X

Mission No. 43

Zoness
Beneath District 13

Masks in the Dark

X

Falco hit the ground hard. His knees immediately buckled under him, and he collapsed to the wet cement floor. His bones reverberated from the impact, and the aching in his joints intensified.

At first he saw only blackness – blackness and a glowing fuzz that clouded his vision. He felt dizzy. All he could manage for the present was to lay in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the ladder, a trickle of cool sewage flowing around him and dampening his clothes.

He didn't know how much time passed while he lay there – only that it was too long. Groaning, he sat up and scooted over towards the tunnel wall, which he leaned against. He allowed himself a brief moment of respite till the pain subsided and he could catch his breath again.

With the manhole cover replaced, the loud emergency sirens no longer assaulted his ears. That was a relief. He could still hear them whining faintly above, but most of their bite had been blocked out. For a moment he listened, and other sounds began to reach his ears: a faint, intermittent, drip, drip, drip somewhere down the passage; the trickle of water moving through the bottom of the tunnel; and even the skittering of insects and other creatures inhabiting the sewers.

After some effort he adjusted his eyes to the darkness. He could see a faint shimmering off the top of the water, and down either end of the tunnel dim lights illuminated the green, algae-covered walls.

When he'd rested as long he dared, Falco grunted and struggled into a standing position, bracing himself against the wet, grime-covered wall for support. He now had to make a guess: did the kidnapper take Katt left, or right down the tunnel? It was a 50-50 chance, but one he wasn't willing to take blindly.

Concentrating, he closed his eyes and opened his mind. For a minute he remained deathly quiet, silencing his own thoughts and simply listening.

He heard a few faint thoughts, but they were only whispers; almost indistinguishable from a light breeze rifling past his ears. His heart sank; he couldn't tell where Katt had gone.

He needed more of the KLA.

Falco patted down his clothes, searching through them for any pills he might have on hand. He checked the pockets in his shirt, jacket, and pants till he found a small handful of the stuff. He stared at the blue and red pills in his palm; they almost looked like they glowed in the dark.

It was a large dose he held – bigger than the recommended amount. While not necessarily addictive in a chemical way, taking too much at one time still had unpleasant side effects. Falco had already exceeded that amount earlier in the day to prepare for his fight against Grimmer. But now the advantageous effects were disappearing, and he needed more – desperately.

If he wanted to find Katt, he had to take it. So he threw his head back and tossed the entire handful into his beak, swallowing the dry mouthful without any liquid to wash it down with. He grimaced as the pills uncomfortably slid down his throat. It was so bad he considered lapping up the sewer water to chase them down.

Falco swayed in place for a moment, waiting for the Corruption to take effect. After a time his head swam with dizziness, and his body swayed against the wall for a second, signaling the pills had begun to work their magic. Now with the new dosage aiding him, he concentrated and listened.

This time he heard Katt coming in loud and clear, and his heart leapt. He sensed her thoughts in the distance; close enough to know they were hers, yet too far to resolve what she was thinking. All he could pick up on was her general emotions: powerlessness, and fear.

It was all Falco needed. He set off through the tunnel, heading in the direction he sensed them emanating from.

X

Anyone who thought the streets of District 13 were bad hadn't seen the sewers. Compared to the filthy network of tunnels beneath the district, the surface looked like the pristine heart of Corneria City. The stench from the sewage nearly overpowered Falco's nostril holes, and he clamped a hand over his beak. If it wasn't the noxious smog suffocating the streets above, it was the unbearable odor of the sewage below. Whenever the filth was washed clean from the surface, it all ended up down here – and from here it had nowhere else to go.

Nowhere that is, except further down.

The going was tough. The avian had to limp his way through the passage, clutching at the wall for support. He wished Kitt or someone were there for him to lean on. In fact, he wished he could just lie down at the base of the sewer and sleep. Each shuffling step he took caused his limbs to curse him for moving. In addition to being dragged around the city last week by Scrimmer, that morning he'd been pummeled to a pulp by Grimmer. He now sported two sets of wounds to hamper him, but he had to keep going; Katt's life was at stake. He could rest or die after he found her.

Falco pushed himself on, pausing at each turn and junction to sense for her thoughts. For whatever reason her mind stood out above all the rest – even those of the people right above him, cowering in their homes. Perhaps it was because he'd known her for so long, or because he'd inadvertently formed a bond with her in recent days, considering all the Corruption he'd taken while sharing the garage with her. He began to wonder if the concept of a 'soulmate' really had some basis in science…

After a few seconds of listening he was always able to locate Katt and take the right path. Even though they were frightened and filled with despair, her thoughts lead him like Ariadne's string through the dark of the labyrinth, guiding his way.

Oddly enough, the pain began to disappear the further he walked. Though he still felt weak, his wounds no longer screamed at him with each sudden movement he took. He felt numb, like he'd set his body on autopilot. The avian blinked, feeling dizzy; he couldn't feel gravity tethering him to the ground anymore. His vision followed the sewer pipe all the way to its end, where it joined an even bigger canal. He saw the water continuing down a network of intertwining tunnels like tangles of Medusa's hair. The sewer system of District 13 was so vast and sprawling, yet here it was, laid out before him as if he were flying above it all and staring down at it with X-ray vision.

He blinked again, for there was Katt a few hundred feet away, being dragged along by an unidentifiable figure. He didn't understand how he could seem them; there should have been solid walls of concrete and asphalt between them, not to mention buildings and houses from this vantage point…

It felt like a dream – or a nightmare, viewed from an omniscient perspective. One he shouldn't have. One second he was stumbling through the cramped sewer, and the other he was leaving his body to freely soar over the city. It felt as euphoric as riding the Azure Sky, or flying in his Arwing.

Though Falco couldn't feel much of anything anymore, he did feel himself steadily going down. He realized the kidnapper was kiting him south, towards the heart of District 13. If this kept up, they'd soon be underneath the downtown sector, where all the wealthiest citizens lived – but separated by fathoms of impenetrable concrete and empty, tangled passages.

After what felt like several torturous hours Falco came upon a large drop off. The sewage flowed over the edge into a waterfall, and as he leaned precariously over he saw it thundering into a large iron grate at the bottom, where it disappeared. Besides a radius of splashes, the ground around the grate seemed dry.

Falco located a service ladder and lowered himself over the side, shimmying down. His arms felt like jello, but he didn't make the same mistake as earlier and held on tightly. Given the larger distance to the ground, dropping this time would surely break his legs. Still, he felt so light…

He reached the bottom of the ladder and hopped down, grunting when his feet struck the floor. To his surprise a breeze wafted against his face; a stale, musty one, but a breeze all the same. And in that moment Falco realized where he was.

Stumbling forward, he entered a large cement doorway and paused on the threshold. It opened into a massive atrium that visitors would have to see to believe. The room stretched out in every direction, the far reaches shrouded in darkness so that one couldn't see the end. The ceiling too was out of view; rows and columns of concrete pillars towered high above him, likewise disappearing into the expanse over his head. From below it looked like some brutalist cathedral, or an underground city carved by mystical races in fantasy novels.

This was District 13's underground discharge channel; a massive, 60-foot tall chamber built to divert water in case of emergencies. During typhoons the ocean sometimes flooded the streets of the floating city. But a system of dams, levees, and sewers carried the water downwards, where pumps forced the water back into the ocean to keep the district from sinking. While indispensable, on average the system was only needed a few times a year. There were no tropical storms on the forecast now, meaning it would likely be safe for some time.

But the chamber wasn't empty at all. In fact it was home to a veritable city of lowlives; black market dealers, smugglers, druggies, and other various criminals – the kind of folk who, while on the surface, were forced to hide out in smoke-filled backrooms, alleys, and dumpsters. But down here they were free to live out in the open, and surface-dwellers like Falco felt like the outcasts.

They congregated, did business, ate, drank, and slept in the darkness. Some even spent their whole lives beneath the surface, from birth to death. The shadiest folk crept down even further below the city, slinking into the passages used for flushing the water out – and therefore the most dangerous. They were the murderers, the perverts, and the most wanted by the Bureau who couldn't even show their faces for fear of being turned in for rewards. Rumor even had it some were escaped Venomian war criminals who fled the fall of the empire.

During times when the discharge system was needed, the squatters scattered like cockroaches: they packed their things, dismantled their stalls, rolled up their tents, and fled into the higher tunnels not used during the floods. Then the chamber would lock and the system would open, flooding large amounts of water through. Anyone who didn't get the memo was flushed out into Zoness's toxic ocean, crushed by the hundreds of feet of water between them and the surface.

'Styx', the locals called the chamber.

The ruling government knew full-well how the criminal denizens of 13 used the space. The only reason they didn't take them by surprise with an unannounced flush and be done with them was the simple fact that the city's elites traded contraband here as well.

And some said the floating city didn't have a foundation…

Focusing, Falco listened for Katt's thoughts. Instead he was assaulted by a sea of others; a thousand jumbled minds all murmured back at him at once, buzzing like the chorus of thoughts from an anthill. It was so overpowering it sounded like white noise to his brain. The people went about their daily business as if nothing was wrong on the surface above, and their entire worlds weren't threatening to crumble beneath them like Falco's. But even over the ocean of discordant thoughts, Falco was able to make out Katt's somewhere on the far end. So, there was nothing for it but to wade down into the underworld after her.

Falco turned the collar of his jacket up to conceal his face. He took out his avian-shaped gas mask and donned that as well, though Zoness's polluted fumes and the stench from the sewers weren't as much of an issue here. And beneath his jacket, he kept a wing on the butt of his concealed blaster, just in case.

He shuffled down into the shanty town, slowly making his way through the sea of criminals. He did his best to hide his limp; here any sign of weakness was cause for exploitation.

As he walked through Styx, he passed by dozens of tents and stalls dedicated to various trades. Vendors with carts sold food to passersby; mostly native Zonessian crustaceans and arthropods that found their way into the sewers from outside. There were grills with skewers of the many-legged creatures along the way, some of which still wiggled disconcertingly – but the smells were undeniably-wonderful. Outdoor bars sold booze to loyal frequenters; friendly but stern looking people who muttered darkly to one another as they huddled over their drinks, their faces lit by flickering light from trashcan fires. There even were a few tents with seductive purple and scarlet-colored light escaping their folds, as silhouettes of women danced within – some tangling with patrons on the floor. The sweet-smelling perfumes wafting out were almost as suffocating as the sewers earlier. Falco honestly didn't know which odor he preferred.

He navigated the city's underbelly like a minefield. He didn't dare bump into any of Styx's unruly citizens and risk starting a fight. Any other day he'd walk with enough confidence to make people part like the sea around him, but he was too physically weak to afford a confrontation. Part of him wanted to circumvent the town completely to avoid any possible contact with enemies, but ultimately cutting straight through was the most direct route, and braving the outskirts where the flickering lights failed to reach meant he was more vulnerable to getting mugged.

Still, Falco had to remain vigilant; even the heart of Styx wasn't much safer. Nervously he looked into the eyes of each person he passed, till they noticed and stared back. Some were merely curious; others were distrustful, or even hateful. He sampled a few seconds each of their thoughts, but there were too many of them to linger on. It was like flipping through a thousand TV stations and trying to find the one that secretly wanted to kill you.

He's clearly never been down here before, someone thought while looking at him.

Why the mask? Doesn't smell that bad down here. He must be hiding his face. Why?

What's wrong with him? Why's he limping?

Nice clothes, fresh in from the surface, and pockets ripe for the picking. If I could just get closer- Augh, move, fatso! Dammit, I lost him…

Urgh, that kani wasn't fully cooked…

Now where've I seen a blue falcon before?

Falco adjusted his mask and pulled his collar up even higher, but minutes passed without incident. As he neared the other side of the town his mind began to wander. The chamber seemed like such wasted space when not in use – which was the better part of its life. For a second he imagined the bottom of the atrium flooded with water and filled with glowing purple mycelium from column-to-column. If they wanted, they could turn District 13 into one big ocean purifier, intentionally letting in water, decontaminating it with the mushrooms used for Corruption, and flushing it back out into the sea. In fact, they could do that with every floating city, speeding up Zoness's recovery a hundredfold – but first they had to get the Bureaus to agree to it.

KILL

That single overpowering thought snapped Falco out of his daydreaming. He spun around to find a hooded figure shoving his way through the crowd towards him. Once he realized Falco had spotted him he screeched to a halt and reached for a gun. His hood slipped down, revealing him to be a black-and-brown-furred canine with pock-marked ears.

Falco saw the flash of his gun barrel coming up to face him. Instinctively he whipped his own blaster out of his waistband. He was faster to the draw, but hesitated before firing; too many pedestrians passed back and forth between them, and he risked hitting one in the crossfire. But the crowd's presence didn't stop his assailant, who had no regard for the bystanders in his way.

Falco felt him squeezing the trigger and ducked. He popped off two shots at the avian, but the first hit an unintended target, and the second must have missed.

"You'll pay for what you did!"

The canid paused to aim his next shot carefully, waiting for a gap to open this time. Those in between them cried out after the first gunshots and either fell to the ground or fled. But the instant a thin line of sight opened between them, Falco managed to fire his blaster first.

The assailant jerked backwards, dropping his own weapon. The townspeople watched in surprise as he fell to the ground with a thud, his cloak billowing to the sides to reveal an emerald green G tattooed on his shoulder.

They looked back to see who'd shot him, but Falco was already gone. Limping as fast as he could, he squeezed down a tight alley between a pair of stalls and two tents. He doubled over, catching his breath and waiting for things outside to cool down.

Once he'd had a breather, he crept to the edge of the tents and braced his hands on the tarp walls. From the thin space between he could see some of the people outside; they were either frightened or curious, but when no other shots sounded apathy took over, and they went back to business. Ultimately shoot-outs like this were a common occurrence in Styx, but that didn't stop a ring of morbidly-curious onlookers from gathering around the body.

From the tattoo he knew it was one of Grimmer's men. He had probably split off from the others in the routing and was working alone, as killing Falco now would've spoiled Scrimmer and Dimmer's own plans for revenge. Then again, he realized it may have been in his best interest to get shot now and avoid whatever torture they had in store for him…

He pulled back behind cover, but noticed bright streaks of red smearing the tent walls where his hands had been. Confused, he examined his wings. The blue feathers on both were stained as well. He looked down and was surprised to find blood trickling from his side – and it wasn't one of his old wounds that had reopened this time. So the second bullet had grazed him after all, though he didn't notice at the time because he couldn't feel his own pain; only a dull buzzing now that he'd observed the wound.

Cursing, he tore off a sleeve from his shirt and shoved it beneath his old bandages, covering the wound. It was a shitty job, but it'd have to do for now. He had to keep moving…

When the commotion died down enough Falco slipped out from between the tents – now favoring his side in addition to everything else. After a few more minutes of walking he made it safely to the other side of the shanty town. He emerged from the throng of people, finally able to breathe safely. All it took was a short climb up another flight of concrete stairs, and he exited through an identical archway to the one he'd entered through. Katt's thoughts continued to echo from down the next passage, so he followed them in.

Soon he came upon a giant doorway in the side of the tunnel; he could hear her inside, but the effects of Corruption were weakening. He had to move fast before they disappeared completely, robbing him of his one and only advantage.

Falco made to enter through the round, vault-like door, but stopped. On either side of the doorway was the same symbol: a long black dragonfish curling in on itself like a spiral, spray-painted or perhaps burned into the cement wall. These were the headquarters of the Black Dragonfish, the most notorious criminal organization on Zoness; the yin to the Bureau's yang. He wasn't dealing with smalltime ruffians like Grimmer's Gang anymore; he was dealing with the criminal underworld that pulled the real strings in the district above.

He had the distinct feeling that, if he went in there, he was never coming back out alive.

…But if he turned away now, he'd never see Katt again.

After a few moments of hesitation, Falco ignored his pounding heart and ducked in.

X

He expected to be accosted as soon as he entered, but to his surprise no one was there to greet him; the interior unlit. Falco would've assumed the lair was abandoned if not for the hundreds of inner voices his mind picked up inside. Yet he couldn't make any of them out; they were like slurred whispers, or jumbles of words he couldn't understand. A fog began to cover his mind, but whether it was a result of Corruption or his wounds finally doing him in, he couldn't tell.

Katt was definitely inside here, but there was no route that lead directly to her. It was just another maze of passages and rooms, now more nightmarish than ever. As he stumbled through the hallways it felt like he'd entered a labyrinth of non-Euclidian geometry. The passages just lead in circles. He recognized that stain on the floor; he'd seen that crack in the wall before. One moment the walls seemed to close in about him, and the next they disappeared, making him feel like an ant on the floor of a massive chamber. Still at other times he felt like the passages twisted and contorted till he was walking on the walls and ceiling.

Exploring the fever dream, he wandered into a large, warehouse-like room storing luxury goods. Crates were stacked against the walls, while pale white mannequins occupied the central floor in droves. Cold fluorescent lights flickered above them, reflecting off the shiny contours of their semi-nude bodies. They stood like an army of soldiers awaiting the command to spring to life. Most were arrayed in orderly rank-and-file, while others stood awkwardly about, breaking the illusion. Some were missing detachable limbs.

The mannequins wore all manner of expensive clothing; fashionable coats, scarves, necklaces, hats, lingerie – anything the dwellers of 13's rich central district might desire while everyone else wallowed in rot. All the garments were smuggled in to avoid the heavy taxes meant for the planet's reclamation, and sold for much less – though even the paid taxes merely ended up in the coffers of the Bureaus.

Falco eyed the mannequins uneasily as he limped through the room. He thought he heard whispers coming from their empty heads, but no matter which blank face he stared at, he couldn't find the source. He kept swiveling and jerking his head around, peering at the darkness between their bodies, but never identifying anyone. Still, he couldn't shake his feverish paranoia as he walked between them.

Right as he reached the end of the figures, the last one on his right moved. She glided out in front of him like a phantom. Besides a black chrome respirator she was unclothed – her thin, white-furred body left her nearly indistinguishable from the dozens of other mannequins. Her thin tail, triangular ears, and general form suggested that of a feline like Katt, though the mask completely obscured her face.

Falco stumbled back, blinking through the haze. He felt frightened by her, but not because she presented any identifiable threat. It was just a general aura she exuded that disturbed him; her silence unnatural.

The woman crept over to the door at the end of the room, opening it for him. She paused on the threshold and stared back at Falco, though her eyes were hidden by the pitch-black visor. She simply extended a slender arm and pointed through the door.

Swallowing, Falco resumed his halting march. He felt weaker by the second, and every passing moment he seemed to slip farther from this world. He paused in front of the woman, staring into her black mask, but he couldn't discern any eyes or face beneath it. Her thoughts came loud and clear, but she wasn't thinking much; just observing him curiously, awaiting his reaction.

Since he had no other choice, Falco trusted her. He turned down the dark hallway and took a few more steps…but slowed. He felt too weak to continue; too dizzy to stand. He teetered on his feet for a few weightless moments, then fell to the floor, and the room disappeared.

X

Falco spent the next indeterminant amount of time drifting in and out of reality. Lights passed overhead, but they could have been hallucinations for all he knew. One moment they'd be dazzling and multicolored, blinding him, while the next they'd chill him with cool glows. But in between he'd pass through long stretches of nothing but darkness.

A constant force tugged on his arms, dragging him across the floor. He smeared blood as he went, and the dull pain of his wounds began to return – especially that of the gunshot. His cheek rubbed against cool concrete, slick tiles, and rough carpet, one material after the next. The sharp smell of alcohol, the pungent odor of urine, and the metallic scent of blood all took turns assaulting his nose.

Occasionally he'd manage to flutter his eyes open, allowing him to catch brief glimpses of his surroundings. He saw boots, shoes, and bare paws next to his face; the legs of tables, chairs, and barstools, and the bases of dancing poles. Once he saw someone else lying beside him – a rat with a ruby red hole in his forehead. He stared back with unblinking eyes, tongue lolled out grotesquely. Before he could linger on the sight a body bag zipped closed over the rat's head, and Falco was dragged on – but the image remained.

He passed several other such bags, some still leaking blood. At some point he managed to twist his head upright, staring at the ceiling so he didn't have to see them anymore. The figures of his captors drifted in-and-out of view. Most of the time he saw shadowy forms he didn't recognize, each with unfriendly faces that leered down at him. But sometimes he'd look up to find the angelic feline from before watching over him, as if she guided his passage through the underworld. But her face remained covered as always.

He heard many noises on his voyage; there were pained cries, screams, pleas, wails, moans, and laughter, all blending together dissonantly without any rhyme or reason. Underneath the cacophony he gleaned voices whispering in hushed tones, but it was impossible to distinguish their thoughts from their actual speech. He was able to understand the ones standing or seated closest to him as he passed:

So this is the leader of the Free Birds?

No way in hell he beat that lizard today – he's half his size.

This is the guy all the sirens are for? Lame.

I heard he's a genius scientist – maybe even a wizard. That drug isn't natural.

He looks dead…

Damn, already?

Dressed like shit for a gang leader.

You're dressed like shit.

Yeah, well, I'm not a gang leader.

I heard the new boss and his crony have beef with 'im.

That's right! What's the boss gonna do to him?

Dunno, but at least I got an eyeful of the North End's 'Hero' before he disappears forever.

Falco, where are you…

Katt's voice! – closer now than she'd ever been before. Hearing her again rejuvenated Falco's spirit, and he began to fight back. He grunted, trying to break his arms free and lift off the floor…but the exertion merely drained his energy completely. After a few strained spasms, his head fell back against the floor, and he lost consciousness again shortly thereafter.

X

The next time Falco awoke he felt slightly better. At least, his head did. While he could think more clearly, his wounds felt less numb; the pain more prevalent. But it was a welcome pain that tethered him to his own body again.

He was seated in a chair somewhere, but his arms were unbound, and he could freely move. That was a good sign; at least they weren't going to torture him yet. They must have trusted him for the time being – or at least, trusted his present frailty to keep him from trying anything. To his surprise he sported a few new bandages – especially on his side where the bullet hit him.

Blinking away the fuzziness, he realized he sat in a spacious reception room. On either side were black marble fountains, dusty and covered in cobwebs, but still choking out trickles of stale water. A set of terraced steps lead up to a stage, upon which sat a highbacked chair and desk, covered in shadow. The back wall was a dull, shadowy blue; nearly black. But near the top flitted an array of phantasmal, ghostly lights. They hovered in place like a chandelier of fireflies, sometimes blinking in and out, sometimes wavering as if seen through water. It seemed…alive. The odd chandelier barely illuminated the rest of the room with a dim, murky glow.

He sensed the presence of other minds nearby, but couldn't tell how close. The thought occurred to him to use this opportunity to escape. Frantically he reached into his pants, but the blaster – his only weapon besides his mind – was gone.

"Lose something?"

The muzzle of his own blaster pressed against his head, and he froze. A light turned on above Falco's head, covering him like a spotlight. Compared to the ever-present darkness in the rest of the sewers, the light was blinding, and he flinched.

The cat from before rounded the chair to stand before him, the spotlight glowing off her pale, bare fur and chrome respirator. She held the gun at arm's length, firmly pressed into his forehead as she observed him with hidden eyes.

"Brave of you to come here alone, with only a blaster at your side."

Falco exhaled, staring her down. "Didn't have a choice."

His voice came out muffled through his own gas mask, the rubber restricting his beak from opening all the way. The woman poked his mask with her gun. "You don't need this anymore. Why don't you take it off?" She cocked her hips. "You show me yours…I'll show you mine."

Humoring the woman with a gun, Falco unfastened the mask and slipped it off his face. It felt good to finally have a breath of unfiltered air. The feline kept up her end of the bargain and removed her respirator, exposing her own face. Her narrow eyes told of a dangerous cunning, while her grin betrayed an impish desire for mischief.

He looked her up and down for a second, lingering on her figure – but his thoughts were elsewhere as he made small-talk. "So…what? Best welcoming committee the Dragonfish could manage was a single stripper?"

She giggled, circling around him. "You're funny."

"Am I wrong? Only reason you'd walk around like that is if you were a prostitute – or you owned the place."

"Sometimes the richest clothes money and power can buy are…none at all," she winked.

She was an angel, but an angel of death, and one Falco couldn't let his defenses down for. The woman had removed the gun from his head in order to take off her mask, leaving him uncovered. Unwise of her to give him an opening. All he had to do was jump out of his seat, wrestle the gun from her arm, and hold it to her head. Just like that, he'd have a hostage to barter with; perhaps one who could lead him to Katt. He was weak, but with nothing to hide her body, Falco was easily able to judge her strength. He knew he was still strong enough to overpower her.

Sucking in a breath, Falco reared back to launch out of his chair. But just when his tail feathers left the seat, a knife suddenly pressed against his neck.

The avian aborted the attack. He flung himself back against the chair and froze, the blade cutting into his skin. A scale-covered arm wrapped itself around his torso, the claws at the end poking into him. He had to suck in a breath and straighten up in his seat to keep the knife from cutting deeper.

"Ah-ah-ah, there'll be none of that," a muffled voice hissed from behind him.

"I warned you, Nestra, he'd still have some fight left in him," yet another voice came from somewhere on the stage.

For the first time the cat seemed caught off-guard; she stepped back instinctively when Falco first tried jumping her, surprise on her face. But she quickly recovered. "Good," she forced a smile. "He wouldn't be worth keeping alive if he didn't have spirit left."

"Hm, indeed."

Nestra walked back over to Falco – cautious at first, but outwardly gloating. She placed a finger beneath his chin and raised his head to look at her. "You poor thing; you've given so much of yourself over the past few days, and now you're stretched so thin. Yet you still take everything on yourself. I like that."

Falco struggled against the unknown lizard holding him in his seat, but eventually he surrendered. Slowly the knife withdrew, and the other arm released him. "That's more like it," he hissed. "Now, behave."

Falco lifted an arm to shield his eyes, peering beneath it at the chair on the stage – that was where the third voice had originated from, but its owner sat in the darkness, out of reach of the spotlight.

"Alright, I'm here," he said, speaking between haggard breaths. "Now where are you keeping Katt?"

"If you mean your tail, then trust me, she's safe and unharmed – a lot more than you are."

The figure spoke in a smooth yet condescending aristocratic voice. For some reason it rubbed his feathers the wrong way, but if he recognized it he couldn't place it yet.

"Look, do whatever you want to me, but let me see Katt first," he pleaded.

"Hm, temperamental, aren't we?" Rather than address his request, the figure paused. A faint orange glow by his muzzle flared for a second, and a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed into the air. He made Falco wait an anxiously-long time before responding.

"Fine. Something tells me I'd get nothing out of you till you see her again, and I prefer you in a cooperative state." He waved his hand tiredly. "Release the girl."

There was a scuffle in the back corner of the stage – probably where a side door was hidden.

"Falco!"

Another feline silhouette rushed down the steps and into the spotlight, revealing herself to be Katt. She knelt beside his chair, laying a hand on his side. "Are you alright?!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he grunted, though the wounds all over his body smoldered beneath the clothes and bandages. It was easy to ignore them when he felt so elated to see Katt again. "Hey, they didn't hurt you or nothin', did they?"

She shook her head. "A little inhospitable and rough, but they treated me well, all things considered."

He accepted Katt's hand, gripping it tightly, then looked back up at the chair behind the desk. The occupant still hid from view.

"Alright, where are Scrimmer and Dimmer? I know they put you up to this."

The figure growled quietly. "I'm not one to be put up to anything, Falco."

He raised an eyebrow. "You had a deal, right? Grimmer's Gang ruled with your blessing."

"I'm afraid the Black Dragonfish are…under new management. Their deal has been reconsidered – and terminated." He finished by snuffing out the butt of his cigarette on an astray.

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but my beef is with the Gang – not you. So let me see the brothers."

The figure shrugged. "Suit yourself…"

In a flash the wall at the back of the room brightened, now illuminated by bluish-green light. Falco realized it wasn't a wall after all, but a plexiglass viewing-window. On the other side of the glass was a large chamber of water some twenty feet across. The walls were steel yet covered in rust and algae. But his eyes were quickly drawn upwards; there, floating at the top of the tank, were three bodies: Scrimmer, Dimmer, and a suit-clad boar that Falco didn't recognize. Their arms and legs were spread out lifelessly, wavering in a faint current. Each of their eyes were freakishly-bloated, and their mouths puckered open.

Close to a dozen creatures swam around them; long eel-looking things with webby black skin, unnaturally-long jaws bristling with teeth, and bulbous, vacant eyes. It hadn't been a chandelier at all that Falco had seen, but the glowing, bioluminescent lures that hung from the animals' heads like fishing lines. They gorged on the flesh of the unfortunate victims, tearing into them with ravenous teeth till they rained bloody chunks of fur and scales down through the tank.

Scrimmer and Dimmer were dead.

Falco's stomach twisted at the sight, and Katt winced. Even Nestra could only stare for so long, but she masked her discomfort by observing Falco's reaction.

Sweat began to bead on the bird's brow. "What the hell happened here?"

"Grimmer's gang of petty street ruffians is no more. They caused chaos, made enemies of everyone they ruled over, and failed to eliminate a tiny street gang with five men, a child, and a broken robot. In fact, they pissed off so many people that they rose up and ousted the gang themselves. Utterly pathetic. An embarrassment to the Black Dragonfish. The old Black Dragonfish. But, unlike the previous boss (the boar you see floating before you), I don't tolerate failure; I breed it out of my men like natural selection. The weak die, and the strong live."

That was when Falco put it together: the eerily-empty headquarters, the dead body in the club, the bloodstains – and now this odd individual, talking as if he owned the place. A coup had transpired here; perhaps as soon as he defeated Grimmer.

He narrowed his eyes, finally asking, "Who are you?!"

Even in the darkness, Falco caught a flash of white teeth grinning: sharp, canine teeth.

"You're the mind reader," he said smugly. "You tell me."

Falco frowned. A test?

Apprehensively he reached out with his mind. The effects of Corruption were wearing off, but he still had enough to perform one simple trick. Instantly he tapped into the mind of the hidden figure. He picked up no words or voice; only a series of images and motions. They flashed by in a blur: the interior of a strange cockpit; sunlight glaring off silver wings as they swooped across a sky of snow; and a glowing dome of energy against the backdrop of a muddy, yellow planet.

At once he put the images together, solving the riddle.

"Wolf," Falco whispered, astounded.

"Heh, nice one."

The figure switched on his desk lamp, revealing a familiar lupine seated in the throne-like chair. Even then, it was hard for Falco to recognize him anymore; the wolf had seen better days. His face was scarred, and his black eyepatch had been replaced with a cybernetic one, the yellow dot at the center of which fixated itself on Falco. Beneath the desk he saw the wolf's left foot and shin were missing, replaced with bionic silver parts.

"Long time no see, Falco. I'm sure neither of us expected to meet again under these circumstances," he growled. "In fact, I don't think you expected to meet me again under any circumstances."

Katt said what was on both of their minds. "B-but you're dead!"

The canid merely raised an eyebrow, looking at her as if she were stupid; obviously, he wasn't.

"How?!" Falco asked. "Fox shot you down over Bolse – we all saw it! There was no way you survived that crash, let alone the whole satellite exploding afterward."

"Ah, it's an exhilarating tale of bravery and cunning! But suffice it to say, you ever-so-fortunate rookies were too distracted with destroying the core – and the hundreds of Venomian fighters swarming you – to wait to see what became of us. In all the chaos, a shuttle rescued me and Leon from the wreckage of our Wolfen. The pilot wanted to take us to the hospital aboard that nuclear meltdown waiting to happen, but Leon convinced him otherwise, directing him here. Oh, speaking of which…"

"Greetings, Falco."

The avian cringed, a shiver running down his spine; that voice ground on his nerves like claws on a chalkboard. Slowly he turned around, gritting his beak. The figure who'd held the knife at his throat finally stepped into the light. To his surprise it was the same person who had delivered Grimmer's invitation earlier that day – he recognized the clothing and gas mask that hung at his neck, though minus Grimmer's patch now. Once the lizard had removed his mask, he could plainly see the angular, emerald face of Leon, Wolf's right-hand man.

"Yes, I survived too," he hissed. "But I haven't forgotten how you shot me down over Bolse, and Wolf hasn't forgotten what your friend McCloud did to him, either."

"Let me guess; Pigma and Andross's nephew are lurking close by?"

Wolf made a stank face. "I hope not. Both are probably just particulate matter scattered all over Sector V now. Then again, if Leon and I made it out alive, perhaps they could have. If Andrew survived, he's nothing to be concerned about; without his uncle's empire he ceases to be relevant. Now Pigma, on the other hand…" He shivered. "Pigma's fate keeps me awake at night."

Falco smirked. "You know, when I first got the message you'd kidnapped Katt, I thought you were those two dumb lizard brothers trying to get revenge. Now I know better; it's just two other idiots looking for revenge."

Wolf shook his head slowly. "Please Falco, revenge is the farthest thing from my mind! It would be too easy this way. Of course I want revenge," he continued, "but at the moment it would be impossible to get it the way I want. Star Wolf and Star Fox are no more – at least for the time being. It will be ages before we face each other from the cockpit again. So for now, I assure you, any revenge will be entirely incidental. You see-"

"Can I have a drink?" Falco blurted impatiently. "I'm kinda parched."

Wolf's nose wrinkled. "I prefer you sober."

"Doesn't need to be hard – I'd kill for some Whimsy soda right now."

"You drink that stuff a lot?"

"Yeah. It's more addictive than Corruption, if you think about it."

"Don't drink Whimsy."

Falco squinted at him funny. "Why?"

"Just…don't. A word of advice."

Deciding not to press the issue, Falco just shrugged. "But what brought you to Zoness of all places? It ain't exactly the vacation hotspot it used to be anymore."

"I needed a place to recover. It was clear Venom's days were numbered, so I had to look elsewhere for safe harbor. Leon grew up on Zoness, so he brought me here. In fact, as I understand it, you had some history with Leon here?"

Falco glanced backwards at Leon, who grinned, his lizard eyes twinkling. "We had a few unpleasant run-ins."

"Well, District 13 turned out to be the perfect hideout. After my surgery, I needed some time to recover before I sat my ass in a pilot's seat again. So I got in with the local underworld. I still have my networks outside of Zoness, so I had much to offer them. Only, then you came along. Leon and I watched your career from the shadows with much interest. Imagine: Falco Lombardi, former ace of the Star Fox team, stooping to running drugs! I never imagined you'd pick up our way of life, but Leon tells me that's all you used to know."

While Wolf spoke, Nestra turned her back on Falco and slinked up the steps. She approached Wolf and sat comfortably in his lap – but the lupine flinched and hissed something curtly in her ear. The feline apologized beneath her breath and scooched onto his other leg – his good leg – settling there instead. Relaxing now, Wolf rested his chin on her shoulder and began stroking her front possessively.

"The head of the Black Dragonfish and his cabal didn't appreciate how you shook things up. They wanted to be done with you, but myself and others-" he slung an arm around Nestra's waist, "disagreed. We saw the potential in your…product, and we bartered for your survival. We convinced Satori not to get involved. When you made Grimmer that offer, I suggested we let him take it. You might even say you were permitted to live this long because of me – because of us."

Falco could feel Leon's eyes drilling into the back of his head – probably gloating.

"When news of your victory came, the tables turned on Satori, who supported Grimmer. He thought everyone had his back. Little did he know Nestra here, his most beloved concubine, had eyes only for me since the moment I turned up on their doorstep. We had many a rendezvous behind his back, during which I persuaded her to betray Satori. She promised to stab him in the back…"

"And in return, Wolf promised to crown me the head of the Black Dragonfish," Nestra finished. She leaned comfortably back against the lupine, nuzzling him.

"Now here I am, ruling the old boss's gang, sitting in his chair, drinking his booze, and banging his concubine." He finished by obscenely licking the feline's neck, who leaned her head to the side to enjoy it.

Falco grimaced, Katt stiffened, and Leon rolled his eyes – though perhaps that was normal for the chameleon.

The avian cleared his throat before they could begin anything else. "So everything that happened today was some elaborate setup to bring me here? The fake bomb emergency, the showdown with Grimmer, the attack from the Bureau, and Katt's kidnapping?"

"More or less. Some things I and the Black Dragonfish intervened in. Others we simply allowed to go their own course and see what happened."

He scowled. "And kidnapping Katt was necessary because…why again?"

Wolf cringed. "Look, about your girl…I'm genuinely sorry we had to do that, but it was absolutely imperative! The streets were swarming with Bureau officers, and, in your present condition, it was only a matter of time before you were caught. I had to get you into the sewers for your own safety. At the same time, I needed to put your Corruption to the test. I had to see if it was for real; that it could actually do all the things you said it could."

"So…did it pass this 'test' of yours?"

The lupine grinned. "You wouldn't be standing here otherwise. I'm impressed you managed to tail Leon and the girl through 13's maze of sewers – an impossible task otherwise. Now I know Corruption is different than anything else on the market." He laughed, smacking his good knee. "I mean, who would believe it? A drug that makes you telepathic? That gives you the ability to hear others' thoughts?" He leaned forward again. "But, perhaps more importantly, who could compete with it?"

The falcon narrowed his eyes. "If all this is to you is the power to read minds, you're missing the point. It's so much more."

"Interesting…" Wolf began stroking his chin fur, staring at Falco thoughtfully. Eventually he made up his mind. He patted Nestra's shoulder and the girl slid off his lap. Grunting, he scooted out from behind his desk and stood up while Nestra hopped onto the desk, draping her legs over the side. With some difficulty Wolf descended the steps from the stage, hobbling down the terraced platform with a loud clunk every time his metal foot landed. He stopped right in front of Falco and Katt while Leon brought him a chair to sit in. He landed heavily in it, sighing.

"You know," Falco coughed out, "I thought you were dead after we shot you down. Now that I can see you better you don't seem far from it. You look like shit."

"Perhaps, but elegant shit." Wolf pointed a claw at Falco. "You look like just plain shit. Also…" He leaned forward in his chair, steepling his hands menacingly. "It's unwise to bring up the incident again especially since I could have you flushed outside at any second." He gestured towards a steel door in the side of the room; an airlock leading to the tank outside. Behind him, Nestra imperceptibly flinched.

"But now isn't the time to dwell on old grudges. The way I see it Falco, we're in the same situation. Today, both you and I challenged the order of things here in District 13, and we came out on top. You beat up some wannabe gangster, and I executed a coup to assume control over Zoness's most powerful crime syndicate (yes, slight difference, I know). I'd say that was cause for celebration!…But we're still in tight spots.

"Both of us are recovering from wounds, leaving us vulnerable. Both of our teams disbanded, making mercenary activity out of the question. And perhaps most importantly, we both want to get back at Corneria."

Falco crossed his arms. "It's not a matter of getting back at Corneria," he stressed. "This isn't about revenge; it's about picking up their slack. Besides, anything they did to you before or during the war you fully deserved."

Wolf sighed. "I can see you're too stubborn to change your mind on that issue, so I won't waste my breath. But I assure you, Corneria is far from your friend. You know they're trying to kill you, right? Given the circumstances, it would seem we're on the same side now."

"Cut to the chase; what do you want with me?"

Wolf folded his arms. "Recently I gained control of Zoness's largest criminal organization. Since I no longer have a merc team, I'm focusing on other areas I can expand my influence. The problem is, Cornerian intelligence agencies are also trafficking drugs on Zoness to increase their budget. This makes things harder on myself, the Black Dragonfish, and…you, since we're technically in the same line of business. We need to work together."

Falco raised an eyebrow. "And why should I work with you?"

Before Wolf could answer, Nestra slid off the desk and descended the steps. Stopping at Wolf's chair, she hugged him from behind and leaned over him.

"Come now, Falco," she spoke patronizingly, "aren't you getting a little old to be joyriding around the city in your toys? You've come of age; the age when you must make a choice. It's the same for everyone who grows up in the slums. When you're young you only have to choose which petty street gang you're a part of: Free Birds, Grimmer's Gang, it's of no consequence. But when you become a man, you make the real choice. Will you join an actual organization like the Black Dragonfish, or will you go straight, obeying the Bureaus like a good little chick?"

"I've made my decision. I'm not following anyone else, I'm making my own path – it's you all who'll be following me."

Wolf snorted. "What, being Lylat's hero wasn't good enough for you? You had to come back here and fuck things up for the rest of us to get a hit of that high again?" He lowered his voice, even in the safety of his own secluded office room. "Falco, I don't think you understand. It's you against the world right now. The Bureau is looking for you; Zoness's government cracked down on you on Corneria's request. That means Pepper, and whoever else is in charge, have betrayed you. They wanted to take you prisoner and make you spill everything you know – or outright have you killed. They hate you because you're a threat to them…"

Wolf pulled out a small bag from his pocket and dumped it into his hand. Corruption's blue-and-red-colored pills spilled into his palm, some plinking to the floor.

"…This, is a threat to them, and everything they've built. Did you know Andross kept spies in Corneria's intelligence agencies during the war? Not all of them were caught, or escaped. Some stayed put, assuming their fake lives and living on as if they were always on the victor's side – but now that Andross is gone, and his nephew is presumed dead, they keep in contact with me. We're not sure how quite yet, but this," he held up a pill, "is the key. Whatever Corneria is scheming, Corruption is the counter."

Falco shook his head, confused. "I don't understand. You have the pills. It won't take long to reverse-engineer 'em so you can begin manufacturing Corruption yourself. Why do you still need me or the Free Birds?"

Wolf frowned and nodded. "True, true. I guess we could kill you and every last Free Bird. We could spend weeks analyzing and perfecting our own version of Corruption, then establish an entirely new supply chain and contact network to spread it. I guess we could make an alliance with a new gang to watch over the North End and regain the trust of the people." His eyes flicked up at Falco. "Or we could make a deal with someone who's already accomplished all that.

"We need someone to administrate over the North End now that Grimmer is gone. The Black Dragonfish will partner with the Free Birds, taking you into our protection so the Bureau and Corneria can't get at you. But most importantly…"

He stood up and approached him.

"Most importantly, Falco…I need that face of yours."

"…Huh?"

Wolf raised his arms. "It's all a matter of branding, you see. Both of us were mercenaries, Falco. We just happened to do business with different employers, and mine turned out to be…megalomaniacal. Your average person doesn't understand the business aspect of mercenary work; they'd never forgive me. If the people get wind that Wolf O'Donnell of Star Wolf is behind Corruption, they won't want anything to do with our product. So I need you to continue selling it.

"The people love you, Falco." His eye twitched. "You're a local hero around here; the North End's claim to fame. But you're also one of the heroes of Lylat. And Falco, with my network, I plan to extend Corruption's reach outside of Zoness. I see this product becoming an interplanetary phenomenon. All you have to do is work alongside me, your old rival, who is so eager to put aside his differences and let bygones be bygones!"

Wolf extended his hand to Falco. "So, what do you say?"

He looked at it warily. In truth he hated the idea of working for his arch nemesis. The metaphorical wounds from their previous battles still hadn't healed. It was only four or five months since Bolse, where Star Wolf very nearly cost them their lives – and the war. He loathed the thought of working alongside Leon most of all. What would Fox think if he said yes? What would Slippy and Peppy think? Would they feel betrayed? If the rest of the system found out, would that change their opinion of him?

Falco glanced between everyone in the room: Wolf's expression was one of sickening, forced friendliness; Nestra watched over his shoulder with feline curiosity; Leon couldn't stifle a smirk; Katt gripped his shoulder worriedly, eyes screaming no; and Dimmer and Scrimmer gawked at him with vacant expressions as they continued to float in the tank.

He began to rock in place, feeling faint. The world seemed to swim around him like the hazy waters outside the window. Wolf's open hand faded in and out, sometimes reappearing as two. He had to make his decision fast, or he'd give out right then and there, and that would be the end of him.

He wanted to refuse Wolf and go his own way, but…the offer was too tempting. With his help he could make a fortune from Corruption and reinvest it back into Zoness. He could buy his way into the Bureau and better the planet with their help. He could bring so many people together – even across Lylat – working to recover the system from the ground up where each planet's government had failed to do so from the top down.

But to do that he had to betray himself and everyone he loved…

Darkness crept in from the edges of Falco's vision. There was nothing else for it, so he reached out and grabbed Wolf's hand. It was hard finding it with his fading eyesight, but as soon as he felt his ruff paw he grasped it tightly, squeezing as hard as he could.

"Deal," he gasped, as if his soul had escaped his body in one last breath.

Then his hollow form crumpled over, and he fell from the chair.