Wolf O'Donnell, was bored.
Nevermind, he wasn't just bored. His mind had slowly worn and atrophied to a point of near comatose stupor. No contracts, peaceful times, and flourishing economy had the mercenary laid bare. Minimal funds withered by a lack of smugglers looking to hide out at Sargasso, not to mention O'Donnell's drinking habits chipping away at his meager wallet. His days consisted of routine: wake up, shit, shower, shave, eat a meager breakfast, work out, fly his Wolfen, eat lunch, push around a couple of smugglers, have a cigar to calm down, work out again. Rinse and repeat, day in and day out.
But where was the feared, infamous merc's partners in crime?
Leon had been granted a solo contract by some fatass Fichinese Panda to assassinate a political rival, and Panther, Mr. Ladies' Man, had gone and got himself married to some curvy ex-military feline on Katina. Wolf hadn't heard a word from either of them for weeks now. He was certain one or both of them were dead.
The lupine sat in his cracked, brown leather chair, boots propped up on the desk in his sparsely decorated office. Only his chair, his desk, a Holovision, and a computer. No pictures, no decorations. Nothing. A wrap of Aquasian tobacco was grasped between his sharp, glistening canine fangs as he let out gentle clouds of smoke from his lips. He removed the cigar from his mouth, sprinkling some gray ashes on the ground. A small, steel sweeper drone appeared from a small cubby in the wall, quickly vacuuming up the residue before retreating into its hole. Wolf sighed. He hadn't felt this bored since his grueling station on Katina during the war. At least there he had his team to keep him company, soldiers to drink and gamble with. There were short bursts of fun, but this was ludicrous. Cooped up for days on end in his floating steel cell. Not even the short times he spends flying about, blasting asteroids in Meteo were enough to get his heart pumping. It was loneliness and emptiness he'd never felt before. The lupine's ears perked up as the gentle beeping of his comm broke the screeching silence. He hurried over, picking up the small earpiece and placing it to his head.
"Talk to me," he growled out intensely.
"Lord O'Donnell, there's a call waiting on your holovision."
Wolf's eye narrowed.
"Who is it?"
The voice on the other end of the line cracked nervously.
"You're not going to like it sir. FJC."
Wolf knew those initials. His heart began racing. He was looking for excitement; but excitement from anyone, anyone, but this guy. He reached for the remote for his Holovision, pressing it towards the direction of the display. It flickered to life, and there stood a tall, menacing, unnerving figure of infamous arms dealer Fenris J. Cornelius. Like Wolf, he was a lupine. And that's where the similarities ended. Fenris was a walking skeleton compared to O'Donnell. A lanky amalgamation of equal parts sleaze, conniving, and cunning. It was as if the worst attributes of himself and Leon had been tossed into a blender, mixed with a serious dose of psychosis for good measure, and molded to bring hatred to the holiest of saints.
Wolf didn't just hate Fenris.
He despised him.
His very presence on the holovision before him made Wolf's blood boil like the lava lakes of Solar. It took every fiber of Wolf's being to stand before him, gritting his teeth, digging his razor-sharp claws into his palms, mentally envisioning him beating the living daylights out of the boney wolf whilst throwing every conceivable combination of foul language at Fenris' bloody face, to not reach through the holovision, drag Fenris out by his throat, and gouge his eyes out of his head.
"Wolf O'Donnell. Dearest of all my friends."
Wolf choked on his rage. After he witnessed this man murder in cold blood and serve with ruthless dictation under Andross. After he left Wolf to die on various planets throughout the conflict. This rat bastard had the nerve, the gal to call Wolf a friend.
"What do you want, Fenris?" He asked dismissively. Wolf hadn't time for small talk. All he wanted to do now is fall into a bottle to forget that this scum of the galaxy didn't exist anymore. Lo and behold, every tap in every bar on every inhabited planet known to Lylat didn't have enough booze to drown out such a hair-curling, paint-peeling stench of this particular patch of filth.
"My associates inform me you've been rather bored."
Wolf crossed his arms.
"What's it to you?"
Fenris smirked.
"I also understand that the prosperous nature of the Lylatian economy hasn't trickled down to your rung of the system's market share."
Wolf sneered. He was getting impatient.
"Get to the point, already!" He barked at the monitor. Wolf's skeletal counterpart chuckled.
"So impatient! So eager! That's why I like you, Wolf." O'Donnell let out a growl just loud enough so that it resonated on the holovision's microphone. Fenris paused. "Alright then. The reason I called is that I have a job for you. It is of the utmost importance and in your current financial state, I can assure you you'll be handsomely rewarded for your services. Come down to my winter estate on Fichina and we can discuss this further. I've transferred the coordinates to your holophone. Hope to see you soon!" With that sickeningly sweet Saxon voice of his, he closed the communication. Blue lettering read: "Communication Terminated". Wolf turned away from the HV, steaming with rage. All he could do now was pack his things and make for Fichina.