A Dagger of the Mind

-A few days earlier-

To say they 'marched' would've given them too much credit...

Roughly a dozen roughhewn types, dressed in orange jumpsuits or crewman's outfit with weapons in hand, entered the littered hangar-bay of the prison ship. Outside the containment-field of the hangar entrance was a pale gray nothingness, and the inside was mostly unchanged since the bloody ordeal before...

"Consider this your lucky day, Doctor."

The speaker was a wolf with a bleach-white fur tone, leading the cohort. He wore a prison-warden's uniform, and kept his guard-issued blaster in its holster.

"Is that so?..."

Dr. Andross walked next to his lupine captor, and still donned the bright orange prisoner's jumpsuit.

Outside the meager hangar-bay; a sleek, black, but completely unarmed luxury currier craft began to materialize out of the foggy gray mists. After it passed through the main opening's containment-field, one could clearly see the official seal of Lylat Union Congress painted on its hull*.

As the sleek government spacecraft touched down within the hangar bay, the white-furred 'leader' of the bandits deigned to answer Andross.

"It's not every day that the officials care to negotiate with us –normally, they'd charge-in with their guns blazing. I would've had to use you as a hostage, rather than as a bargaining-chip."

The ape's response was infused with all the witty sarcasm he could get-away with.
"Well, I'm flattered."

"Don't get smart with me, Doctor."

"Would you prefer it if I became foolish with you?"

The wolf just rolled his eyes in a disgusted annoyance –he'd be more than glad to finally have Andross off his hands.

And none too soon: Senator Conrad Carrion had only just emerged from the dark craft. The eagle wore his usual navy-blue suit and was followed closely by a raccoon secret-service agent –distinguished by his simple black suit, earpiece, and dark glasses. The agent also carried a thin aluminum briefcase as he and Carrion crossed from the landed government craft to the group of bandits...
There was a single subtle element that set this agent apart: he wore no left shoe, and in it's place was the foot of a sturdy cybernetic prosthetic leg. He was LCI agent Richard Cooney.

Once they where close enough, the lupine bandit leader greeted Conrad in an unbecomingly polite fashion.
"You must be Senator Carrion, it's a relief to finally speak with a sensible public figure."

The avian politician replied with a similar civility, even going so far as to offer his hand to the bandit...
"You'll find that not all policymakers are unreasonable, and to whom do I have the pleasure to speak with?"

The pale wolf considered it for a second, then returned Conrad's handshake.
"I'd like to remain anonymous~"

He was interrupted by the captive -and thus far uncooperative- Enos Andross.
"Could we hurry this along?"

The lupine hijacker barely hid an irritated scowl, but his bright fur still stood-up –betraying his otherwise hidden agitation. The sooner he got rid of this ape, the better.
"...Your prisoner, Andross, is here and well enough... If you've brought what we agreed to exchange, then lets get this over with."

Carrion gestured for the raccoon to step forward.
"Mr. Cooney, if you don't mind..."

Rick nodded, took a step toward the bleach-white wolf, and opened the metal case to present its contents: apparently nothing more than a simple data-module.
"This hard-drive contains a program that will alter your communications array into a sensor-masking device. Simply plug it into your mainframe, activate the program, and you'll be able to pass through most planetary systems undetected by their sensors."

The wolf took the seemingly simple device out of the case and looked it over. satisfied with what he saw, the lupine bandit placed the hard-drive in his pocket and motioned for Andross to move forward.
"...and here is the Doctor –just as we agreed on..."

Despite his haggard outward appearance, the ape walked to Carrion and Cooney with a kind of knowledgeable dignity about him...

The eagle received the prisoner with a subtly mocking delight...
"You see? Even we Cornerians can be reasonable, and I too find it despicable that it takes a hijacking to gain the attention of those in power. But perhaps this tragedy can usher-in a new era of compromise, negotiations, and ultimately: understanding."

Something about Carrion's speech got under the white wolf's skin...
"Mr. Senator, those goals are ridiculous, given the circumstances..."
The nameless bandit indicated the surly band of gunmen behind him.

Carrion offered his rebuttal in a political manner, as if his decisions were a topic to be debated.
"We aim high so even if we fall short, we are still closer than not having taken the shot at all. One day, we may not have to meet in secret at all..."

The wolf's crew began to murmur uneasily, and it probably had something to do with Senator Carrion's overly friendly demeanor. The leader of the pack took control back, and got the government off the ship.
"Just take your prisoner and leave –philosophy never makes sense anyway..."

The avian politician could tell he was at the end of his negotiating rope, and put a timely end to his carefully crafted mediations.
"Then we'll depart in good company. Cooney, Mr. Andross, our ride awaits..."

The proud eagle strode back toward the government currier-craft with his usual, confident certainty with Dr. Andross at his side. Rick followed closely as his position required him to, but lingered a few seconds to glance about the hanger before entering the boarding-hatch himself.

The dark-painted government spacecraft lifted cleanly off the hangar floor and made a smooth transition out into the dense, pea-soup fog outside. The prison ship was maintaining a low hover over an immeasurably large water body of greenish colored water –which meant this was the planet Zoness.

The waters of Zoness did not actually get their trademark dull green tint from pollution, that's because polluted waters almost always ended-up brown. Zonessian seawater was instead, a healthy bluish-green from it's naturally high iron content. It just so happens that the sea floors of Zoness were home to the richest and purest iron-ore deposits in the entire Lylat System, and some of that metal would inevitably dissolve into the oceans.

Not only did such valuable iron make the seawater green, but it also made Zonessian seabed dredge-mining, along with its steel-refining, among the most productive industries in Lylat. So it wasn't at all conspicuous to find an ore-bulker ship out here...

As the sleek craft continued to cut through the gray mists, an immense sea-freighter began to materialize out of obscurity on the water's surface. This Zonessian ore-bulker was be somewhere between 600 and 700 meters long, among the largest of seagoing vessels in Lylat.

The sea-bound ship's hull design was fairly traditional, and appeared to be quite similar to an ordinary oil-tanker, but ore-bulker ships were far simpler –their only cargo being raw dry-goods, not liquids. So instead of a tangle of pipes and valves on-deck, there were a set of enormous cargo-hatches -almost as wide as the ship itself- which could slide open to allow access to the bulker's voluminous cargo bays.

Amidst the fog and the salty-metallic ocean spray, the dignified black spacecraft gingerly touched-down on a landing-pad at the bow of the ore-bulker's deck. Once settled, it smoothly released its boarding hatch to allow its occupants to disembark.

When the Cooneys (Rachelle was probably piloting), Senator Carrion and Dr. Andross exited the government-issued craft onto the deck, they were greeted by a canid man with a distinctly dark muzzle –the rest of his face-fur ranged irregularly between shades of black, brown and goldenrod. He was dressed as an ordinary seaman: complete with a heavy, water-resistant coat, a pair of sturdy work-boots, even a dark knitted tuque-style cap typical for deck-hand. However, he carried himself not as a civilian, but in the manner of a steady, even-keeled veteran military officer.
"Welcome back Carrion, Cooney and Cooney. I take it by the presence of Dr. Andross that the negotiations went well."

It was the ape himself who responded, rather than either of the Cooneys or Carrion.
"Swimmingly, my good fellow. I don't believe we've been introduced..."

The seaworthy canidae offered his hand to the forward-thinking primate.
"Captain Troy Lycaeon..."

The primate and painted were in the middle of a polite handshake when Andross asked the obvious question...
"So you must be the one in-charge of this ore-freighter, aren't you?"

Unsure how -or if- to answer the observant ape, Troy looked to the Cooneys. Rick gave the officer a quick nod, enough to imply that Andross was allowed to know whatever it was they were concealing.
"...for the mission, I do run this cute little rowboat, but the Captain's rank comes from my service in the Cornerian Army's Dagger-unit, not maritime authority."

Andross seemed to have heard of them...
"Pulled-out all the stops for this one, did they?"

"We're not one to back-down from a good fight, Dr. Andross..."

Rick and Rachelle Cooney had taken side-by-side positions at the very front of the deck -at the tip of the gigantic ship's bow- and looked out to watch the silhouette of the heavy prison-ship begin its sluggish, rumbling accent through the gray mists. Both of the Cooney twins had their back to Lycaeon, but Rachelle turned her head to the side so the Captain could hear her response...
"And a fight they'll certainly get. Have you got your Dagger-boys on standby?"

Lycaeon answered with the boastful confidence expected of every good soldier...
"The soldiers of Dagger are always on standby –just give the word."

Rick gripped the bulker's safety railing, and turned his own head -mirrioring his sister- to offer a further reply...
"On the signal Troy, on the signal."

"Right..."
The Dagger Captain turned away from the Cooneys and right into the just released ape. Andross, being the ever-inquisitive scientist, couldn't help himself but to learn more about his circumstances...

"I don't mean to pry, my good Captain, but exactly what sort of signal are we talking abou~?"

Dr. Andross couldn't finish his question when the dull, heavy snap of an electrical overload cracked through the fog's hazy obscurity. The massive dark shape in the sky stopped, then began to plunge through the fog. It seemed to drop slowly, but only because the space-bound vessel was so large. When the entire heavy bulk of the prison ship finally met the sea, it didn't so much splash-down as much as it triggered a titanic explosion of blue-green seawater. Ripples the size of tidal-waves soon began to splash against the bow of the ore-bulker.

After all the happenings, Troy's answer was moot at best...
"That signal, Dr. Andross."

"Ah, so that's what you secret-service chums were up to –clearly more than simply 'negotiating my release', am I correct?"

Carrion -being a far more skilled orator than the soldier- took to answering the ape himself.
"Technically Mr. Andross, I did negotiate your release, but not without a certain... cost..."

Carrion's point was clarified, a little, by the Cooney sister.
"Lets just say those hijacking bastards got a little more than they bargained for..."

The way Rachelle phrased her response implied that there was more to that 'program' than her brother told the white wolf bandit. Knowing her affiliation with machines, she was probably the one behind that 'Trojan-Horse' device.

"You mean the computing-virus you planted in that hard-drive."

Andross -much to the astonishment of Rachelle- was absolutely spot-on in his assessment. She turned back toward the rest of the group before replying.

"I never said anything about a virus. How did you figure that one out?"

The primate took answering Rachelle's question to as far an extent as he could muster, if only to fuel his own ego.
"It's quite simple really: shipboard Graviton-Diffusion systems don't overload themselves, you know. A virus in the computing-mainframe -written with the with the right overrides and targeting certain systems- could trigger a catastrophic overload. Thus, without a functioning G-Diffuser to counteract the force of gravity, the vessel falls back to the planet's surface: helpless. Brilliant thinking, Miss. Cooney."

Rachelle decided to receive the Doctor's compliment with a kind of halfhearted interest, but also with a troubled concern beneath it. Whatever her response was, it was enough to prompt her brother to wheel around toward the others and step in.

"Very astute of you Dr. Andross, but as much as I'd love to hear you further undermine LCI's discretion: were burning time here..."
The raccoon then turned to Captain Lycaeon.
"Troy, Whenever you and the Dagger-boys are ready..."

The painted canid stood quietly for a few moments, watching the helpless vessel in the ocean, before responding.
"You Intel-sneaks always have such a bizarre, sideways way of doing things... and the Zonessians really aren't going to like this~"

He was cut off by Senator Carrion.
"As far as I'm concerned, Captain, the Zonessians can take their flaunted objections and shove them up their own tight-wad asses..."

Captain Lycaeon was a little surprised by the eagle's blunt statement. It was the kind of statement normally heard from military generals, not elected politicians.
"Excuse me, Senator?"

The avian politician was well-prepared for the Dagger Captain's concerns, and addressed the soldier with a confident, practiced eloquence –the likes of which took many years-worth of Congress debates for Conrad Carrion to refine.

"My friend, have you forgotten what those bandit sons-of-bitches did back in Sector-X? That was a Cornerian prison ship, they've slaughtered Cornerian pilots, crew and servicemen, so we have every right, a responsibility in-fact, to clean-up our mess. Those pirates out there have earned every single shot you'll give them, and they deserve no mercy... For Corneria, and her people, Captain: sink that dammed ship, and leave none alive... "

The canid spec-ops officer didn't need to hear another word.
"For Corneria, Mr. Carrion. For Corneria..."

Captain Troy Lycaeon pulled-back the left sleeve of his heavy coat, and gave the order over his wrist-comm.
"Listen-up, Dagger! The package is in the drink, and we have orders to clear it out and mop-up. Anyone left aboard is to be considered armed, hostile, and dangerous. Engage all on-sight, show no quarter, and take no prisoners. A we all understood?"

Dagger's comm channel echoed with the sharp, affirmative replies of its soldiers...
"If we're all-clear... Dagger-unit: Move out!"

The operatives of Dagger needed no speeches, no pep-talks, no words of encouragement from their Captain. By the way Troy had addressed them, the commandos of Dagger must've been veteran soldiers of the highest caliber. Since the mission's outcome could hinge on a second's hesitation, it wasn't the place of an elite soldier to question his orders –it was his place only to carry them out...

And their orders, were exactly what Dagger-unit carried-out...

No sooner than had Captain Lycaeon deactivated his wrist-comm and lowered his arm, that the colossal cargo-hatches on the bulker's deck -like the very gates of Hell itself- split open. From the cavernous cargo-bays normally reserved for raw iron-ore: a hellfire in the form of dozens of assault-transport craft emerged.

The craft had a two-man tandem cockpit, a pair of winglets on either side fitted with weapons hardpoints, a troop-transport bay toward the rear, and a protected engine-assembly placed high at the rear. These assault-craft were not particularly fast, or particularly agile, but they didn't have to be. Their role was to transport infantry into the heat of battle, and to neutralize any surface-based threats on the way; to this end, each of the assault-transport craft bristled with a variety of lighter, anti-infantry and anti-vehicle weaponry. Each was painted in the gray-green top, and gray bottom traditional of Zonessian sea camouflage, but without identifying markings of any kind. If it wasn't for the battle-cry of their engines, the assault-craft would blend quite well with their surroundings.

Once the flock of military harbingers had assumed their positions, they all began their advance toward the ditched space-vessel with every intent to destroy it, and everyone left aboard. It wouldn't be so much a battle as it would be a coup de grâce: a mercy blow. To defend a sinking ship that was never meant for the ocean is an impossible battle to win. Even if you should drive the attackers off, what then was your prize?...

Richard Cooney could only stand at the front of the bulker-ship, and watch as it all unfolded before him. The fog obscured most of the details of the ditched ship, but the red and blue flashes of blaster-fire still lit-up the mists. And although the sea fog stifled many of the sounds of combat, the screams of the casualties still made it all the way back to the bulker –muffling only made the distant cries of the dying sound that much more eerie...

The decision to deploy Dagger in this operation was determined by two main factors:
Firstly: to ensure the elimination of all responsible for the hijacking and further use of the vessel. It was assumed that those who had survived Sector-X had also participated in the hijacking, and all who resisted were already dead.
Secondly: to reassure the public, should it become necessary to reveal these events, that this was an act of Cornerian justice.

There were other reasons; some known, and some not, but it was always the unknown reasons that troubled LCI agent Richard Cooney the most...

If anyone else looked at the raccoon at this moment, they would've seen a cold, serious and determined man watching his handiwork. But a sibling always knew...

Rachelle Cooney laid a hand on her brother's shoulder, all-too aware of Rick's tendencies to speculate...
"Something up, bro?"

Rick didn't turn to look at his sister, but replied as quietly and as discreetly as he knew how –lest any of the others overheard.
"Not here, sis. Not now."

Rachelle got the idea, and simply joined her brother in silence –she would always find out later anyway.


Footnote*

The seal of LUC was a bright yellow circle on a navy-blue background, surrounded by a ring of nine bright points of light as a symbolic representation of the nine sovereign Worlds of Lylat: Corneria, Katina, Papetoon, Fichina, Fortuna, Aquas, Zoness, Macbeth and Titania.

The planet of Venom, by an unofficial consensus, was deemed a useless planet. The conditions were unbearably harsh, it had few -if any- resources worth the effort required to extract them, and its odd placement outside the rest of Lylat's orderly ring-orbit made even the simple act of getting there an inconvenience. Venom had no official inhabitants, no government, and thus no representation in Lylat Union Congress.


-present time-

+++Accessing Database: "Fightercraft Inventory"...+++

Peppy Hare stood alone in what was definitely a ground-based spacecraft hangar. It wasn't overly large, and since there were only half a dozen or so craft in the space, it didn't have to be. The vehicles ranged from a small interceptor, to a great beast of a weapons-platform, and everything in-between. The one uniting feature of each vehicle in the hanger was the logo the members of the new Star Fox team agreed upon earlier: a scarlet silhouette of a winged, unevolved fox, freshly painted onto the fuselage of each craft.

The hare held a digital clipboard in his hand. It wasn't exactly a hand-held computing device all to itself, but it maintained a direct wireless interface with the facility's mainframe. The clipboard format was simply for ease-of-use when someone wanted to keep the data on-hand –much like the way Peppy did when he browsed through the team's stock of fightercraft.

+++"Fightercraft Inventory": Open+++

Each craft had it's own file that could be accessed through the database, but Peppy didn't need to comb through the details yet –he simply needed to know what they had. The files' 'thumbnail' still contained a brief summary of each craft, which was perfectly fine for now.

The first image displayed on the 'clipboard' was that of a narrow-hulled interceptor with tightly swept-back wings, and an engine assembly that appeared to be built for a much larger craft; it matched perfectly to the fighter Peppy was now standing next to.

+++Craft Summary+++
Name: Thumper.
Role: Interceptor / Support.
Default Armament: 2x laser cannons, 2x launch-tubes (½ size).
Additional Equipment: hair-trigger sensor/targeting array.
+++Details?...+++

The combination of a high-speed fightercraft with sensitive and precise targeting systems was a perfect setup for what was known as 'lurk and sweep'. It is a dogfighting tactic where one fighter stays out of the fray, but can swoop in at a second's notice to either assist an ally, or to exploit an opening in the hostiles –a maneuver best suited for very fast, but not necessarily agile craft.

The hare moved on the the next fighter: an unassuming, simple vehicle with a forward-mounted cockpit and an ordinary delta-wing design.

+++Craft Summary+++
Name: Gizmo.
Role: Specialized / Various.
Default Armament: 2x laser cannons, 1x launch-tube.
Additional Equipment (current): cloaking device, holographic projector (various templates).
Note: further equipment options available, see details.
+++Details?...+++

Gizmo looked simple enough from the outside, but its data file was telling Peppy Hare a completely different story. This plain, inconspicuous and cheap-looking fighter was a deceiver –a craft meant to lull the enemy into a false sense of security before it bit off more than it could handle.
There was no telling what kind of shenanigans Gizmo could have up its sleeve.

This next craft was the largest: a hulking behemoth of a fighter with a short, wide fuselage, forward-swept wings, and a stubby cockpit jutting forward from the center of the main body. It was armed with a pair of enormous gatling blasters -one under each wing- and was also equipped with some sort of mass-driver cannon mounted on the dorsal structure of the craft.

+++Craft Summary+++
Name: Nessie.
Role: Gunship / Heavy-weapons.
Default Armament: 2x heavy rotary-blasters (firing modes: full-auto, or simultaneous volley-shot), 1x magnetic railgun cannon (20 Gigawatt output).
Additional Equipment: secondary fusion-reactor.
+++Details?...+++

Nessie was definitely the muscle of the fighters here –20 Gigawatts was practically cruiser-grade. Since when does anything less than a warship use cruiser-grade weaponry? With the kind of power output that artillery-piece needed, it was no wonder Nessie needed an extra fusion reactor.

The next fighter in the database had a roughly tear-drop shaped hull, with a pair of swept-back wings mounted at the wider front end. The rear 'tip' of the hull and the ends of both wings were capped by an engine thruster. Fang was heavily armed with four blaster cannons -two mounted on each wing- and a launch tube in the center of the wider forward hull. The cockpit was situated just aft of the wing mounting and just ahead of the rear engine.

+++Craft Summary+++
Name: Fang.
Role: Superiority / Multi-role
Default Armament: 4x heavy blaster-cannons, 1x launch-tube.
Additional Equipment: independent thrust-vectoring for each thruster.
+++Details?...+++

A dogfighter for sure. The complex thrust-vectoring could prove a bit of a challenge for many pilots, but if one could master its nuances, they'd have one mean sucker of a fightercraft on their hands...

When Peppy looked up from the clipboard / screen, he was surprised, and a little worried by Fang's distinct absence from the new Star Fox hangar facility. He took out his comm and called-up someone for a few answers...

"Thank you for calling Star Fox military contractors & combat-charter services. This is Dengar speaking, how may I help you?..."

The hare was a little surprised at the way Pigma answered his comm-call, but he figured it out...
"Do you have to use your personal comm for business calls?"

"Oh, it's you..."

Peppy began to exit out of the hangar...
"Listen, we're missing a bird down here: Fang. You got any idea what happened to it?"

Pigma hesitated on the other end, and reluctantly answered the question –well, tried to avoid answering it.
"Yeah... McCloud took the thing out solo to uh... do a test-flight –get a feel for it."

"You mean Jimmy showed-up? I thought he was just sleeping-in again, and running-late."

"...No, he got here early and checked-out with Fang lickety-split~"

As far as Peppy was concerned, that kind of behavior wasn't normal for the James McCloud he knew. Piggma knew more than he was telling, and the gray hare could tell –which provoked him to cut-off the swine and ask for a straight answer.
"Where did he go?..."

Silence...


Pikke turned out to be a charming small town tucked-away in a scenic mountain valley, lined on either side by ridges of snow-capped peaks. Although it was technically springtime in this part of Corneria -and it looked it- the last remnants of winter still pierced the air with a slight chill, prompting Vixy to wear an extra layer. The town of Pikke itself was simple enough: most everything noteworthy to the settlement was within easy access to its single main street. Of course, 'noteworthy' for a place like Pikke were simple amenities for most city-folk...

Vixy's communicator sounded it's alarm at 3:00 Pikke time. The vixen turned it off and was about to replace it in her pocket when she received a call-alert: Jame's number. She answered with a carefully measured vexation...

"Where are you?... Yes James, I'm in Pikke like you said earlier. The problem is: you aren't, and you never told me where I'm supposed to meet you here~"

What James said to her over the comm next perplexed her...
"...Look up?..."

On Jame's instruction, she looked into the sky where she spotted a tiny shape streaking overhead, and diving lower –fast. As the dot closed-in, it eventually assumed the shape of the fox's new fighter: Fang. With the quickly approaching craft came the defiant roar of its thruster-trio. When the spacecraft came low over Pikke for the last time, it executed a perfect barrel-roll maneuver before banking sharply and slowing to a hover. At this slower taxiing speed, Fang touched gracefully down in the middle of the empty main-street –drawing quite a lot of attention in the process.

"Oh boy..."

Vixy should've known this would happen. Whenever you ask a combat-pilot out, you're almost guaranteed to get the grandiose, showy, romantic gesture of him soaring out of the sky to meet you. She didn't know whether to be flattered, embarrassed or offended by the thought. The vixen eased her way to the front of the slowly accumulating crowd around the just-landed Fang as James opened the cockpit-canopy.

He wore a diverse collection of military-surplus items. The pants and shirt were a matching two-piece made of a durable forest green cloth. His undone jacket was of a particularly bright khaki and, like the rest of his current clothing, was made with a robust material meant to withstand the rigors of combat. He also wore a bright amber-yellow scarf of a lighter material to cut-down on neck chafing: a common problem among combat-pilots, and an equally common solution...

The fox stepped a heavy boot-encased foot out onto the fighter's hull, and extended a tipless-gloved hand as far to Vixy as he could manage without losing his balance...
"Come with me, Vixy..."

The crowd's many pairs of eyes followed Jame's outstretched arm straight to Vixy Reinard, and they began to throw out a series of encouraging whoops and phrases for the flustered vixen. Within barely a few seconds, the clamor ascended into a rough chant:

"Go With Him!... Go With Him!..."

James McCloud just shrugged in response to the spontaneous gathering of townspeople, and further reinforced his earlier suggestion...
"You won't regret it, trust me..."

The decision was essentially made already, but Vixy needed a few seconds to accept it...
Ah, to hell with it...
"Prove it, flyboy..."

With more than a little help from the crowd's motivational bolstering, the vixen took Jame's hand and allowed herself to be hoisted onto Fang,'s hull of next to the fox. The onlooking townsfolk went wild, but Vixy looked down on the fighter she was now standing on with more than a little concern...

"Can this thing even hold two people?"

To answer her question, James McCloud pointed out the open cockpit canopy...
"It'll be cozy, but it will work, look..."

Indeed, he'd ratcheted the pilot's chair so far forward, that it left an empty space just large enough to hold a passenger behind it. Luckily, the previous owner of Fang had the foresight to install a seat cushion and restraining harness in case that feature was needed, like now for instance.

James assisted Vixy into the meager passenger seat before wedging into the pilot's position himself. The canopy closed, and Fang sprung back to life with a trio of wailing engines. The fighter lifted slowly off the ground of Pikke's main-street before reaching a reasonable altitude. Above the small Conerian town, the full force of Fang's triple thrusters fired, and launched James McCloud and Vixy Reinard across the sky, together.


I'd like to offer a very special thanks to the user Foxmerc: for allowing me to incorporate Dagger into my story. I hope my portrayal of this story-element of his is congruent with his vision, and I hope I've done it proper justice.