The ceiling fan hummed like the soft whir of gyrocopter blades. The early morning sunlight shone through the blinds of Fox McCloud's Corneria City dwelling like the fires from Heat bombs. A special type of Cornerian ammunition, specifically built for incineration. He saw a lot of them fall in the past few months. Charred, melting scales dashing between the burning orange trees. Smoke rising in thick, angry plumes of black, carbon monoxide and methane. The gentle neon glimmer from the clock on Fox' nightstand reminded him of the gentle light on his blaster rifle's glowing battery. The glowing light that had almost gotten them spotted by SharpClaw stalkers as their imposing, steel-like claws trudged through the mud and brush of the marshy Saurian rainforests. Impending doom lurking through the thick, grassy bushes and branches. Cold, angry yellow eyes leering through the haze of the jungle's sweat, searching for terrified, warm-blooded prey to feed their flesh-hungry, bloodthirsty ranks.
He was thinking about it again.
Shut up. Just shut up. It's over now. You're home, you're safe, you're not feral. You're a living, breathing man.
He tried desperately to silently reassure at himself. His therapist had told him to exercise this tactic when those memories, those dreaded memories, came rushing back. Fox turned away from the light of his window and the soft glow of his neon clock. The other side of his bedroom was pitch black.
That was the longest night of his life, that time on Sauria. He was on watch. He could hear the subtle shuffle of bafomdads through the innumerable green brushes littering the forest floor. The cackling of puk-puk birds echoing through the jungle canopy late at night. The subtle cracks and creaks of the forest shifting, tightening in around him from all directions. Every moment he felt as if a blade of cold, SharpClaw steel would split his skull, and as his vision filled with blood, he'd think about… her.
The angry red was slowly faded into a cool, calming blue sky; dotted with little white clouds. The sign that the SharpClaw's reign had ended, and Fox could return home.
"You're home, Fox. You're safe. You're not feral. You're a living, breathing man." A soft, cool, Saxon voice wisped through his mind like wind through the hills. The face of a gentle, blue fox filled his vision. She smiled down comfortingly at him. The entirety of the campaign, she was the only thing that kept his head together, and that's why her hand rested on his temple as they slept in the same bed.
Her name was Krystal. Or at least, that was the rough translation of her name based off a language from Cerinia, a planet Andross had decimated many years earlier. She had lived on Sauria since the narrow escape from her homeworld's destruction. And while she didn't mind living on Sauria, especially with the company of the quite friendly Earthwalkers, Krystal had desperately missed the company of other foxes. Upon her meeting him, she knew McCloud was the furthest thing from Cerinian. However according to her, many foxes were of Papetoonian descent. As it turns out, Papetoonians are a somewhat distant relative to Cerinians by some history lesson Fox had neglected to pay full attention to. Given that both Fox and his father were from Papetoon, Krystal felt drawn to the young captain, and found herself dating the charming red fox upon their return to Corneria. It wasn't just companionship, though. Fox had learned that Krystal could do something very valuable for him upon return from such a grueling, desperate conflict.
Krystal was a telepath.
Cerinians were known for their strange, mystical powers told from ancient manuscript. Krystal, as a direct descendant of a Cerinian chieftain, had inherited one such ability. She could read brain waves, and with some focus, alter them. Thus, when she felt the distress on the other side of the bed, all she had to do was reach over, and place a hand on Fox' forehead. Almost immediately, any thoughts of a damp, dark, dangerous forest faded from McCloud's mind, replaced by the calm clearness of a warm summer day. And finally, Fox could sleep peacefully.
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"So, what's this all about on Sauria, General?" A gray-haired rabbit asked, looking up at the holodisplay on the bridge of the Great Fox. Peppy straightened his glasses as he observed an old hound dog in a deep Maroon Cornerian Officer's uniform. General Pepper, famed commander-in-chief during the Lylat Wars, was fresh into a new conflict with a dire need for reinforcements. Floating in the atmosphere of a planet of deep, blue ocean and land masses dotted with dark, green forests; were two Cornerian frigates with numerous support vessels. Just then, one of the frigates let loose one of its smaller transport ships, sending it down towards the surface. Gathered behind the old gray hare, was ace pilot and veteran of the Lylat Wars, Fox McCloud; and team Engineer, Slippy Toad. But where, oh where is Falco? Fox would rather not think about it, and quite honestly, neither did anyone else aboard the Great Fox. Especially in aftermath of the ensuing screaming match, eventual fistfight, and expectedly having to clean the blood off the mess-hall floor. Fox stood arms crossed, stoically staring at the holodisplay before them. During such a peaceful time in which repairs on the Great Fox and all Arwings aboard were reaching dire levels of repair, the hamstrung pilots were desperately short of money. Thankfully, General Pepper had interrupted daily maintenance to present them with a lucrative opportunity.
"Star Fox, we are facing a new threat on Sauria with dangerous intergalactic consequences." Pepper began. A 3D model of what appeared to be a giant, green lizard, clad in rusted steel armor appeared on the display, and rotated to the right of the old hound. "A race of dinosaurs native to Sauria, known as the SharpClaw; have discovered what we believe to be ancient Cerinian technology capable of terrible power. Furthermore, it seems what remains of Andross' forces have escaped to Sauria and are aiding them in their search. As to why they are there aiding the SharpClaw, we are still unsure." The three looked at each other skeptically. It was rumored from intergalactic historians and archaeologists that the lost planet of Cerinia was once the home of an advanced civilization. A civilization, light years ahead of post-war Lylat. How exactly their culture, race, and eventually their planet was lost is a mystery. Although, judging by historical star maps, the planet was distant; but not unreachable to Lylat. Not a few years before the war began, the planet had vanished from star maps completely. Slippy chimed in.
"Cerinia? That planet's been uninhabited for centuries! Maybe even millennia!" He exclaimed, exasperated. Pepper nodded in agreement.
"Perhaps, yes. But their technology lingers on several different planets across Lylat. Much like the ruins on Titania and Fortuna. It seems the SharpClaw have discovered many ancient weapons, and plan to use them to take over Sauria." He explained. Peppy's eyes narrowed.
"What kind of weapons, General?" The old rabbit asked intensely. Pepper nodded as a new 3D model replaced the bipedal lizard. A spherical representation of the planet with a single, massive, dark cloud casting angry bolts of lightning, like the vascular veins of a well-trained muscle all along the surface. "The only one that we are sure of, is what appears to be an atmospheric disruptor. This weapon has created a vast storm that covers the ancient temple in which the SharpClaw have been doing their excavation. It is nearly impossible for us to fly in any air support or land any troops from atmosphere within 100 Kilometers of the eye of the storm. Many of our men are down there, stranded. We've managed to be able to bus in supplies and reinforcements from the seaside. It is slow, but it is the best we can do right now." Fox studied the details onscreen as Pepper laid out the logistics of the operation. The angry bolts of powerful electricity snaking from cloud to cloud. From the comfy seat of the Great Fox in orbit above the planet, it didn't seem any different from the smoggy, stormy air of Eladard or the raging blizzards of Fichina. Seasoned by recent conflict, a smirk crawled across his muzzle, eagerly awaiting the all-clear to jump in his Arwing and speed down there to kick some lizard ass. He didn't even bother listening to the rest of what Pepper had to say, until he heard the words:
"You have your mission, Star Fox. Godspeed!"
Fox immediately saluted the General.
"You got it General!" He turned to Slippy. "Get my Arwing prepped! I'm ready to rock and roll!" Fox said with a level of confident enthusiasm unheard of since the end of the Lylat Wars. Part of Peppy was happy Fox was back to his old self but looking back to see that gray cloud looming menacingly over the planet's horizon struck the old rabbit with intense worry. Fox was too wrapped up in his victorious, cocky jingo as he gathered his blaster pistol and rucksack, packing up water, rations, medical supplies, and spare batteries. In no time, he was jetting down the hallway towards the hangar, eager to jump into his aircraft and get flying. He arrived at the hangar where three of the four Arwing holders housed their ships. Peppy opened Fox' channel on his communicator.
"Remember Fox, I want you to be careful flying into that storm. We don't know anything about how powerful those ancient weapons could be." The rabbit instructed. Concern lining his distinguished, southern drawl. Fox nodded as he skillfully leapt into the open cockpit of his ship, letting the glass canopy lower down and lock in place.
"Don't worry, Peppy! I got this. I'll let you know once I've found a clear place to land!" Fox said in a rather overzealous tone. Peppy sighed, knowing Fox wasn't listening to him.
He's just as hardheaded as you, James. The old hare thought to himself as he typed in Fox' clearance codes.
"Slippy, he's good to go. Launch Fox' Arwing on my mark!" Slippy hesitated on the controls, watching Peppy closely. He spoke up.
"Mark!" Just then, Slippy hit the release latch as Fox' G-diffusers hummed to life. The four engines radiating a glowing green energy as Fox was swiftly launched from the hangar of the Great Fox. His Arwing's engines spread out as he checked their responsiveness. For a ship that hadn't undergone full maintenance in a number of months, it handled like a dream; just as it should. The cocky, young captain smiled confidently as he doubled around, doing a few quicky circles around the Great Fox before taking off towards Sauria. The radiation of his shimmering diffusers leaving a trail of charred ions in their wake. Fox's gloved hands gripped the controls excitedly, his heart pounding with the force of a thousand drums as the Arwing began to rattle and heat up from the atmosphere of the planet. The controls shifted and jerked in his hands as the glass on his cockpit radiated a searing orange light. Fox squinted through the bright, burning fire of Sauria's ozone. Slowly, the rumbling subsided, and Fox sighed as he opened his communications line.
"Status report, Fox! You got into the atmosphere awfully close to that storm!" Peppy began in a rather shaken tone. Fox smiled as he began descending.
"Peppy, I'm fine. I told you not to-" He was quickly cut off by a sudden jerk in his controls. The Arwing began vibrating violently as clouds blinded his immediate vision. Peppy's voice quickly became smothered in a thick layer of static.
"Fox! Can… y… h…e…" The rabbit's reassuring face and voice vanished from Fox' display in a haze of flickering grays and whites. Red, flashing lights began popping up all over Fox' display. His G-diffusers were refusing to adjust. Fox had completely lost control of his flaps, sending his Arwing spiraling out of control. The blue bolts of electricity quickly connected with his chassis. The volatile electricity snapping and sparking the circuits within the steel flying contraption Fox was now a prisoner of. He gritted his teeth, desperately and vainly wrestling with his unresponsive ship.
"Come on! Come on!" He said, cursing himself. "I can't see a thing in this storm!" Fox yelled out. "Infared!" He expected to see a variety of shades of gray and white corresponding to the layout of the planet, only to be greeted by a wall of fuzzy, flickering light. "Dammit! Normal mode!" He shouted, shielding his eyes from the screen distortion of his alternate visors. It was no use. His scopes were dead, his G-diffusers had quit on him, his flaps wouldn't respond, and none of his alternate visors would allow him to see. His disabled aircraft rocked violently as lightning smashed against the sides with the force of plasma flak. His canopy began to crack from the sheer power of the impact from such thunderous bolts. Metal clanging, wires shorting, and his control board snapping and popping aggressively as the storm battered and peeled his ship apart. Gale force winds tossing the quickly dismantling craft around in the immense turbulence like a cork in the ocean. As the thick, gray clouds and blue flashes of lightning began to reveal branches of trees slapping and cracking against his ship; the only thing Fox could do now, is hold on for dear life… and pray.
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Fox sat in a brightly lit office, simply dressed in a Cornerian Army shirt and a pair of cargo pants with his hands folded neatly within each other. A gentle tremble shook his nerves that he could never quite get rid of while his foot tapped nervously against the polished linoleum floor. White painted walls with holographic posters promoting healthy eating, exercising, and how to perform simple first aid hanging about the room. In the top corner of the waiting room across from Fox' seat was a HoloTV playing the news. A pretty, red panda news anchor sat calmly in the corner of the screen in a silky blue blouse. Her baby-blue eyes shimmering gently as images of wounded Cornerian Soldiers returning home from the war.
"As the situation on Sauria has stabilized, the troops are coming home, and the relief effort for the war-torn world have just begun. The Cornerian government is providing physical and mental therapy for the brave men and women who were enlisted during the conflict, but many veterans and public officials are wondering if the Cornerian Parliament is doing enough…" Fox quickly looked away as the image changed to show footage of the wounded being carried off Cornerian ships returning home from Sauria. He did not want to see their faces. That destitute look of despair and shell-shocked misery that dampened their brows and wedged in the folds of their minds like cancerous tumors. It reminded Fox so much of himself that it made him physically ill to see that broken, defeated expression on anyone else. Only a few of the most insane, the most chemically unbalanced managed to weather that terrible conflict and make it out smiling. Impressive as it may have seemed initially, the realization eventually dawned on him that those that did may have never been safe to bring back to society in the first place. He hated the fact he would wish that fate on anyone. But the last thing he'd want to see is talented warriors being caged up by the restraints of Cornerian society.
"Captain McCloud? The doctor can see you now." A pretty feline announced, looking out into the waiting room. Fox stood up, adjusting his deep green Army T-shirt. She held the door open for him, leading him back to one of the examination rooms where a purple, scaled lizard stood waiting for him. The doctor smiled warmly to Fox.
"Captain. Good to see you." He said in an upbeat, modest tone. Fox nodded back at him.
"Doc Erik. How's it been going?" He asked casually, taking a seat on the examination table. Erik shrugged.
"Pretty busy. Had vets in and out all day. Just trying to do the best I can. You hear from Mason?" He asked casually, scrolling through his holotablet. Fox shrugged.
"Not recently. Last I heard he was headed back to Macbeth to visit his family." He explained. Erik looked back at him with that same modest smile.
"Well, that's good. He always made a point to do some travelling before coming home. I guess it helped him reconnect with society." The lizard explained. From what the lizard doctor had told him, Erik was one of Mason's squadmates during the Lylat Wars. If anyone knew anything about chemically imbalanced warriors with remarkable propensity to recover from hardship, it was this white-coated lizard right here. He adjusted the stethoscope around his neck. "So, this is just a routine physical. I'm gonna need you to remove your shirt, please." Erik said. Fox reached for the bottom of his green shirt, pulling it up over his head and setting it down beside him on the table. His fuzzy white abdomen tinged with orange was dotted in discolored scars and blaster bruises. Erik studied the scarred abdomen of the veteran vulpine.
"Any of your stab wounds or blaster marks still hurt?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Fox shrugged, gently prodding at the one long scar along his lower abdomen.
"This one gets sore from time to time, but only when I go hard on my core workouts." He explained. Erik nodded.
"And you said you got that one at the beginning of the conflict?" He quizzed further.
"Well… only when I got there, which was a few months ago." Fox studied his own scarred abdomen, gently poking at the scar tissue through his stomach fuzz. Erik nodded stepping a little closer.
"Where does it hurt, exactly?" The lizard looked at the old wound closer to see the damage. Fox finger danced around the length of the scar. The rigid length of hastily repaired tissue spanned about three inches from his lower abdomen up to his stomach not a few inches away from his hip. Whoever stabbed him narrowly missed his iliac artery. Any lower and Fox very likely could have bled to death. Erik's eyes narrowed at the scar. "That was a pretty deep one. You got lucky though. They missed that key artery that carries blood to your legs. If he would've hit you just a bit lower… well we probably wouldn't be having this conversation right now." The doctor explained rather candidly. Fox rolled his eyes.
"Didn't stop it from hurting." He griped. Erik breathed out a chuckle.
"Well, aside from the soreness, I'd just be careful on your abdominal workouts. It's pretty well healed up but be cautious about it." He finished, plugging the stethoscope into his ears while placing the little metal circle on Fox' chest. "Take deep breaths." Erik instructed. Fox began taking long drags of air, as if he were smoking it. The doctor intently listened to the gentle thuds of Fox' heart, noting the rhythm is slightly faster than usual. Erik glanced up at him. "Are you nervous or under some stress right now?" He asked with a tinge of genuine concern. Fox couldn't help it. The current pulse of his heart had settled in as an unhealthy sort of normalcy. For the past few months he'd wake up every morning, surrounded by towering trees, checking every branch for stalkers, his skin tightening up and his fur stinging every time a brigade of SharpClaw grunts or Remnant troopers trundled their way through the dense forest. Fox shook his head.
"I dunno. I've just been… twitchy ever since I got off Sauria. It's just hard to relax." He explained, looking at the ground, and then up at the face of his concerned doctor.
"Have you had any recurring dreams of the conflict?" Erik asked, arms crossed. Fox nodded.
"Almost every night." He confirmed.
"Have you had any episodes of intense stress when in situation similar to Sauria?" The doctor continued. Fox paused, he looked up at Eric.
"There was this one time when I was on the flight back. I was on the Great Fox, and I was just tossing and turning. No matter where I was laying, I just felt… wet. Like I was still sleeping in the jungle. It's just so strange how comfy the jungle floor was, almost like it was some elaborate trap." The thought prodded at his mind every time he slept. Every time he sank into the soft, foam mattress, it reminded him of the moist give that the oversaturated forest floor had. And immediately his mind was brought back to him, laying in his body armor, covered in mud, fur matted from the jungle's sweat, green eyes darting in a panic at every shuffle, every rustle, every subtle shift of shadows. Erik nodded as he listened intently to his patient's description.
"Are you aware of the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder?" He said inquisitively. Fox nodded.
"Well yeah, I've seen people who've had it during the Lylat Wars and on Sauria. I spent more time in the cockpit back then. I shot down fighters, watched ships blow up with hundreds onboard, bombed enemy emplacements. But I guess it was just… detached compared to what I saw on Sauria." Fox tried his hardest to articulate his feelings. For the longest time, his Arwing was his shield and stallion. His hand of God and eye in the sky. If he was in his cockpit with flight stick in hand, he was invincible. Sure, he was trained in ground combat and practiced Ju Jitsu regularly. But for the first time in his service, the young, cocky pilot was grounded. Trapped in the dense foliage and moisture of the jungle. Forced to muddy his boots and bloody his knuckles. Take aim, and fire. Feel the heat of bombs and the whizzing of arrows and blaster fire past his ears. For the first time, there was no flying carapace of steel and plasma cannons to save him from impending doom. Only flesh, bone, and a thin layer of laser proof armor. And the thought of it alone shook him to his very core.