AN: I don't have much to say here other than what you've already read from the story description. This story is largely based off the 1995 AMV "On Your Mark" by Hayao Miyazaki, but with a "what if it was Star Fox" sort of twist before I plan to take it in a completely different direction (assuming I actually stay with it that long). As usual, comments, critiques, reviews, etc. are appreciated, but like I said in my other story, I'm not trying to create a masterpiece or anything here, so keep that in mind. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter I: Signs of Life
"Thinking about her again?"
Fox McCloud jerked his head up in surprise, roused from his stupor by the words of his wingman.
"Huh?" He said, now making eye contact with Falco, sitting strapped to the wall directly across from him.
"I said, are you thinking about her again?" Repeated the pheasant. "I've been watching you stare at the floor for the past five or so minutes. Don't even think you blinked that whole time."
Fox rubbed his face wearily, reacquainting himself with his surroundings. "Uh, yeah. Guess I was. Her and everything else. Everyone. Just, you know, old times. What else is new, right?"
He sighed as he leaned forward to look around the room. A skinny metal corridor stretched out to either side of him. He and the adjacent Falco sat on crude benches which ran along either wall. Strapped in alongside both of them were about twelve other men and women, each going about their own business. Some looked nervous while others were completely stoic or even relaxed. A few made light conversation with each other, like the bird and vulpine who were seated in the middle of the pack. Most just remained silently to themselves.
Fox looked down at his rifle strapped to his front. He, along with the rest of the passengers were kitted in combat gear with helmets, visors, light body armor, firearms, grenades, and all other tactical instruments usually worn by members of the CCPD S.W.A.T. team.
"I know what you're going to say," he continued. "'It was years ago. I gotta quit torturing myself. Nothing I can do about it now. Blah-Blah-Blah.' But I just can't help it. I'd stop if I could, but it always just ends up coming back."
Falco reached over and put his hand on Fox's knee in an effort to reassure his friend. "Hey, it's ok man. I get it. We all do it, look back on better times. I just want to make sure your head is in the game when we get there. Which, considering how long we've been in this shit can, can't be too much longer now. Not really looking forward to the possibility of having to clean your brains off my visor if you go waltzing in there while daydreaming."
Fox gave a mirthless chuckle. "Yeah, no kidding. But thanks. 'Long as we stick together we should be fine in there, just like always." He reached his balled fist out towards the bird who responded by giving it a bump with his own.
Their small cylindrical troop transport ship hummed its way through the night sky above the glittering buildings of Corneria City. It was but one in a medium-sized fleet of around twenty, all filled with special unit officers like Fox and Falco. The BITS-7,often referred to as the "hot dog" for its shape and light pink color, was specially designed for the breaching of buildings and structures for the quick deployment of troops. And tonight, that is precisely what they would be doing. Their target slowly grew in the distance as they made their way via a single-file line across the city.
Convent Tower loomed above the surrounding area like a foreboding tyrant. Sat atop the skyscraper was a giant lit up circle of text which read out "THEY ARE WATCHING." Below, a set of four eyes, each situated at one side of the building, ceaselessly gazed upon the citizens of Corneria throughout the day and night. The building was the headquarters of the Disciples of Krazoa, an organization which had begun in the wake of the Sauria crisis around a decade prior. The D.O.K. came about as a result of Lylatians finally being able to visit and explore the "dinosaur planet" and subsequently the Krazoan temples located there after the civil war had ended and political relations with Corneria opened up.
The story of Andross being able to resurrect himself with the power of the Krazoa spirits spread among the populace, giving birth to new rumors and fallacious details to the point fact and fiction became indistinguishable. Even though the spirits went dormant after the maniacal scientist's second defeat, there grew a new following of people who rejected the older Cornerian pantheon in favor of the Krazoa. They believed there was a way to somehow resurrect and utilize the spirits in the same way Andross did as a means to bring about a new order in which they would be rewarded as "true disciples."
Over time, more and more joined the cult, which had strict membership fees and 'strongly recommended' donations. Even certain rich and powerful individuals like politicians, magnates, and celebrities joined. And thus, Convent Tower was born from the rising numbers, wealth, and prominence that the D.O.K. enjoyed.
At first, the Cornerian government did not think much of the budding cult. They were strange, sure, but they weren't doing anything outside of their rights as citizens. Sentiments changed, however, as they began to rapidly grow and expand to the point they had an entire skyscrape in the heart of the system's capital. Perhaps even more alarming was the steady buildup of weaponry they were amassing. Again, this was all done completely legally, with most of the arms coming from old Venomian stockpiles or surplus Cornerian supplies after the three recent mass-invasions. But, that did not make it any less nerve-wracking for the rest of the populace. In an attempt to curb a possible armed uprising, the feds put an emergency ban on selling any new weaponry to the D.O.K. and issued a search and seizure warrant for anything illegal found within Convent Tower. This, however, backfired tremendously.
The very next day, the Disciples put out a mass notice to all of its followers that Corneria had "shown its true colors by defying the will of the almighty Krazoa" and that the "heretic nation" would need to be "brought into the light and cleansed of doubt." Multiple shootings and suicide bombings took place over the course of the day all throughout the city, mostly in government and administrative areas. In total, there were 46 dead with over 300 more injured in the deadliest incident since the Anglar invasion. Later that same night, a combined police and military task force made up of highly skilled specialists was assembled to breach the cult's compound and put them to a stop for good, which brings us back to the present.
As the fleet of BITS arrived on-scene, they formed a ring around the top of the building, positioning themselves to be facing the upper story windows. Fox took a slow breath in to calm his nerves. He had already been working for the force for a few years now, which, in addition to his extensive background from his time as a mercenary, more than prepared him for almost anything that could be thrown at him. However, this cult was erratic. He couldn't predict exactly how they would act or what weapons would be at their disposal. The troops were told to attempt to end the situation quickly and without violence if at all possible, but something told Fox that the Disciples weren't planning on giving up without a fight. Even though he had just said Falco he'd be fine, he wasn't so sure he had convinced himself.
Moments later, a voice sounded over the craft.
"PREPARE FOR BREACH! I REPEAT, PREPARE FOR BREACH!"
The crew all applied ventilator masks to their faces in case of a surprise gas attack and shouldered their rifles in anticipation. They could hear the whine of the engines outside as the ship picked up rapid speed.
"THREE"
"TWO"
"ONE"
Fox took one last deep breath, bracing himself for impact as the harnesses around him tightened automatically.
"BREACHING!"
In a cascade of glass and debris, the ships burst through the side of the tower with a cacophony of destruction. They spread out evenly over multiple floors at different parts of the building so as not to threaten its structural integrity and give the troops multiple points of entry. The entire building looked almost like a hive, with the ships buzzing around it or crawling in like bees.
The restrains holding down the passengers released simultaneously as the large hatch opened up at the front of the ship. The external PA system blared out, "PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! DO NOT RESIST!"
Fox and Falco both got up and rushed out the front of the vehicle along with the rest of their unit, guns at the ready. As they stepped down onto the red carpeted floor below, littered with shards of glass, they got a quick look at their surroundings. It was clear that quite a bit of money had went into this place. Krazoa-style designs littered every part of the room, from the decorations on the walls to the large pieces of interior within it. Archways reminiscent of those found within the temples and palace itself lined the outer edges while large columns placed throughout held the ceiling above. This room appeared to be used as some sort of shrine or place of worship, as it was relatively large, taking up most of the floor they had landed on. A small shallow pool of water lay in the center, with the bottom having the same flower design seen on the warp points within Krazoa Palace. Constructed above it was bridge, leading to a small structure on the other side, which appeared to be used as some sort of ornate, elevated stage, much like the one Krystal had been imprisoned upon years prior. All around it lay statues of the Krazoa spirits and sconces holding open blue and orange flames.
Fox unfortunately did not have much time to take it all in, however, as shots immediately rang out from the other side of the room. Just as he had anticipated, the cultists had no intention of going down easy. He narrowly avoided a volley of plasma bolts which whizzed by to his left before tearing into the unfortunate trooper behind him. His reactions instantly kicked in as he dove to the right behind a large statue. Hitting the comms button on his helmet, he attempted to radio in to his wingman. "Falco, you alright out there!?"
He waited for a second before a response came back from the other end. "Yeah, I'm fine. Crazy sons of bitches got a couple of our guys though. Think I saw Jacobs go down back there. I guess I shouldn't be surprised considering who we're dealing with here. Anyway, I got into some cover on the East side, but I'm pretty pinned down right now."
"Yeah, I'm in a similar sort of situation right now," Fox responded as more plasma bolts rammed into the statue, chipping away small pieces of it around the edges. "I'm gonna try and see if I can give us an opening here. Can you see if we have any men positioned to the North side?"
"Don't think so, most everyone's still held down here at the South end. What's the plan, Einstein?"
"Gonna toss a grenade. Hopefully that will give us a bit of breathing room to let us push up. See if you can get into a flanking position."
"Alright, let 'er rip."
Fox pulled a grenade off of his vest and armed it. He let it cook for a moment, hoping for a reprieve in the blaster fire. Thankfully, his attacker had to reload just in time, allowing Fox the chance to peak out and lob the grenade. It met its mark, landing just behind a makeshift barricade constructed of toppled columns by the Disciples. Two cultists were tossed through the air like ragdolls as the grenade exploded directly behind them.
The vulpine used the opportunity to get out from cover and move to a closer position. As he sprinted towards the barricade, a surviving D.O.K. member popped up from behind it, but Fox was prepared. He already had his rifle trained on the area and unleashed a small burst into the chest of his enemy before they could even touch the trigger, dropping them instantly.
The rest of the unit slowly pushed up behind Fox, all dealing with their own small engagements. While taking cover behind a new position, he finally got his first good look at one of the cultists. A short figure came running across the stage directly on the other side of the pool. He was completely covered in a while cloak, save for his head which had a large, pointed red hood that covered his entire face. On its front was an ornate picture of a Krazoa spirit's head stitched into the fabric, with both of the eyes cut out for the wearer to see out of. This particular member had a device strapped to his chest that Fox could pretty easily guess what's intended purpose was. However, before he could do anything about it, the cultist fired at him, pinning him down behind the column.
"DIE HERETICS!" He yelled as he crossed over the bride.
Fox frantically looked around the room, running through his options of escape from the impending suicide bomber. However, the situation was handled for him as a burst of blaster fire stuck the assailant, sending him falling off the bridge and splashing into the pool below. Moments later, the vest detonated, sending water and bits of shrapnel flying in all directions as the bridge collapsed in on itself.
Shit! Was just about the most succinct thought the vulpine had as he remained behind cover. He suddenly heard Falco's voice come up through his comms. "Good call on that flank, man. You probably would have been a fine orange mist at this point if I hadn't of gotten a good shot on that crazy bastard."
Scoffing at his friend's nonchalant attitude immediately after watching a man blow up, Fox carried on the assault. As he pushed on, two things soon started to become clear to him. Firstly, these were by no means trained troops. Most of these cult members were no more than random people who had been picked up off the street and brainwashed by the D.O.K.'s predatory practices. He could see as their sloppy combat skills and lack of tactics put them at a clear disadvantage at this point in the battle, being pretty handily overpowered by the S.W.A.T. troops.
Secondly, they did not give up. To the best of his knowledge, Fox could not recall a single previous infiltration in which the majority of the perpetrators did not surrender. For most, the chance of life, even if the majority of it would be spent behind bars, was a better alternative than facing the fear of eternity. But not a single cultist put down their weapons and surrendered. They were so thoroughly dedicated to their own message that every single one of them went down fighting. It reminded the vulpine of his time in the wars, when it was simply kill or be killed. Facing against enemies who were so thoroughly indoctrinated by the insanity of others that they had no qualms about giving the ultimate sacrifice. And it made him sick.
As the battle began to reach its conclusion, most of the combined CDF and police task force had managed to push to the back of the room after clearing out most of the floor. At the very end of the room beyond the stage there remained a small hallway attached to a few more smaller offices. Falco had managed to reach there first and decided to take point. He approached each door with his sidearm readied, kicking them in to keep the element of surprise. However, none were turning up anything. It seemed that the main tactic of the cultists was to just attack head on rather than hunker down and hide, leaving none remaining in most of these small storage rooms. As Falco finished checking the second to last room, he came to the very last door at the end of the hall. He looked at it uneasily. While there hadn't been anyone on the other end of any of the previous doors, this one seemed different. Intricate carvings in the same style as the details seen throughout the rest of the building stood against a dark red background.
Yep, definitely don't like this. The bird took one last breath, psyching himself up before sending the door crashing inward with a powerful kick. The first thing he noticed on the other side was a figure sitting behind the desk, whom he immediately trained his blaster on.
"HANDS UP! DON'T MAKE ME- oh…."
Falco came to the realization he wouldn't be putting up much of a fight.
The large reptile man sat slumped back in his large office chair behind his ornate desk. He wore a similar attire to the rest of the cultists, less the red hood with a much more ornate robe and large pieces of gold jewelry. His mouth hung slightly ajar with large scorch marks penetrating either side of his head, still slightly smoking. A blaster hung limply by the trigger guard from his right index finger.
Falco surveyed the rest of the room, making sure there was no one else inside before holstering his blaster and approaching the lizard. As to be expected of the leader of one of the fastest growing organizations on the planet, the office was immaculate. Besides the desk and chair which likely cost thousands of credits each, the dark wood-paneled room was lined with built-in bookshelves hosting ancient Saurian artifacts. A chandelier hung overhead, adding a second source of light to the room in addition to a large fireplace with its blue flame.
Falco held his hand up to the side of his helmet to open up his comms. "Hey Fox, I think I found our high priest over here. Guy has some real expensive tastes, I'll tell you that much."
"Great." The bird could sense the tiredness in his friend's voice from the deadpan delivery. "I think we're about done here then. I've already gotten confirmation from the squads on the other floors that they've cleared everything out. We'll just go ahead and take a quick look around here for anything or anyone else before we hand it over to the cleanup crew. By the way, did the guy go quietly?"
"Uh," Falco looked down at the smoldering head of the corpse sitting next to him. "I guess you could say that, yeah. Let's just say he was kind enough to do my job for me."
Fox took a long sigh on the other end of the line before speaking again. "So you're telling me that this guy just sent all of his own recruits to slaughter without a second thought, yet was too much of a coward to face any of it himself? I'm getting sick and tired of this whole thing. Hurry up and do what you need to do over there so we can get out of here as soon as possible. I just want to go home."
"For sure. See you in a bit." As Falco signed off of comms, he noticed a simple-looking brown journal sitting on the desk. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he picked it up and flipped through some pages. It seemed he had found the personal journal of the cult leader. Most of the content was no more than strange religious bullshit, but the bird figured there may be something interesting further in if he took a more in-depth look. Eh, I'll hand it over eventually he thought as he stuffed the book into a zipper pocket on his vest.
Fox, meanwhile, surveyed the aftermath of the battle in the great room. What had only fifteen minutes before been an active warzone was now a haunting mass grave. Save for the sounds of ships still circling outside, the entire chamber was steeped in silence as the remaining unit searched for survivors among the bodies strewn about the floor. The vulpine picked up a limp cultist lying face down by the back of his robes. His hood fell off to reveal a young serval, eyes still wide with shock. It was the first person Fox remembered shooting when making the initial charge. He couldn't have been older than twenty five. Fox sighed deeply as he gently laid the body back down. He knew that they did what they had to to protect any more civilians from getting hurt, but it didn't make him feel any better about the situation. He couldn't get out of there soon enough.
Just as he was getting ready to radio in to command for extraction, Fox felt a strange draft of cold air hit his left arm. He looked in the general direction of the breeze, but was puzzled to find no obvious source. The giant gaping hole in the wall made by the infiltration ship was clear on the opposite end of the room. The only thing of note Fox could see in that area was the large stage. "Weird," he mused out loud.
Falco reappeared, sauntering back over from the high priest's office.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road, bud. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I got a bottle of Buffalo Trace with my name on it back at home."
Fox, not even looking in the bird's direction, held his hand up slightly to signal him to stop.
"Hold on sec," he said distractedly, eyes still locked on the stage.
"'Hold on?' Weren't you the guy who was just getting bent out of shape not one minute ago about how much you wanted to get out of here? What gives?" Falco asked incredulously.
"Do you feel that?"
"Feel what? Fox, what the hell are you talking abo-"
"Just-" Fox grabbed Falco's arm and held it over the draft. "Do you feel it now? The draft?"
Falco looked at Fox like he was crazy. "Uh, yeah. I feel the draft. What's your point man? We're on one of the top stories of a skyscraper with a giant hold in the side of it, of course there's a draft."
"Yeah, but the hole is all the way on the other side of the building. It wouldn't make sense for a steady stream of air like this to be blowing from this direction. And it's coming from the floor too and not the ceiling, so it can't be the A/C either."
Fox let go of Falco's arm as he approached the direction of the breeze, trying to find its source.
The pheasant sighed, annoyed with Fox's strange obsession over some air vent.
"Ok, fine. There's an odd draft. The cultists clearly had some weird design choices for the building. Who cares? I'm tired. I know for damn sure you're tired. Let's just go home."
"Just humor me for a second, wouldya? We'll be here a few more minutes top. It's not gonna kill you," Fox said, already checking around the stage for anything out of the ordinary.
Falco rolled his eyes, before slowly walking over to Fox to assist him in his search.
"Whatever. But I am counting down three minutes and if we don't find anything by then, I'm outta here."
The avian and vulpine continued their search of the stage. They had ascertained that the draft was coming from a tiny gap at the bottom edge of one of the flights of stairs leading up to it, but couldn't find any way to see what was underneath. As Fox inspected the small pedestal at the top of the stage, similar to the one Krystal was suspended above while entrapped in by Andross, Falco continued to bitch.
"Alright man, I've been counting just like I said I would and your time is just about up. I've got ten seconds left on the clock, so better use 'em wisely. Ten… Nine… Eight…"
Fox slid his hands around the smooth surface of the pedestal.
"Seven… Six… Five…"
His paw came to rest on a small eye-shaped pattern etched onto the pedestal on the same side facing the staircase. It gave way just slightly as he touched it.
"Four… Three… Two…"
The vulpine pressed hard into the small design, sinking it into the pedestal with a 'thunk.'
"One!"
Just as Falco finished his count, the staircase in front of him began to retract into the stage, revealing a small hidden room beneath it. A new staircase now led downwards into the secret pit below.
"Hey, good timing!" Fox practically beamed at Falco, much to the bird's chagrin, who mumbled something about cult movie trope bullshit. Fox's mood seemed to have improved tremendously from earlier. Nothing like proving a point, especially if it bugs Falco in the process.
The vulpine jumped off the stage to join his teammate in staring down into the darkness below.
"Welp. No time like the present! Got my six?"
"Sure, but let's make this quick, ok? This whole thing gives me a bad vibe."
"Agreed," Fox replied as the two flipped on the flashlights attached to their blasters.
It didn't take long for the duo to descend the short staircase. The room itself was not very large, only maybe a foot taller than the top of Falco's head and taking up the same footprint as the stage above it. The walls and floor were of extremely simple design, just solid concrete. As Fox and Falco panned their flashlights through the darkness, the first thing they noticed was the piles of trash. Boxes filled with snack food wrappers, water bottles, old ramen cups, and even dirty paper plates with partially eaten food still on them were strewn about in piles. It reminded Fox of some kind of horrific gamer den that hadn't been cleaned out in an indeterminate amount of time. He had never been so thankful to be equipped with a ventilator mask.
Not seeing anything but trash, Fox was just about to call off the investigation, writing off the room as some strange collection point for refuse that was used by the cult for unknown reasons. However, as he swung his light by a small pile in the back corner of the room, something caught his eye. Recentering the beam, he slowly walked towards the pile until he could confirm his suspicions of what he saw. A small foot poked out from behind, confirming that someone else was, in fact, in the room with them lying down behind the mound of garbage.
He froze in his tracks, the sight catching him somewhat off guard. Without taking his eyes off it, he leaned his head back towards Falco behind him. "Hey man, think I got something over here."
Falco was growing fairly tired of sifting through the trash pile, so any news was welcome at this point.
"Oh yeah?" He said with genuine curiosity. "Whatcha got?"
"Looks like a foot," Fox replied nonchalantly.
"Uh, ooookaaaaaay. Is the foot attached to someone?" Falco questioned.
"I guess that's what I'm about to find out. Hasn't moved yet, but be ready just in case, alright?"
Falco cautiously moved up behind Fox. He wanted to make sure he gave him enough space to investigate whatever or whoever was behind the pile, but be close enough if he had to jump in to help. Although, by the limp, prone nature of the foot, it seemed unlikely they would pose much of a threat, assuming they were even still alive.
Fox cautiously crept around the corner, keeping his light on the subject. As he got closer, he was finally able to get a better look as the rest of their body revealed itself. The light panned slowly upwards to reveal a young canid girl of some sort. She was laid out on her side, somewhat curled up in a fetal position with most of her upper torso and head turned towards the dirty mattress beneath her. A short chain ran from her other foot and attached itself to the wall. She was dressed in a simple long white gown, although at this point it was so dirty it looked more gray.
But, the first thing that caught Fox's attention was the color of her coat. Even in the dim light of the cell, he could see the emerald green of her grimey fur. While fur dying was fairly common in Corneria, this didn't add up. Why would a cult keeping someone as prisoner dye their fur? And even then, it looked almost natural. In no place was her original coloring showing through at all. But Fox had only ever known one other canid with such a wild hue of natural coloration, and she sure as hell wasn't green.
As the vulpine looked over the small figure below him, he began to be filled with a sense of dread. He felt the ice in his veins creep up along his body and settle in his chest. This was the worst part of any job for him. Sure, he was no stranger to death. He himself had taken his fair share of lives in the past, as was common in his line of work. But this was different. This wasn't a terrorist or a warlord or a pirate who's entire goal in life was to threaten and hurt others. This was a child. A child who had been kept in the dark, chained like a feral animal for an indeterminate amount of time, away from any sort of civilization, care, and affection.
Fox's entire body shook in a combination of rage and anxiety as he looked at her small form laying at his feet. He fought past the tremors as he detached the flashlight from his blaterer, which he laid down next to him. He hoped with every fiber of his being that they weren't too late. That she still could be helped. He slowly bent down next to her and rested his hand gently on her shoulder before carefully rolling her onto her back to get a better look at her face.
Falco silently watched Fox as he tended to the girl. As much as he wanted to help, he figured it would be best to give the vulpine some space, both physically and emotionally. He knew how much something like this would affect him. His stance soon changed, however, as Fox shot up backwards from the body, acting almost as if he had burnt himself when he touched her.
Worried by Fox's erratic and unexpected movement, the pheasant ran up to his partner. "What is it? Are they alive?"
But Fox didn't answer. He didn't even look at Falco. His eyes, now wide in shock, remained glued to the girl. His shaky panting was the only thing breaking the silence that hung over the room.
As worried as he was about his friend, the bird's curiosity took over as he traced Fox's gaze to the figure below. For the first time, he got a good look at her. Now turned over on her back, he could make out her entire face and most of her appendages.
She was another vulpine, just like Fox, save for the obvious difference in color. Her tail, sticking out from behind her back, ended in a white tip while her arms, legs, and ears had the opposite effect, darkening to black at the ends. Like most foxes, the area around her mouth and chin down to her chest was white, save for the small black marks on her muzzle. Her ratty green hair hung at about elbow-length, partially covering her face. And then he saw it.
Around both her upper arms, white geometric designs curled into rings. Her left eye, now fully in-view, was framed by a diamond shape of the same color with small triangles pointing outward from the flat edges. At that moment, it became painfully clear to Falco why Fox reacted the way he did. It was unmistakable. Cerinian designs.
As the two looked on in their shared state of shock, the girl's patterned eye opened just slightly. Her purple iris stared back at them, too weak to show any sort of fear or surprise. She took a faint breath, confirming to Fox and Falco that she was still, at least, alive. However, it was abundantly clear she was far from out of the woods.
The pair finally broke their stares to look at each other. Falco gave a knowing nod. Neither of them knew what the hell was going on here, but they could think about it later. For now, they had a single objective: get her out of there.
Fox pounded his way through the building, making a beeline for the stairwell. Everything around him melted away as he sprinted up towards the roof. The puzzled looks from the troops investigating the building, the bit of chain still left clinking on her leg after he had broken it with his blaster, Falco running closely behind, calling in a medivac on comms. None of it mattered. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own steps and his panting.
The ascent seemed never ending, but he trudged through. Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. He began to speak through his breaths. At this point, he didn't know if he was saying it to the girl or himself, but it helped him keep going. Finally, they burst through the door, the cool night air enveloping him after working up a sweat from all the running he had just done. Now was the home stretch.
Fox immediately zeroed in on the landing pad just a little bit further along the roof from where they had emerged. Twinkling lights along the floor made a path for him to follow, much like a runway. The ambulance gyrowing Falco had called in during their mad dash was just now touching down. As Fox got closer, he had to slow his approach, as the fierce winds kicked up by the propellers fought back against him.
A small team of about six medics poured out the side of the craft, hopping into action just as the gyrowing touched down. A few of them hung back, pulling a foldable gurney out from the inside while one approached Fox, who had now finally come to a stop for the first time since exiting the hidden room.
"Hey!" The doe shouted above the noise of the rotors. "You're going to have to let go now, OK?!"
Fox looked down. The paramedic was trying to take the girl from his arms to place her on the gurney. It felt strange. Ever since he had seen her wake up, the vulpine's main focus had been getting her up here as fast as possible so she could get medical attention. But now that he was here, he found it hard to let her go for some reason.
"She's gonna be ok, I promise," the doe said again, this time a bit softer, seeing the uneasiness in Fox's eyes, "But the quicker we get her there the better."
Fox apprehensively held the smaller green vulpine out to the paramedic. She took her in her arms gently before placing her in the gurney. The team wasted no time in getting to work, checking the girl's vitals and barking out orders like a well-oiled machine as they loaded her back into the red and white gyrowing. Fox saw her open her eyes one last time as someone put an oxygen mask over her muzzle while the craft began to ascend. He ran up closer, shielding his eyes from the intense wind and bright flashing lights of the ship as it rose up into the sky.
"Where are you taking her to!?" He shouted above the din, hoping that the cervid from earlier could hear him.
Seems she must have, as he received a response a couple seconds later.
"Pepper Memorial!"
And with that, the ship sped away, the flashing red and blue lights disappearing into the traffic above the glittering Corneria city skyline. Fox just stood there watching, his arms hanging loosely by his side. He hadn't noticed how light they now felt after carrying the girl up twelve flights of stairs. The newfound silence of the night washed over him as his mind began running over what had just happened. Who the hell was she? He had only seen anyone like that once before, and it had been years. And yet, he felt some strange sense of duty for this person he didn't even know.
He had almost completely forgotten about Falco in the excitement, who had been following closely behind him this whole time. The pheasant approached him, putting his hand on the vulpine's shoulder as he stared off into the night.
"Doing OK?"
"...Ask me tomorrow."
