Mandatory notes: This is a prequel to the game of Star Fox. It's going to cover basically the pasts of most of the characters seen in the game. As always, I take what liberties I can with defining their society (it's not always quite as high-tech as one might think). Because it's a prequel, I can't say that it contains any spoilers.
And, obviously, I don't own Star Fox; Nintendo does.
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Wolf O'Donnell had always been a loner. He had lived like he did as far back as he could remember-he had lived with his mother for awhile, of course, but she had been an alcoholic. Wolf had escaped from those slums on Katina and hopped ship to Corneria as soon as he was old enough.
He'd found shelter in the slums of Corneria City. As the capital, the city was huge, and for a fast wolf like him, it was extremely easy to find one's way around without being discovered by the authorities. The underground caverns of the city (Corneria was, after all, a planet filled with caves created from ancient volcanic eruptions) held many old abandoned apartment buildings. Of course, they weren't really abandoned. All of the low-life in the city took up residence in such places.
Wolf had been in and out of a few street gangs, but that had never worked out for him. The last one he'd joined had turned out to have deadly consequences for anyone who quit. Wolf had been shot in his left eye with a small beam gun. He remembered the ordeal quite clearly-how he had been writhing around on the ground, his left eye now nothing more than a melted, steaming blob of flesh and bodily juices. He clearly recalled the other gang members jeering him, then leaving him alone for dead on the streets. He even remembered how he'd somehow stood up, and dragged himself home, and-this had been incredibly painful-taken out his pocketknife and drained out the wound. He'd let the blood rinse into his sink and mopped it up off his face with a sweatshirt. Then, he continually washed it with water until the bleeding stopped. He'd had to do this every day for a month, at least. He was lucky. Nothing was infected, and though he was blind, it was no longer messy. His eyelid was melted and twisted shut, but he simply began to don an eyepatch over that and think nothing more of it.
Since then, Wolf had tried to avoid large groups of people.
He spent most of his time in his apartment-one room that was no more than four meters square and contained exactly one worn-out, wrought-iron bedstead (with a lumpy mattress), a tiny refrigerator that barely had room for anything in it, a dirty old sink that often spurted out rust along with the water, and a tiny chest of drawers that was Wolf's nightstand and dresser. He didn't own very many clothes, and they were rarely clean-everything filled one tiny drawer in the dresser. The other drawer was filled with old newspaper.
Wolf got his money by gambling. Every night, he'd take all the Sp he had on him and take it down to the nearest bar-Vulpin's Den-and bet it all on Poker or Gin or whatever he could get his hands on. If he won big, it was worth a trip to the nearest grocery store (each time, he purchased two small bottles of the cheapest alcohol there, a carton of cigarettes, the cheapest package of meat he could find, and a newspaper.). If he lost his money, he didn't eat until he found more and could gamble again.
It was a cold, foggy Thursday morning when Wolf was leaving the Vulpin's Den once again. He'd had a lucky night and was now walking towards the store. No one was on the streets this early, so he didn't have to deal with anyone, but either way, Wolf always carried a gun. It wasn't a very modern gun-it used bullets, for heaven's sake!-but it would do its job when it was needed. Wolf had only had to kill one person before, and it was no one anyone cared about. He was, at least, very careful about this.
Wolf ambled into the store. He was the only customer; the counter was being tended by a tired-looking Avian who had his beak buried in the morning newspaper. It really must have been late, Wolf thought, pacing towards the refrigeration unit and nabbing his two bottles (whisky today) and package of meat (just ground beef, like most days). Wolf took these to the counter. He took a copy of the Corneria City Crossroads, added it to the pile, then he pointed to the carton of cigarettes and grunted that he wanted one.
The Avian looked at him like he never wanted to see another customer, but took down the cigarettes anyway. He glanced at the things Wolf was buying, then punched a few numbers on the cash register. "367 Sp," he muttered.
Wolf shelled out a few bills from his pocket, then accepted his coins in return. The Avian put all of his things into a plastic bag, and Wolf set back out for home.
His home was just a simple apartment in a very old neighborhood; the building was dilapidated, but it wasn't falling apart. He climbed a set of iron stairs and walked along the second-floor catwalk until he reached his door. An old piece of wood with the letters "O DONNELL" burned into it was nailed there; Wolf had added it soon after he moved in.
He opened the door (there were no locks, but there were no thieves-the lowlife here understood each other) and stepped inside, dropping his bag on the bed. Sitting there himself, he pulled out his pocketknife. He slashed the package of ground beef in half, and then put one half in his refrigerator, along with one of the bottles of whisky.
Wolf opened the drawer where he kept the old newspaper and began to shred it. It didn't burn terribly well, but it worked. Wolf had been cooking meals over newspaper fires for years and years-the building was still standing, so he figured there wasn't much danger involved in doing this.
Wolf shredded the old paper, set it on the floor in the middle of the room, and ignited it with his lighter. Once it got going, he placed the half-container of beef in the fire, where it slowly began to flame itself. Wolf lit a cigarette and opened up the newspaper while his food was cooking. One headline caught his eye almost immediately-"Arspace physicist recently exiled to Venom suspected of strange activity."
Wolf didn't know it at the time, but that headline foreshadowed a great change in his life; a change that would bring him everything he wanted and let him live for who he truly was-a cunning, ruthless killer.
The McCloud house was shaking from the vibrations coming from sixteen-year-old Fox McCloud's room. James, his father, could feel the bass beat through the floor, where his feet rested. Turning a page in his magazine, he tried to ignore it. Doesn't every father of a teenager have to put up with something like that?
James was just about to head out into their backyard, where the sound would be less powerful (if not completely mute) when he heard an earsplitting yell escape from his son's room.
"WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?" Fox bellowed, along with his music. "Woof Woof Woof!"
James narrowed his eyes and threw down his magazine (Cornerian Citizen's Weekly); he stomped down the hall and threw open the door-yes, the door had been closed-to Fox's room.
"Turn that down!" he yelled.
"WHAT?" Fox screamed so that he could hear himself over his music.
James huffed, and stormed into Fox's room. In three strides he had reached the stereo system and flipped the switch to OFF.
"Hey," protested Fox.
"I said," James repeated, quietly, "'Turn that down.'"
Fox grinned, rolled his eyes, and extended one hand towards the stereo again.
"No!" James said, sharply. He quickly rooted through the mess of objects on Fox's dresser and produced a remote jack and an earpiece. "Use this. Please."
"Sure," Fox said, casually plugging the remote into his stereo system.
"Oh, by the way, Fox," James began. "Bill called earlier-"
"Why didn't you give me the phone?" Fox interrupted.
James smiled, and continued. "Bill called, and said that he couldn't talk right now, but that you should meet him in his dormitory room at around 18:00."
Fox nodded, and looked at his clock. "That's right. We were going to go use the simulators at Army H.Q. We're going up to the training base tomorrow!"
Fox was now in his fourth year at the Cornerian Army Academy, making his rank officially Academy Cadet. Students at the academy were not required to enlist in the army upon their graduation, but many of them did so anyway. It was in the fourth year that the students were actually allowed to fly ships; Fox and his best friend Bill Gray had been waiting for this the entire time.
The Cornerian Army Headquarters, where Fox and Bill would be headed that evening, was actually three compounds in one. The academy and the Corneria City Hospital were both in the same building. In addition, it also housed dormitories and a large plaza with restaurants, newsstands, and drugstores for the students. If there hadn't been strict rules about who could enter each specific place, it would have been a bustling community center.
James' face broke into a grin. His son was growing up a lot like he had. Even if Fox had no mother to raise him (she'd left them when Fox had been two years old), he was turning out fine on his own-even if he had picked up on some obnoxious habits.
"One more thing, Fox," James said, before Fox could put his earpieces on. "Star Fox is meeting tonight at 20:00-someone's got a mission for us near Katina. I doubt I'll be home by midnight."
"'Kay," Fox said.
"Don't stay up too late," James ordered. "Your first flight lessons are very important. Bill can stay over here if you two want, but be asleep by 2:00. All right?"
"Uh-huh," Fox nodded, not really listening anymore.
James left his son's room, pulled a soft drink out of the refrigerator, and retreated to the back porch, burying his nose back in his magazine once more.
Leon Powalski, a chameleon of a rather refined background, was thoroughly enjoying his vacation on the planet Zoness. Truth to tell, he had merely taken a transport here after escaping from the mental facilities on Katina, thus making his capture unlawful, but he was having a good time nonetheless.
Zoness was a vacation resort planet; it was also filled to the brim with gambling casinos. Standing tall and drawn, and eyeing people in many directions at once, he was a figure whose presence made the others nervous. Yet, he remained perfectly calm.
Though Leon had been in an institution, he was not crazy. In fact, this chameleon was definitely an upper-level genius. No, he may not have been crazy, but one thing was for certain-he was very sickminded.
Nothing pleased him more than the fine art of suffering. He enjoyed torturing his enemies very much so before he killed them-if he killed them; for at times, death would have been a better option than to live after what Leon had done to you. Therefore, he would leave you alive to rot and suffer until you finally hit rock bottom and died miserably and insane.
This was his line of work. This was what he'd been put away for. Unfortunately, the workers at the institution had not counted on his cunning. Leon remembered the night he'd escaped well.
He'd only been there for three days. The first he'd been rather woozy; they'd needed to drug him to get him inside in the first place. The second day he spent learning all he could about the routines of the asylum, and the third was spent formulating his plan.
When the one guard, a Vulpin who looked tired and ready to go home more than anything, brought him his dinner, Leon pounced. He first resorted to brutality, punching the guard in the face. He'd snatched the keys and locked the door, then turned to the tray that contained his dinner.
Plastic cutlery, Leon thought, made for much better torture at the right time. Though fairly dull, it could still do its job cutting through things-things such as eyes, wrists, and stomachs.
After he'd finished with the knife, he had taken the salt from the tray, poured it into the water intended for him to drink, and poured it all over the guard's bleeding flesh.
He'd screamed in pain, and Leon had grinned maliciously. It had been a truly beautiful moment.
Now that Leon had escaped to Zoness, he'd replenished his supply of good instruments, but had no one to use them on. It was crowded here, and it was full of police officers. It seemed like there were casinos and bars everywhere on this planet, and where there was alcohol, there was trouble; where there was trouble, there was law enforcement.
Luckily, Leon did not have to deal with them just yet. He was staying in a large hotel suite, full of cushy red velvet furniture, a king-sized bed, and a fully-equipped kitchen and bathroom. He paid for this suite by winning exultant amounts of money at blackjack and poker, where his guise alone often frightened all who played against him so badly that they would fold and he would reap in the gold.
Today, Leon was returning to his hotel room after stopping by the one drugstore he could find and purchasing rubbing alcohol. Before he'd been locked up, he'd always kept his things in a suitcase. He still had the case, but his previous instruments had been taken away. He used to own a lot of high-tech equipment, but he was discovering that the primitive stuff wasn't bad either. Who needed a table saw when you had a kitchen knife and rubbing alcohol?
Leon's only problem was that he could not possibly practice his hobby in such a place. He would have to buy passage elsewhere-perhaps Corneria would do. The capitol city was huge, and so full of scum that no one would notice a few bums gone missing.
Leon returned to his hotel room and stepped inside. He packed away the alcohol in his suitcase, then sat down on the bed, relaxing from another hard day of gambling. He was just about to doze off for a nap (and to dream the sounds of people screaming in terror) when there was a knock at his hotel room door.
Bill Gray slid his student ID card into the slot next to the entrance to the training center.
"Stat name, rank, and class," droned a mechanical voice.
"William Gray, Academy Cadet, class alpha-four," Bill replied crisply. The door slid open neatly, and the canine passed through. The door then silently shut behind him.
Fox slipped his card into the slot and recited his information ("Fox McCloud, Academy Cadet, class alpha-four"). The door then admitted him within.
The training center consisted of a large waiting room with nine sound-proof booths lined up at the far end. Each of these housed a vehicle simulator for up to four people. The first three contained land simulations, the next three were home to the beginner flight simulators, and the last three were for very advanced starfighting. Fox and Bill had mastered the land vehicles (both in the simulator and out in the field), but their starship abilities, even in the low-level simulators, still lacked something for the better. Fox and Bill, however, felt that they were truly hotshots of their class and would breeze through their first training course tomorrow.
The training center, upon their entrance, was extremely crowded. Fox and Bill weren't the only Academy Cadets who wanted to squeeze in some extra practice before the real flying lessons began. There were also a lot of third years (Academy Trainees) and fifth years (Academy Seniors) milling around, all of them wanting their practice; vehicle practices in every level always began this time during the year.
"How're we going to get a booth to ourselves?" Bill moaned.
"We don't," Fox replied. "We find two others in our year and buddy up."
They scanned the lines to the beginner simulators carefully. They spotted Jake Lupona and Trevor Felinsky quickly; those two were members of their six-person class, alpha. Unfortunately, they were standing with two others that Fox didn't know by name, but recognized as members of class delta-four. The fifth member of their team was spotted with a group of sigma-fours, and it was awhile before they finally spotted the sixth. Bill pointed her out; she was Eriana Peyson, a very shy raccoon girl who rarely spoke. Everyone recognized her as a genius, though none of their squadmates had ever held a long conversation with her.
When she saw Fox and Bill approaching her, she smiled shyly. "Hello," she said, barely audible.
Fox and Bill cast quick glances at each other and mentally decided to act just as they always did and hope she got into it. "Hi, Eriana," Bill said. "Are you alone?"
She nodded.
"Can we fly with you?" Fox asked. "We're all in alpha class and everything."
"Yes, yes," Eriana said, obviously agreeing. "That would be wonderful. I've never flown with wingmen before."
"A group of three will be great," Bill grinned, initiating conversation. "We can try the harder missions. Fox and I have flown all the two-person missions already."
"Oh, really?" Eriana asked, actually raising her voice a little. Fox and Bill could hear it now; she spoke with a distinct Northern Cornerian accent, and her voice was rather pretty. "How are you feeling about the flight tomorrow?" she continued.
"I can't wait!" Fox said, fervently.
"Fox wants to be just like his father," Bill explained.
"James McCloud," Eriana said immediately, taking Fox by complete surprise.
"Heard of him?" Fox asked.
Eriana smiled-she actually smiled!-at him. "Who hasn't heard of Star Fox?" Eriana gushed. "I love them! Their flying is inspirational. I always keep track of the papers when they're mentioned."
Fox smiled, proudly. "Yep, that's my father. He's the best dad a guy could want."
Bill was about to add to the conversation, but suddenly the center went completely quiet. A feline, looking rather agitated, stood himself upon one of the waiting benches at the head of the line. "Attention!" he yelled. "Attention, please!" When everyone had stopped talking, he continued. "Due to the overcrowding, we've decided that no group of less than four will be admitted into the simulators until things clear up around here. Thanks."
He stepped down, none too quickly. "Oh no!" wailed a voice from near the front of the line.
"Crap," Bill muttered. "What now? There's only three of us."
"Wait here," Fox said. "I'll go nab a loner." Fox was sure he'd recognized that voice, and he confirmed this guess when he reached the front of the line.
The voice belonged to Slippy Toad, a member of class gamma-four. Fox knew Slippy through their fathers; Beltino Toad was the head engineer at Arspace Dynamics Co, Ltd., the company that Star Fox often commissioned for new vehicles. Slippy was well on the way to becoming his father's successor-the only problem was that hardly anyone at the academy could stand him. Slippy was overeager and had a rather high voice; thus, he was quite the bully magnet. Fox felt badly for the little frog and tried to help Slippy out whenever he could, and he was always nice, even if Slippy could be annoying.
"Hey, Slip," Fox said. "Are you alone?"
Slippy jumped, startled that someone was speaking to him. "Yeah," he said, embarrassed. "I'm alone."
"Save your spot," Fox instructed. "I'll be right back with Bill and Eriana." Fox dashed back down the line. "Come on, guys," he told them, "I found us a connection up front."
When they'd situated themselves in the line (already, they were next!) Fox began to introduce everyone. Bill knew Slippy, as he and Fox were always together, but Eriana had never seen him before.
"Eriana," Fox began, "this is Slippy. He's in class gamma-four."
"Nice to meet you," Eriana said, pleasantly, shaking his hand.
"Likewise," Slippy squeaked.
The group waited in silence, until a group of thetas filed out of one of the simulators and they had their chance.
Fox was used to these simulators; he and Bill spent a lot of time in them. The four chairs were assembled in a circle, but they all had soundproof doors between them so that the cadets would have to rely on their radios for communications. The pilot seat that Fox was strapping himself into had an advanced motor hooked up to it, so that anyone flying would feel laser shots to the ship as if they were real. In front of Fox there was a holographic projection screen; it was projecting the top of his "ship" as well as an expanse of space.
"Enter ID cards for data storage," instructed a mechanical voice.
On Fox's control panel, there was a small slot for academy ID cards. Fox slid his in and waited patiently. In a second, his screen had printed a list on it.
Grey, William A. Cadet Alpha-Four
McCloud, Fox A. Cadet Alpha-Four
Peyson, Eriana A. Cadet Alpha-Four
Toad, Slippy A. Cadet Alpha-Four
Next the screen moved over the names to show previous pilot statistics. The machines always chose the squadron leader like this. Fox was hoping it would be him, but he was taken by surprise. The simulator's past data clearly showed that Eriana had the best record among them. Her voice broke in over the radio as a mission list replaced the statistics on the screen.
"I'm going to take this Fortuna run," she said. "I heard a fifth-year telling me about it. It's supposed to be the best mission you can clear on the low-level sims."
"Sounds good, Eriana," Fox told her.
"You guys-can call me Eri," she said, obviously not used to using the radio, much less taking command. "It's easier… and it's what my family calls me."
"Gotcha, Eri." Bill's voice came in through the radio as well.
Fox's screen changed once again; Eriana had entered the mission and now the screen was displaying the briefing.
The Trethno Polar Research Facility on the planet Fortuna has been attacked by a group of rogue pirates. They have taken control of the skies around the facility, and the inside docking bays as well.
The scientists are trapped on five of their own ships. They had attempted to escape, but the pirates arrived much too quickly and they are now captive inside the base.
Your mission is this: First you must clear out the skies around the science facility. Second, you must fly into the base and lead out all five of the hostage ships. We've received word that they may have planted bombs, so watch for their mothership and make sure there are no telltale signs of escaping from explosion. If there are, you need to locate the bomb within the base and destroy it before it destroys the base.
Fox's screen fluctuated for the last time, and now showed the true holographic display. He saw the planet Fortuna in front of him; it looked very real. It was hard to believe this was only a simulator. The control panel had actually been taken from a real fighter, which added to the reality of the situation.
"All aircraft report!" Eriana said over the radio.
"This is Bill," reported the canine. "Everything's A-OK."
"Slippy here," was the next reply, "All systems normal."
"This is Fox," Fox said when his turn came. "Everything's running smoothly."
"Right, then," Eriana said. Their ships seemed to be nearing the planet faster than normal. "When we reach the planet, I want Fox and Bill to go on the offensive. Take down all the craft you can, but watch out for the land features. This facility is in a highly mountainous region."
Fox wondered momentarily how she knew this; then he noticed his controls in more detail. He had never noticed before that one could scan things other than ships and buildings.
"Slippy," Eriana continued, "I want you to remain on the perimeter if you can. Your job will be to scan the building. Locate the five hostage ships and transmit the data to the rest of us. I'm going to go in and escort them out. Fox, Bill, it's up to you to cover us and make sure their ships can escape the planet."
"Gotcha."
"Roger that."
"What should I do," Slippy asked, "if they start firing on me?"
Eriana smiled in her cockpit cubicle. "Call out for help," she said. "These two will cover you."
"Sure will," Bill reassured him. "Don't worry about a thing, Slippy. Everything's under control."
"Any more questions?" inquired Eriana. When there was no response, she said, "then let's get going!"
And, obviously, I don't own Star Fox; Nintendo does.
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Wolf O'Donnell had always been a loner. He had lived like he did as far back as he could remember-he had lived with his mother for awhile, of course, but she had been an alcoholic. Wolf had escaped from those slums on Katina and hopped ship to Corneria as soon as he was old enough.
He'd found shelter in the slums of Corneria City. As the capital, the city was huge, and for a fast wolf like him, it was extremely easy to find one's way around without being discovered by the authorities. The underground caverns of the city (Corneria was, after all, a planet filled with caves created from ancient volcanic eruptions) held many old abandoned apartment buildings. Of course, they weren't really abandoned. All of the low-life in the city took up residence in such places.
Wolf had been in and out of a few street gangs, but that had never worked out for him. The last one he'd joined had turned out to have deadly consequences for anyone who quit. Wolf had been shot in his left eye with a small beam gun. He remembered the ordeal quite clearly-how he had been writhing around on the ground, his left eye now nothing more than a melted, steaming blob of flesh and bodily juices. He clearly recalled the other gang members jeering him, then leaving him alone for dead on the streets. He even remembered how he'd somehow stood up, and dragged himself home, and-this had been incredibly painful-taken out his pocketknife and drained out the wound. He'd let the blood rinse into his sink and mopped it up off his face with a sweatshirt. Then, he continually washed it with water until the bleeding stopped. He'd had to do this every day for a month, at least. He was lucky. Nothing was infected, and though he was blind, it was no longer messy. His eyelid was melted and twisted shut, but he simply began to don an eyepatch over that and think nothing more of it.
Since then, Wolf had tried to avoid large groups of people.
He spent most of his time in his apartment-one room that was no more than four meters square and contained exactly one worn-out, wrought-iron bedstead (with a lumpy mattress), a tiny refrigerator that barely had room for anything in it, a dirty old sink that often spurted out rust along with the water, and a tiny chest of drawers that was Wolf's nightstand and dresser. He didn't own very many clothes, and they were rarely clean-everything filled one tiny drawer in the dresser. The other drawer was filled with old newspaper.
Wolf got his money by gambling. Every night, he'd take all the Sp he had on him and take it down to the nearest bar-Vulpin's Den-and bet it all on Poker or Gin or whatever he could get his hands on. If he won big, it was worth a trip to the nearest grocery store (each time, he purchased two small bottles of the cheapest alcohol there, a carton of cigarettes, the cheapest package of meat he could find, and a newspaper.). If he lost his money, he didn't eat until he found more and could gamble again.
It was a cold, foggy Thursday morning when Wolf was leaving the Vulpin's Den once again. He'd had a lucky night and was now walking towards the store. No one was on the streets this early, so he didn't have to deal with anyone, but either way, Wolf always carried a gun. It wasn't a very modern gun-it used bullets, for heaven's sake!-but it would do its job when it was needed. Wolf had only had to kill one person before, and it was no one anyone cared about. He was, at least, very careful about this.
Wolf ambled into the store. He was the only customer; the counter was being tended by a tired-looking Avian who had his beak buried in the morning newspaper. It really must have been late, Wolf thought, pacing towards the refrigeration unit and nabbing his two bottles (whisky today) and package of meat (just ground beef, like most days). Wolf took these to the counter. He took a copy of the Corneria City Crossroads, added it to the pile, then he pointed to the carton of cigarettes and grunted that he wanted one.
The Avian looked at him like he never wanted to see another customer, but took down the cigarettes anyway. He glanced at the things Wolf was buying, then punched a few numbers on the cash register. "367 Sp," he muttered.
Wolf shelled out a few bills from his pocket, then accepted his coins in return. The Avian put all of his things into a plastic bag, and Wolf set back out for home.
His home was just a simple apartment in a very old neighborhood; the building was dilapidated, but it wasn't falling apart. He climbed a set of iron stairs and walked along the second-floor catwalk until he reached his door. An old piece of wood with the letters "O DONNELL" burned into it was nailed there; Wolf had added it soon after he moved in.
He opened the door (there were no locks, but there were no thieves-the lowlife here understood each other) and stepped inside, dropping his bag on the bed. Sitting there himself, he pulled out his pocketknife. He slashed the package of ground beef in half, and then put one half in his refrigerator, along with one of the bottles of whisky.
Wolf opened the drawer where he kept the old newspaper and began to shred it. It didn't burn terribly well, but it worked. Wolf had been cooking meals over newspaper fires for years and years-the building was still standing, so he figured there wasn't much danger involved in doing this.
Wolf shredded the old paper, set it on the floor in the middle of the room, and ignited it with his lighter. Once it got going, he placed the half-container of beef in the fire, where it slowly began to flame itself. Wolf lit a cigarette and opened up the newspaper while his food was cooking. One headline caught his eye almost immediately-"Arspace physicist recently exiled to Venom suspected of strange activity."
Wolf didn't know it at the time, but that headline foreshadowed a great change in his life; a change that would bring him everything he wanted and let him live for who he truly was-a cunning, ruthless killer.
The McCloud house was shaking from the vibrations coming from sixteen-year-old Fox McCloud's room. James, his father, could feel the bass beat through the floor, where his feet rested. Turning a page in his magazine, he tried to ignore it. Doesn't every father of a teenager have to put up with something like that?
James was just about to head out into their backyard, where the sound would be less powerful (if not completely mute) when he heard an earsplitting yell escape from his son's room.
"WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?" Fox bellowed, along with his music. "Woof Woof Woof!"
James narrowed his eyes and threw down his magazine (Cornerian Citizen's Weekly); he stomped down the hall and threw open the door-yes, the door had been closed-to Fox's room.
"Turn that down!" he yelled.
"WHAT?" Fox screamed so that he could hear himself over his music.
James huffed, and stormed into Fox's room. In three strides he had reached the stereo system and flipped the switch to OFF.
"Hey," protested Fox.
"I said," James repeated, quietly, "'Turn that down.'"
Fox grinned, rolled his eyes, and extended one hand towards the stereo again.
"No!" James said, sharply. He quickly rooted through the mess of objects on Fox's dresser and produced a remote jack and an earpiece. "Use this. Please."
"Sure," Fox said, casually plugging the remote into his stereo system.
"Oh, by the way, Fox," James began. "Bill called earlier-"
"Why didn't you give me the phone?" Fox interrupted.
James smiled, and continued. "Bill called, and said that he couldn't talk right now, but that you should meet him in his dormitory room at around 18:00."
Fox nodded, and looked at his clock. "That's right. We were going to go use the simulators at Army H.Q. We're going up to the training base tomorrow!"
Fox was now in his fourth year at the Cornerian Army Academy, making his rank officially Academy Cadet. Students at the academy were not required to enlist in the army upon their graduation, but many of them did so anyway. It was in the fourth year that the students were actually allowed to fly ships; Fox and his best friend Bill Gray had been waiting for this the entire time.
The Cornerian Army Headquarters, where Fox and Bill would be headed that evening, was actually three compounds in one. The academy and the Corneria City Hospital were both in the same building. In addition, it also housed dormitories and a large plaza with restaurants, newsstands, and drugstores for the students. If there hadn't been strict rules about who could enter each specific place, it would have been a bustling community center.
James' face broke into a grin. His son was growing up a lot like he had. Even if Fox had no mother to raise him (she'd left them when Fox had been two years old), he was turning out fine on his own-even if he had picked up on some obnoxious habits.
"One more thing, Fox," James said, before Fox could put his earpieces on. "Star Fox is meeting tonight at 20:00-someone's got a mission for us near Katina. I doubt I'll be home by midnight."
"'Kay," Fox said.
"Don't stay up too late," James ordered. "Your first flight lessons are very important. Bill can stay over here if you two want, but be asleep by 2:00. All right?"
"Uh-huh," Fox nodded, not really listening anymore.
James left his son's room, pulled a soft drink out of the refrigerator, and retreated to the back porch, burying his nose back in his magazine once more.
Leon Powalski, a chameleon of a rather refined background, was thoroughly enjoying his vacation on the planet Zoness. Truth to tell, he had merely taken a transport here after escaping from the mental facilities on Katina, thus making his capture unlawful, but he was having a good time nonetheless.
Zoness was a vacation resort planet; it was also filled to the brim with gambling casinos. Standing tall and drawn, and eyeing people in many directions at once, he was a figure whose presence made the others nervous. Yet, he remained perfectly calm.
Though Leon had been in an institution, he was not crazy. In fact, this chameleon was definitely an upper-level genius. No, he may not have been crazy, but one thing was for certain-he was very sickminded.
Nothing pleased him more than the fine art of suffering. He enjoyed torturing his enemies very much so before he killed them-if he killed them; for at times, death would have been a better option than to live after what Leon had done to you. Therefore, he would leave you alive to rot and suffer until you finally hit rock bottom and died miserably and insane.
This was his line of work. This was what he'd been put away for. Unfortunately, the workers at the institution had not counted on his cunning. Leon remembered the night he'd escaped well.
He'd only been there for three days. The first he'd been rather woozy; they'd needed to drug him to get him inside in the first place. The second day he spent learning all he could about the routines of the asylum, and the third was spent formulating his plan.
When the one guard, a Vulpin who looked tired and ready to go home more than anything, brought him his dinner, Leon pounced. He first resorted to brutality, punching the guard in the face. He'd snatched the keys and locked the door, then turned to the tray that contained his dinner.
Plastic cutlery, Leon thought, made for much better torture at the right time. Though fairly dull, it could still do its job cutting through things-things such as eyes, wrists, and stomachs.
After he'd finished with the knife, he had taken the salt from the tray, poured it into the water intended for him to drink, and poured it all over the guard's bleeding flesh.
He'd screamed in pain, and Leon had grinned maliciously. It had been a truly beautiful moment.
Now that Leon had escaped to Zoness, he'd replenished his supply of good instruments, but had no one to use them on. It was crowded here, and it was full of police officers. It seemed like there were casinos and bars everywhere on this planet, and where there was alcohol, there was trouble; where there was trouble, there was law enforcement.
Luckily, Leon did not have to deal with them just yet. He was staying in a large hotel suite, full of cushy red velvet furniture, a king-sized bed, and a fully-equipped kitchen and bathroom. He paid for this suite by winning exultant amounts of money at blackjack and poker, where his guise alone often frightened all who played against him so badly that they would fold and he would reap in the gold.
Today, Leon was returning to his hotel room after stopping by the one drugstore he could find and purchasing rubbing alcohol. Before he'd been locked up, he'd always kept his things in a suitcase. He still had the case, but his previous instruments had been taken away. He used to own a lot of high-tech equipment, but he was discovering that the primitive stuff wasn't bad either. Who needed a table saw when you had a kitchen knife and rubbing alcohol?
Leon's only problem was that he could not possibly practice his hobby in such a place. He would have to buy passage elsewhere-perhaps Corneria would do. The capitol city was huge, and so full of scum that no one would notice a few bums gone missing.
Leon returned to his hotel room and stepped inside. He packed away the alcohol in his suitcase, then sat down on the bed, relaxing from another hard day of gambling. He was just about to doze off for a nap (and to dream the sounds of people screaming in terror) when there was a knock at his hotel room door.
Bill Gray slid his student ID card into the slot next to the entrance to the training center.
"Stat name, rank, and class," droned a mechanical voice.
"William Gray, Academy Cadet, class alpha-four," Bill replied crisply. The door slid open neatly, and the canine passed through. The door then silently shut behind him.
Fox slipped his card into the slot and recited his information ("Fox McCloud, Academy Cadet, class alpha-four"). The door then admitted him within.
The training center consisted of a large waiting room with nine sound-proof booths lined up at the far end. Each of these housed a vehicle simulator for up to four people. The first three contained land simulations, the next three were home to the beginner flight simulators, and the last three were for very advanced starfighting. Fox and Bill had mastered the land vehicles (both in the simulator and out in the field), but their starship abilities, even in the low-level simulators, still lacked something for the better. Fox and Bill, however, felt that they were truly hotshots of their class and would breeze through their first training course tomorrow.
The training center, upon their entrance, was extremely crowded. Fox and Bill weren't the only Academy Cadets who wanted to squeeze in some extra practice before the real flying lessons began. There were also a lot of third years (Academy Trainees) and fifth years (Academy Seniors) milling around, all of them wanting their practice; vehicle practices in every level always began this time during the year.
"How're we going to get a booth to ourselves?" Bill moaned.
"We don't," Fox replied. "We find two others in our year and buddy up."
They scanned the lines to the beginner simulators carefully. They spotted Jake Lupona and Trevor Felinsky quickly; those two were members of their six-person class, alpha. Unfortunately, they were standing with two others that Fox didn't know by name, but recognized as members of class delta-four. The fifth member of their team was spotted with a group of sigma-fours, and it was awhile before they finally spotted the sixth. Bill pointed her out; she was Eriana Peyson, a very shy raccoon girl who rarely spoke. Everyone recognized her as a genius, though none of their squadmates had ever held a long conversation with her.
When she saw Fox and Bill approaching her, she smiled shyly. "Hello," she said, barely audible.
Fox and Bill cast quick glances at each other and mentally decided to act just as they always did and hope she got into it. "Hi, Eriana," Bill said. "Are you alone?"
She nodded.
"Can we fly with you?" Fox asked. "We're all in alpha class and everything."
"Yes, yes," Eriana said, obviously agreeing. "That would be wonderful. I've never flown with wingmen before."
"A group of three will be great," Bill grinned, initiating conversation. "We can try the harder missions. Fox and I have flown all the two-person missions already."
"Oh, really?" Eriana asked, actually raising her voice a little. Fox and Bill could hear it now; she spoke with a distinct Northern Cornerian accent, and her voice was rather pretty. "How are you feeling about the flight tomorrow?" she continued.
"I can't wait!" Fox said, fervently.
"Fox wants to be just like his father," Bill explained.
"James McCloud," Eriana said immediately, taking Fox by complete surprise.
"Heard of him?" Fox asked.
Eriana smiled-she actually smiled!-at him. "Who hasn't heard of Star Fox?" Eriana gushed. "I love them! Their flying is inspirational. I always keep track of the papers when they're mentioned."
Fox smiled, proudly. "Yep, that's my father. He's the best dad a guy could want."
Bill was about to add to the conversation, but suddenly the center went completely quiet. A feline, looking rather agitated, stood himself upon one of the waiting benches at the head of the line. "Attention!" he yelled. "Attention, please!" When everyone had stopped talking, he continued. "Due to the overcrowding, we've decided that no group of less than four will be admitted into the simulators until things clear up around here. Thanks."
He stepped down, none too quickly. "Oh no!" wailed a voice from near the front of the line.
"Crap," Bill muttered. "What now? There's only three of us."
"Wait here," Fox said. "I'll go nab a loner." Fox was sure he'd recognized that voice, and he confirmed this guess when he reached the front of the line.
The voice belonged to Slippy Toad, a member of class gamma-four. Fox knew Slippy through their fathers; Beltino Toad was the head engineer at Arspace Dynamics Co, Ltd., the company that Star Fox often commissioned for new vehicles. Slippy was well on the way to becoming his father's successor-the only problem was that hardly anyone at the academy could stand him. Slippy was overeager and had a rather high voice; thus, he was quite the bully magnet. Fox felt badly for the little frog and tried to help Slippy out whenever he could, and he was always nice, even if Slippy could be annoying.
"Hey, Slip," Fox said. "Are you alone?"
Slippy jumped, startled that someone was speaking to him. "Yeah," he said, embarrassed. "I'm alone."
"Save your spot," Fox instructed. "I'll be right back with Bill and Eriana." Fox dashed back down the line. "Come on, guys," he told them, "I found us a connection up front."
When they'd situated themselves in the line (already, they were next!) Fox began to introduce everyone. Bill knew Slippy, as he and Fox were always together, but Eriana had never seen him before.
"Eriana," Fox began, "this is Slippy. He's in class gamma-four."
"Nice to meet you," Eriana said, pleasantly, shaking his hand.
"Likewise," Slippy squeaked.
The group waited in silence, until a group of thetas filed out of one of the simulators and they had their chance.
Fox was used to these simulators; he and Bill spent a lot of time in them. The four chairs were assembled in a circle, but they all had soundproof doors between them so that the cadets would have to rely on their radios for communications. The pilot seat that Fox was strapping himself into had an advanced motor hooked up to it, so that anyone flying would feel laser shots to the ship as if they were real. In front of Fox there was a holographic projection screen; it was projecting the top of his "ship" as well as an expanse of space.
"Enter ID cards for data storage," instructed a mechanical voice.
On Fox's control panel, there was a small slot for academy ID cards. Fox slid his in and waited patiently. In a second, his screen had printed a list on it.
Grey, William A. Cadet Alpha-Four
McCloud, Fox A. Cadet Alpha-Four
Peyson, Eriana A. Cadet Alpha-Four
Toad, Slippy A. Cadet Alpha-Four
Next the screen moved over the names to show previous pilot statistics. The machines always chose the squadron leader like this. Fox was hoping it would be him, but he was taken by surprise. The simulator's past data clearly showed that Eriana had the best record among them. Her voice broke in over the radio as a mission list replaced the statistics on the screen.
"I'm going to take this Fortuna run," she said. "I heard a fifth-year telling me about it. It's supposed to be the best mission you can clear on the low-level sims."
"Sounds good, Eriana," Fox told her.
"You guys-can call me Eri," she said, obviously not used to using the radio, much less taking command. "It's easier… and it's what my family calls me."
"Gotcha, Eri." Bill's voice came in through the radio as well.
Fox's screen changed once again; Eriana had entered the mission and now the screen was displaying the briefing.
The Trethno Polar Research Facility on the planet Fortuna has been attacked by a group of rogue pirates. They have taken control of the skies around the facility, and the inside docking bays as well.
The scientists are trapped on five of their own ships. They had attempted to escape, but the pirates arrived much too quickly and they are now captive inside the base.
Your mission is this: First you must clear out the skies around the science facility. Second, you must fly into the base and lead out all five of the hostage ships. We've received word that they may have planted bombs, so watch for their mothership and make sure there are no telltale signs of escaping from explosion. If there are, you need to locate the bomb within the base and destroy it before it destroys the base.
Fox's screen fluctuated for the last time, and now showed the true holographic display. He saw the planet Fortuna in front of him; it looked very real. It was hard to believe this was only a simulator. The control panel had actually been taken from a real fighter, which added to the reality of the situation.
"All aircraft report!" Eriana said over the radio.
"This is Bill," reported the canine. "Everything's A-OK."
"Slippy here," was the next reply, "All systems normal."
"This is Fox," Fox said when his turn came. "Everything's running smoothly."
"Right, then," Eriana said. Their ships seemed to be nearing the planet faster than normal. "When we reach the planet, I want Fox and Bill to go on the offensive. Take down all the craft you can, but watch out for the land features. This facility is in a highly mountainous region."
Fox wondered momentarily how she knew this; then he noticed his controls in more detail. He had never noticed before that one could scan things other than ships and buildings.
"Slippy," Eriana continued, "I want you to remain on the perimeter if you can. Your job will be to scan the building. Locate the five hostage ships and transmit the data to the rest of us. I'm going to go in and escort them out. Fox, Bill, it's up to you to cover us and make sure their ships can escape the planet."
"Gotcha."
"Roger that."
"What should I do," Slippy asked, "if they start firing on me?"
Eriana smiled in her cockpit cubicle. "Call out for help," she said. "These two will cover you."
"Sure will," Bill reassured him. "Don't worry about a thing, Slippy. Everything's under control."
"Any more questions?" inquired Eriana. When there was no response, she said, "then let's get going!"