Night Raid
"What the hell? No, of course not! Since when did we become the Venomian Air Force?" Falco defiantly lifted his wings above his head, offended at the mere suggestion that had been put forth.
"He's right, Bill. The whole thing sounds kind of obscene, doesn't it?" Fox added, trying his best to be a tempered voice against Falco's outburst. "We go out there to save some Venomians from the fire that they made? So what if they say they're defecting, why are we wasting our effort on Venomians when there's thousands of our people out there that need help?"
"We're not wasting anything here, McCloud. These- ugh- these Venomians have important information they're willing to hand over in exchange for safe extraction. Information that can lead to us finding out where their forces are embedded and what kind of weapons they have where. Your boy Dash is assuming a sort of leadership position for any defecting Venomians, and I was told this mission was coming straight from him." Bill finished, his eyes falling onto the crossed arms of the pink feline.
"Look, is this really what Wiley would've wanted? Why shouldn't we waste these freaks like before, it's not like they won't stab us the moment we have our back turned like they did to the FLF. Besides, who cares about what little monkey boy has to say, what is he, like twelve?" Falco mocked.
"Dash is a fully-fledged adult and he can make his own decisions!" Katt answered defensively.
"Really? How old is he?" Falco's wings folded.
"He's uh- twenty? Four?" Katt strained to recall the birthdate that she'd signed over on all those forms.
"Yeah, well no one asked."
"You- did ask." Katt replied, frustration lining her tone.
"Well… either way, we're not going through with it." Fox eyed his team members with stiff resolve. "Falco's right, this is the last thing Wiley would've wanted. If the FLF want to go at it with them fine, but we're not risking ourselves to pull any Venomians out of their own mud whether or not they're defecting. So what if the generals are up there trying to prop Dash up as some figurehead, it doesn't change that these are murderers and psychopaths that we're dealing with on our end."
"Ok." Bill nodded.
"Wha? Just like that?" Falco twisted his head in surprise.
"Ok. I'll respect your decision. As I said earlier, we're playing by Star Fox rules now. I can tell you what I'd like for you to do, but the means of execution is delegated to Fox."
"Woah woah, wait, so we're rogue now? Is that it? The dogs are lettin' us off the leash? That wasn't just a one-time thing?" Falco's eyes switched between Fox and Bill's.
"No, obviously not. You're still under strict authority and oversight. I simply gave you the wrong coordinates and you accidentally identified the wrong targets on the way there Hey man, you know those old Arwing computers jumble up numbers all the time." Bill continued.
"How are you intentionally making a mista- oh." Falco quickly shut himself up after getting Bill's hint, accepting his moment of boneheadedness for what it was worth.
Bill swiped the 'clear' function on the briefing table map, bringing it back into the main area screen before tapping a small window of the screen that had been kept hidden in the corner.
"This here is Sumbe, second largest occupied city in the Litore region. I'm sure you're familiar with the area, great logging community, nice food, a few insurrectionists here and there. They've been busy fortifying the city in preparation for us and we'll be moving the 314th assault division in once they arrive from Katina tomorrow." The bulldog zoomed in on the map to get a better overview of Sumbe, which contained a detailed legend of all notable defenses that had been established by the remnant in the metropolitan zone.
"I'm not saying you should head there any time soon, but hypothetically, if a strike group were to somehow stumble onto Sumbe, they'd have a hard time running out of ripe targets. It looks like they've set up some short range missile batteries and cannons on top of these here skyscrapers, it's the only place with a 360 view inside the metro area. Now, I'm sure a skilled pilot or two could pick these guys off without causing any unnecessary splash damage, these are residential condos they're sitting on top of after all."
"Night raid?" Fox's eyes lifted in anticipation.
"Night raid." Bill didn't need to return a glance to have his affirmation sink in.
"Night raid?" Falco nudged Katt, who was sitting quietly next to Fay away from the briefing table.
"Night raid." The feline nudged him back, surely not implying anything unbefitting of their professional duties.
The vulpine's gaze fell on the white canine, who'd been awfully silent for the whole process. "Fay?" As the de facto team leader, he needed to seek confirmation of the whole team's confidence. Her demeanor remained subdued with shoulders sunk and gaze locked lazily onto the ground, as though the thrill of flight had escaped her recently.
The spaniel hesitated, only opening her mouth to offer a muffled response. "I, I don't know if I can- you know the last time I was in the city…" Her voice strained, likely echoing the painful memory of Nequita.
"That's fine, you can hold back and cover our tails while we move in." The vulpine signaled a preliminary sign of affirmation with a raised thumb, but his gesture went unnoticed. "Can you do that?" A small movement of Fay's head was barely enough for Fox to interpret as a nod. "Bill?"
"Well, fine damn it!" The bulldog leader yelled, feigning anger at the group's authorized insubordination. "If you can't do it, I'll find someone else to do the job, maybe give ACES a call! All that Richardson money has to be poured somewhere other than protecting CPM spoils."
~X~X~X~X~X~
The whir of a small train bounced against the immense concrete walls of the underground passageway, speeding through the tunnels that cut through a deep undisclosed network that stretched across various places of importance throughout Corneria's capital canton and into the path that had been specifically designated for the execution of emergency protocols. Heavy reinforced doors closed behind the train car at each crossing with a loud crash, ensuring that no one else could trail them.
"Do you mind telling me what's going on, Sergeant?" A member of the Executive Council shifted towards the front of the car, near to where the driver and accompanying soldier were positioned.
"We've been tipped off that there may be an impending attack. CDF's been notified of a possible rogue element within its ranks; we're transporting you to Site Blackrock as per emergency protocols."
"Rouge elements in the CDF? What the hell is the Lylat coming to? What the hell have our generals been doing this whole time?"
"Fighting a war in Fortuna! Have they been so preoccupied with their excursion that they couldn't see what's under their noses?" Another councilman questioned.
"Who knows? I just hope our generals can get this under control. First Fortuna and now us, we need to get in contact with our resident chief staff as soon as we get to Blackrock, and then we'll have to get in touch with Sommers, they'll know what to do."
Another councilmember who until now had been silent spoke up, watching the scenery of the massive tunnels as they passed by. "Sergeant, how do we know this isn't a false alarm? Do you possibly know who issued the warning?"
"We do. A pilot by the name McCloud."
The train's inhabitants collectively froze.
"McCloud? You mean Fox McCloud?" The councilmembers paused, considering the soldier's answer. The sergeant didn't confirm the assumption, only knowing the singular name as the identifier.
"Has to be. Do you know any other pilots named McCloud?"
"Well, no..."
The train slowed around a corner as another heavy door came into view, this one displaying a triangular symbol with the top half filled in black and the bottom yellow. None of the councilmembers had expected to use these service tunnels again, as the continuity of government procedures had only been executed in the wake of the Aparoids and Andross' invasion. They knew from their previous encounters that this was the symbol of Site Blackrock, a deep underground base that was purposed partially to preserve them for months or even years in the event of system-wide catastrophe. It wasn't long before they passed the first of the zone's reinforced doors, its two halves eerily sliding back into place as they watched from afar.
~X~X~X~X~X~
The night had once more been a disturbing affair for Kosi, his restless mind continuously engaged in an unending battle with the far-off echoes of nightly barrages, a constant reminder of the power the Cornerians had over the heavens. Though he could hardly tell of the extent of the distant machinations, the animalistic part of him was certain of the approaching storm, and never allowed his comfort to rebound. His eyes flickered open in an instinctive response to danger, only to trade one darkness for another, revealing the nighttime calm of the Representative Suite where he had taken residence ever since the uprising began.
The cold sweat against his back drenched the thicker column of black fur running down his spine. He lifted a paw up to his face for a prodding touch, just to make sure that it was real, and that he hadn't fallen into another unwieldly stupor. His senses leapt back into focus, one after the other, pulling him into the world of the living. Sight could now sharpen, touch was no longer dull, the familiar scents of his loved one danced beneath the air. Kosi snapped his head to his right, relieved to find the soft head of Vela laying tranquil beneath the thin sheets.
The sight of his sleeping mate granted a small reprieve from his scattered mind, though questions still found themselves drifting back to the foreground. How did he even get here? What had happened to the convoy? He sat arched up for a few moments contemplating the trail of events, recalling glimpses of the convoy pulling back into the city and him racing to embrace Vela in the entryway of the old administrative center.
An unpleasant dryness in the base of his throat signaled its post-waking urgency, he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep without it stealing the comfort from every breath. Knowing that they'd always kept a pitcher of water and a couple glasses on a nearby end table, he slid quietly off the side of the bed, reaching his arms out in front of him to ensure he wasn't bumping into anything that had since been moved.
"Mmph…"
The slight stirring of his mate flicked his ears to attention. He didn't want to wake her if he didn't have to, so he stood frozen next to the nightstand clutching his glass of water, lest the vibrations of him getting back into bed push her over the boundary of consciousness. Although he didn't make a sound, some part of him knew his rousing was enough for her to sense, and as her shifting figure soon gave way to total wakefulness.
"It's ok. Just getting a drink." Kosi lifted the glass in the air.
"Mm." Vela's paw shifted from under the sheets, reaching behind her pillow to tap a pressure sensitive light switch.
"What are you doing? It's not morning yet. I'll be back in a moment."
"I know. I know something's wrong. Your body's restless. You've been sleeping this whole time, but- you're not really at peace." The vixen uttered, her voice piercing behind whatever simple psychological defenses the civet could raise. There was no use hiding anything from her "gift", especially in such intimate proximity. "You're not yourself, and I know it's not simply war fatigue."
"I'm… tired, yes. But I couldn't sleep out there, not while the Cornerians were on the move around us." Kosi lifted his arm to take another sip of water, displaying a patch of bruise marks running down his arm.
"You've been using drugs? Vela's muzzle contorted.
"Stimulants. A temporary measure. It was necessary for keeping up with developments. By the time I took a nap, my information was already outdated. I couldn't sleep and I couldn't stay awake."
"But only for so long. Your body..." Vela shifted to the other side of the bed, reaching to run her paws down her lover's marked arm. "You can't take this, you're destroying yourself. Your mind, it's as if you're screaming…" Her words froze, as if unable to seriously consider what she already knew.
"I know, Vela." Kosi threw an acknowledgement to the worried vixen that permeated a depth that couldn't be matched by words alone. "I won't be doing it anymore, now that I'm with you, I won't need it."
"You, can hear?"
The civet paused, unsure if what Vela was referring to happened to be the voice that had been reaching out in ethereal softness. "I'm not sure-"
"You feel it, don't you?"
"I- I've been feeling things that are beyond me. Hearing voices that have no sound, seeing people that have no form. I've been trapped in a sea of thoughts and machinations that have no source, I'm starting to wonder if I'm going crazy or if we've been, how did you say?"
The Cerinian withdrew in surprise, sinking back into the bed as she grasped her left arm in her right paw. "It has to be. We've made a connection; this is what I was trained for… what they- meant me for. Only they could never, I mean-" She paused once more, taking a heavy breath before breaking silence.
Kosi's expression grew dim.
"You remember what I told you about. Before the war. They gave me to a general. I was meant to calm him, comfort him. Like you, only- artificial."
"I know, Vela. I'm sorry. It's awful, a kit should never have to endure-"
Vela smiled back at him, hiding a renegade tear that threatened to break her façade. "But it's fine, I don't see him with you, I couldn't give him that connection. You're something more than a hope for survival, I see the fulfillment of- what I was meant to be. I love you. I don't want to be without you again."
The vixen's paw reached out again to intertwine with his own, their palms emanating a sense of deep, almost familial love. Kosi couldn't help but echo her words in his mind, trying to reach for the glimpse of the distant sunrise that seemed to have been spoken by the curling of her fingers. 'Meant to be', those few words betrayed the extent of what was taken from her, what could never be restored.
The civet pulled back into the confines of the bed, sank into the softness of his pillow, and found himself enveloped in a similar softness of psychological comfort as Vela moved to rest a paw against his chest. Guiding him onto his back, she stroked across his fur, all the way up to his muzzle.
"Close your eyes. Attune your breath. Let me help to soothe."
At his mate's behest, the civet relinquished whatever control he still had over his troubled mind. Soon he began to drift into the state that stood between worlds, freed from the restraints of his waking unease.
"Do you see it?" Vela's voice sliced through to the depths of Kosi's mind so cleanly that he could hardly tell if she was speaking aloud. His mouth creased to make a sound, but such effort was quickly deemed unnecessary, as she could hear him regardless.
"It's there if you look. It's what the ancients knew, and what we forgot. It's the voices that call and are never heard, the tender love that is taken by the air. It's held together by all that is alive, and those we carry with us. You can be safe here- with me. We can both be safe here."
Like the rolling of waves against the shore, the civet's stream of thought drifted outward, then back in as his lungs filled with air. He reached out to feel what looked to be a liquid glow, its warmth soon enveloping his core, until he and it were one.
"Kosi?" He heard softly spoken into his ear. "You won't leave me again, will you?"
He buried his nose within the tuft of her neck, never needing to mutter "I won't."
~X~X~X~X~X~
The distant reflections of cannon fire from the calculated bombardments reflected against the young simian's eyes as he watched from the comfort of his reinforced window, tracing their destructive paths as they headed towards the darkened form of Fortuna below. He viewed the fleet before him with a deep sense of calm, knowing that its immense presence formed a protective shield from which not even a well-trained strike group could penetrate, offering further proof of the difference in power that the military had between the rebels below. Turning back from the window and towards the table where his counselor Lochlann sat in silence, he paced a bit, continuing the historical discourse that had been a constant subject of theirs in the waiting hours between planet-shaking decisions.
"I still don't get why… Of all the targets he could've gone after, the Cerinians were defenseless. It wasn't even a trial run for something else, it was just… slaughter. But why?"
"The Cerinians separated themselves from the rest of the Lylat when spaceflight was in reach. They adopted the ways of old and lived simple lives as the ancients did, while our societies developed wonders of technology to reach the stars." Lochlann explained, sidestepping the previous question.
"Yeah, so why did my grandfather decide to wipe them out, huh? They weren't hurting anyone, I mean, how could they? Cerinia was a restricted zone, you couldn't travel there legally, there was no way for them to affect anyone else, it's like Sauria is now, that's how the system was designed."
"To understand that is to understand the history of the ancients, and how your grandfather believed in the repetition of these cycles."
Ash nearly rolled his eyes. It was going to be another one of those.
"It is believed for a time that dog and monkey fought as equals, with our kind possessing the highest gift of intelligence while our canine fellows bore qualities of resilience and social unity. When we started to craft weapons and the gods saw the impending imbalance, they molded a new form from the most intelligent of the dogs, creating the fire-bound, or the kitsune, at least that's how the story is presented. The kitsune could read thoughts, bend others to their will, seemingly change form, even uplift the lower species of Corneria. Their powers in the ancient world granted them the role of advisor for leaders, generals, anyone powerful enough to use their skills for conquest, and they did."
Ash's mind flashed to imagined visions of forgotten battles, where masses of struggling bodies clashed in between immense columns of flame and smoke.
"The psychic wars…" Ash finished, granting a small rise in Lochlann's expression.
"So you did pay attention in school. Yes, a great deal of our history before that is lost, and much of what we know is clouded by traditional biases. The kitsune were greatly reduced in number after the wars, gradually they became more diluted and lost their pure white and fire-touched forms. The greater point is, your grandfather became quite enamored with the myths of old, believing that these kitsune were his greatest obstacle in taking the Lylat. His obsession turned to the myths of Inari, and a particular James McCloud, believing him to be a messenger of sorts, a divine firebreather sent by the gods to hinder his mission of conquest."
Another vision of his grandfather flowed into Ash's focus, though he'd never seen him in person, the form felt strangely familiar. "I know, he thought that McCloud was a counterforce. That's we he had him killed."
"That's why he became so obsessed with Fox as the war went on, and its why he originally believed the Cerinians had to be destroyed in the same way. Such power could be used as it had been used by the ancients to defeat him. His actions were- a preemptive measure in his mind." Lochlann stated in as much of a respectful tone as possible.
Ash's eyes were again drawn to the coordinated flashes outside the window, so forceful yet impersonal they were, striking some patch of ground at an indeterminate point. It almost made the idea of having anyone down there defunct, as though eight or nine of the orbiting Cornerian cruisers could effectively counter an entire army. "You know, somehow I don't feel like things have really changed. We like to think we're different, but- here we are fighting the same wars all over again, like it never ended." He said, noticing a green light in the center of the conference table flicker on as he finished.
"We can't undo what came before us, but we can work with what we have. We've been given an opportunity to create something new, a society that will work to bring an end to the age of factional struggle and institute a new age of peace for the Lylat."
"Peace might have to wait a bit, is that- Sommers calling?" Ash pointed to the table's touch-based interface, which flickered with the image of Sommers as Lochlann tapped a finger into the green circle.
"Sommers? What's going on, General?"
"Ash, I have news about the- mission that was discussed. I'll be brief as there's a lot going on right now that demands our attention."
The young simian shook in anticipation, eager to hear the news of how Fox himself had undergone a mission that he initiated. "Ok, go ahead."
"For whatever reason, Icepick has taken it upon themselves to disregard your directive. As such, we're unable to contact the defectors at this time."
Ash's expression immediately fell.
"But we do have a backup team in place for the operation. We expect them to be acquired by ACES within the next mission cycle."
Ash exuded a moderate amount of disgust but withdrew immediately to maintain his professionalism.
"ACES?"
~X~X~X~X~X~
Reaching above a boiling pot of noodles, a couple of paws ripped the perforation on the small packet and shook its contents into the boiling soup, quickly stirring it to achieve proper saturation. Before long, the simple components of the noodles were treated with a host of additives with purple carrots, greens, and other assorted Fortunan specialties fit for the daily nutrition of patrolling men. The heat was soon reduced as the bulk of the meal reached the final stage of preparation, transitioning to the period in which the soup would be distributed among the waiting group of salivating onlookers.
"Morbus! Come here, take some time off, eh? No need to be so shy." Pointing to the opossum with an open palm, one of the soldiers guided him in from the perimeter that had gathered around.
The scene inside the hidden cave had become oddly cozy, with the bulk of the group forming an impromptu circle from which they passed food and drink around and conversed in lighthearted tones. Discussions earlier in the evening had centered around the more abstract concepts that Morbus found difficult to engage in, topics like syndicalism, separatism, and other matters of factional abrasion which the opossum scantly understood. As the night drew on and the light of dusk outside faded, the arena of conversation opened to lighter subjects such as music, hobbies, and general insignificancies of Fortunan life.
Inside the middle of the circle was the "fire" from which the nightly meal was being prepared, though it was more like a camping stove and lamp arrangement from which light and heat radiated outwards to warm the musty cavern. Each soldier took their turn at the center, being handed a single bowl of noodles and a pack of dried veggies, except for the opossum, who was issued two of each.
"Hey hey! Morbus, can you sing? Can you play guitar, do you know any instruments?" The soldier that Morbus knew as Jerry prodded a few strums on his single-necked composite guitar. It made little sense to him why they'd make the effort to have an instrument carried out into the field when they were lacking in essentials. Still, it offered a break in the monotony of sitting around in the featureless cave, and that was at least worth something.
"Uh- I no."
"Really, not even drums? It's just hitting stuff, you don't need those notes or keys or anything." Jerry jokingly lifted a couple of unused pots that had been sitting in the food prep area, much to the amusement of the rest of the circle.
"Hey, be easy on the kid, he's probably never been out of the cities before." Someone else added.
The opossum wanted to counter by bringing up his few experiences of camping during his later childhood but realized it would only lead to more ridicule and harassment as another one of the "useless city-dwellers" who couldn't handle their own out in the wilderness. He hadn't been a member of the Fortuna Scouts in his youth unlike many of his peers, nor did he take a liking to any outdoorsman clubs that were prevalent across Litore, and thus never experienced what many would describe as the "real" Fortuna. Dejected, he turned away from the group once he had two bowls of food in possession, sliding in between two of the seated bodies to make his way to the storage den's passageway.
"Whoa, where you going? We didn't mean it that hard, we're just kidding around." Jerry attempted to reverse the opossum's sudden departure, unaware of his motive.
"It's fine, he's supposed to be looking after that Cornerian pilot." One of the others interjected.
"Ah, the bargaining chip…" Jerry nodded. "Alright, Morbus, go on, we'll keep the party going without ya." Raising the guitar to his folded lap, he brushed a few more perfunctory strums before continuing. "Alright, any requests?"
Morbus wasn't necessarily starved for camaraderie, as being part of the group was often an exhausting effort in which he found it necessary to maintain his good standing. It didn't help that his unauthorized retrieval of the Cornerian pilot had created an air of distrust, and oftentimes he found it difficult to discern whether their aggressive attitudes were a sign of bullying or genuine affection. He soon entered the threshold where the lamplight of the storage room could be seen reflecting off the stony walls. Nearing, closer, he heard the voice of their resident medic giving an apparent one-sided lecture to the pilot.
"If you don't do it there may be complications, you wouldn't want any respiratory issues… look, I know it hurts, but you're going to need to take deep relaxed breaths. Take it slow, don't strain yourself… yeah, more like that." The medic's focus shifted as Morbus pattered into the storage room. They gazed at each other in awkward silence for a couple moments.
"Hey… It's uh- the shift?"
"I know. He's all yours." The avian medic motioned towards the lying mustelid as he gathered his aid pack up and slung it across his shoulder.
"Is he- ok?" Morbus nudged towards the pilot, who was still laying down in the makeshift bed with his arms draped across his ribs, pretending not to notice anyone around him.
"Yeah, he should be fine for now, he'll be in a lot of pain for a while, and I think some of his ribs are broken, but- I don't think he's damaged internally, we don't have a scan machine with us, so I can't tell how bad. Legs are broken too it seems, he won't be walking for some time, so you'll have to erh- help him."
"Help with, oh…" Morbus trailed on catching the medic's implication.
"Is Jerry gettin' the guitar ready?"
"Yeah, they're all over there. Everyone's calling it a night. Onni and Landon are out patrolling."
"Good, I need a break." The avian medic brushed his brow and trailed off to meet with the others. "See ya in eight, bud."
Once he'd departed, Morbus awkwardly turned towards the pilot, attempting to derive a fitting series of words without sounding like a socially defective imbecile. "Brought some food." He meekly stepped toward the weasel, kneeling to set the bowl of noodles at arm's length. "Not sure if you're up for eating right now, but-" He glanced back at the pilot, who hadn't even acknowledged his presence with the simplest measure of eye contact. "It'll get cold if you don't- ah damn it I sound just like mom, don't I?"
Wiley remained silent, save for the strained breaths that passed through his lungs every now and then.
"I'm Morbus by the way, not sure if you heard before, but I mean you were out cold, so you probably didn't. Anyways, I know your name's Wiselle, right? I mean, that's what was on the uniform, unless you borrowed it from someone, heh." The opossum distinctly botched Wiley's surname 'Wiesel' without correction.
As the dug into his meal, he lifted his eyes slightly to see the warm vapors rise from the pilot's untouched bowl. He hadn't made a move to clutch the utensil or see what kind of meal had been brought to him.
"Hey man, I'm just trying to be friendly. Are you not hungry? You can eat, you know. I brought the food for you, it's not like we're not going to- you know starve you or anything." Morbus hit himself internally for going down such an unhealthy route, this wasn't going to make the prisoner relax in the slightest. Still, whether he was kept in the dark of their logistical predicament was of little consequence. The opossum continued to slurp up the udon from his bowl, scooping up the errant piece of vegetable every now and then to maximize the balance of texture, accompanied only by the sound of the circulating air and the faint chatter of his dining comrades in the main chamber.
"You know these noodles remind me of? There was this place I'd always go to around where I live, Takeo's, best stuff around, didn't cost much either. They'd have weekend specials where they'd have half-off bowls of-". He paused, realizing that not a single word was being considered by the immobile mustelid. "I really hope they're still ok, knowing what I saw, I- don't know who was spared." He finished, stating mostly to himself. The whole thing had come about so fast, that he barely realized when he was in the thick of it, and there was no telling what had happened to the rest of his city since, especially those who weren't able or willing to take up arms.
"Hey, I- you don't want to talk? I mean, I'm not sure if you're supposed to or if they say you're allowed to- but, oh damn it, is it me?" Morbus lifted a paw to brush against his face, but quickly lowered it back to his side. Again, he was only reciprocated with silence. "You were talking to him a few minutes ago, is it just- you don't have to, I guess, I'll probably just… sit here and- I don't know." The opossum shifted a pile of the crumpled-up clothing, producing a small cushion to lay his back against as he found a place to sit.
The weasel slumped a bit to his side, eliciting a muffled grunt and gritting his teeth in pain as he opened the view to his wounded abdomen.
"Oh, right. Ribs. Of course it hurts to talk… idiot." Morbus blew a slightly embarrassed huff from his mouth, he had to look like such a tailhole for not remembering. "Sorry about that…" They awkwardly engaged in a moment of eye contact for the first time after his apology, the weasel glancing in muted disdain while Morbus retreated.
The opossum soon found it best to occupy his time with tracing the various smooth patterns of rocks and holes of the cave ceiling. Though he was never too much into reading, he wished that there was a book or something to take his mind off the chaos of this world, something to rip him out of his hopeless existence for a brief period of time. Nothing was making sense anymore, no one could tell him if they were winning or losing or what his job was and what any of them were going to do next. He just knew there were people who said they were in charge, and he wasn't one of them.
He'd been stuck inside the redoubt bathed in artificial light for so long that he couldn't tell if he was tired or not, but his eyes soon started to make telltale flickers as he simply stopped noticing what was locked in his vision. He started to think of home, and everyone he could call a friend during his meager existence. Was his apartment complex still standing? Did the Cornerians flatten all that he knew into the ground by now? Everything slowed down into a soft silence, with only the hum of the circulating fans and distant chatter.
Morbus felt a sudden jolt run down his back as if someone had kicked him. Flailing his arms around, he tried grabbing onto whatever had caused the sensation, but found himself grasping at the void. He was sitting alone in the same spot he'd dozed off in, although the room had grown considerably darker, with the camping light next to the pilot having reverted to sleep mode some time ago. Though his eyes were still adjusting, he could see from across the room that the bowl he'd left for the weasel had been emptied.
The sounds of chatter outside were gone it seemed, with the main group surely retired by now while the small contingent stood vigilant around the redoubt's perimeter. Before he could allay his worries and rest his heat back, a loud thundering sound sent a similar jolt across his back, causing him to anxiously freeze up. His eyes, still getting used to the stark darkness of the cave, drifted down to the figure of the awoken weasel, whose demeanor remained completely unfazed.
"Was that… Is that one of yours?" Morbus whispered, fully expecting no response. He paused a moment, listening to the next round of noise as it shattered through the atmosphere and echoed through the ground. "Is it thunder? No, it can't be. Is it a fighter?"
The weasel's ear twitched a bit, as if bathing in the sound of the distant impacts. "No. Orbital." He muttered in a scratchy voice.
Morbus' eyes locked onto Wiley's, shocked at his sudden willingness to offer a response. "Oh, you are awake… uh hey."
"Hey." The weasel muttered with a diminished smile, reaching another peak in their brief stint of friendly interaction.
"Do you know how far away that is? Are we in danger? Sounds like they're a few minutes away."
"No… eighty… hundred kilometers." Wiley estimated, his experience living near the Red Sands Testing Range on Katina proving to be somewhat useful. "Something like that." He could tell they'd been shifting the bombardment north and south on and off for the night, and that now was the closest they were likely to get.
"Oh, that's good, we're safe then, I guess." Morbus breathed a sigh of relief, tempering the subconscious fear of impending danger. He still watched as the weasel pulled himself up to more of a sitting position, gripping his abdomen and drawing a pained expression while he strained to move upright.
"Morbus, right?"
"Yeah."
"Wiley."
~X~X~X~X~X~
"Tonight, we have unfortunately become aware of a nefarious plot to threaten the very existence of the Lylat we hold dear. The discovery of rogue elements within the CDF and their sudden has shocked the Lylat, but let it be known that the perpetrators of this endeavor will be accounted for. Our military intelligence analysts have worked diligently to root out the sources of these elements, as well as their connections to leadership within the Fortunan Liberation Front. It is our determination with all the evidence available, that the Executive Council has conspired with these elements, as well as insurrectionist forces in Fortuna, to instigate an overthrow of the Cornerian order, and subvert the military's constitutionally derived duty to maintain the integrity of our multiplanetary federation."
Fox, Falco, Fay, and Katt all turned in their seats to see the sight of a clearly well-practiced General Sommers delivering his public message. The mess hall was quiet, and not just because it happened to be in the dead of night and nearly abandoned. Everyone had simply been frozen as their focus had been pulled away from food and redirected towards the two screens that adorned either end of the room. The team had opted to take a post-op meal to conclude an exhausting day, but quickly found themselves wrapped in yet another machination of conflict.
"…The recordings that you've heard point to a long-standing operation conducted by the government to destabilize. It's not lightly that I take the invocation of these extraordinary duties, as it is only due to the extreme circumstances of our government's betrayal in our time of conflict that we can even consider such actions. Members of the Executive Council have planned at every turn to hinder our operations, grant aid and comfort to our enemies, and undermine the foundational responsibilities of the Lylat's greatest defenders…"
Star Fox traded nervous and unspoken glances, unsure how, if at all, to speak up. The few others that had strolled into the cafeteria in the late hour offered confused murmurs themselves, no none of their questions were reciprocated. While Sommers' words were calm and direct, there still arose a certain tension.
"…It is for these reasons that in accordance with Article Six of the Cornerian Constitution and the precedent set by General Pepper during the invasion of Corneria by Andross' forces, I'm authorizing the immediate suspension of the Federal Assembly and Executive Council and all of their associated duties, until a time in which the full faith in the system can be restored. Be it further known that all the identified FLF conspirators, including those in the council, will be considered as agents of the FLF and are hereby placed under arrest, subject to the constraints outlined in the code of military justice…"
Falco's spoon fell from his grip and clanked into the half-eaten bowl of udon noodles, his body twitching in a mix of outright bewilderment and his face contorting with seething anger.
"You gotta be shittin' me."
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