylat system. That was the now, but when and where did he call it quits? What was the end that required these means.
That question bothered him because he didn't have an answer for it, not one. He felt like a dog of war, destined for nothing but fighting, and honestly, the only way he could see it ending was a going down in combat. He lived violently so it seemed fitting that he would eventually die violently. Not that that really bothered him, he didn't really want to live long enough for someone else to have to wipe his own ass for him. Still, it'd be nice to actually get out of the business one day and not have to deal with all of this shit, just relax.
His gaze fell on the sleeping form on the lounge couch. He'd forgotten that he had never had Andrew's old room cleaned out after their stay in the medical ward. He had to admit, she had really surprised him. They had seen her in combat before, when they fought both against and with Star Fox. She had taken over Peppy's slot in the lineup, but she seemed mediocre at best, maybe slightly better than Slippy. She had improved since he had seen her last.
From what she had told him earlier, her life had been just about as fucked up as his. Actually, when you thought about it, Slippy was the only person in the Star Fox or Star Wolf lineups that wouldn't need a good looking at by a psych counselor. Between the two groups, their pasts were fucked up enough for a whole generation of Cornerian wrist cutters.
He wanted to go back to his room and sleep, get some rest for the job tomorrow. He just wasn't tired, the incident in the supply room had screwed his body up again and he assumed he wouldn't sleep again for a while. He grabbed a set of ear buds and plugged them into his portable data pad, turning away from Krystal so the light wouldn't wake her up.
He turned it to its TV setting and tuned into the news for a while.
"The story of the day is the Cornerian Supreme Court's decision on the case of Andropov v. The Cornerian Times. As you know, most Venomian citizens were encourage to throw off their 'Cornerian' names and take new 'Venomian' names from a set of names that are believed to have ancient roots and have been out of use for several centuries. Mr. Andropov is an outspoken civil rights activist and changed his name at the outbreak of the Lylat Wars to show his support for oppressed peoples. Andropov's employer, The Cornerian Times newsprint, fired Mr. Andropov after he refused to change his name back after the end of Lylat Wars." The news reporter informed the viewers, "the decision sets precedent, making all discrimination based on name alone, illegal. Mr. Andropov questioned how now, one can discriminate legally based on ancestral origin but not name choice."
The ticker at the bottom of the small kicked out news blurbs that weren't important enough for main airtime. One caught Wolf's eye, Admiral of the Fleet Peppy Hare commissions navy's newest carrier as Dawn's Glory. Glory expected to enter frontline service within the year.
Admiral of the Fleet Peppy Hare, since when? It's about time that the old man finally got out of the business. Plus that means that Fox is down to three pilots left.
The fact that his group now outnumbered Star Fox put a grin on Wolf's face. Well, no point in sitting around all night, might as well go get shit ready for the mission.
If you didn't catch on yet, the people running around with Slavic, mostly Russian, names had them changed during the Lylat Wars and are Venomian. It helps differentiate people and their backgrounds.
Oh yeah, and don't be like Wolf, follow the dosage directions on those meds people!
Still sick of you not reviewing, 'cept you cool guy who already reviewed twice. Srsly, this chapter is 2,001 words, and took me about 3-4 hours total. A ten word review isn't that much to ask for, is it?