Chapter 1:
Having monitored the battle between Fox and the bogies, Wolf returned to one of the rogue encampments that he frequented. Little did the Cornerian Federation know about these encampments on the far-off planets of Zoness, Macbeth, and other lesser stars of the likes. Pirates, fugitives, and often-dangerous mercenaries seek shelter in these crude hideouts. This was where Andross recruited the Starwolf team. Yes, Wolf recalled the day when Pepper imprisoned and executed his father on charges of alleged piracy. It was the day Corneria expelled him from its seemingly perfect sphere of protection; from the eye of the storm, so to speak. Those cast outside of Corneria's circle of favor would never forget the chilling disregard that they were subjected to. Wolf knew he was in danger. He fled, alive, but not unscathed. The general who praised him and wrote infinite Academy recommendation letters for him ordered the extermination of all the O'Donnells. Ah, yes… the widely admired general took vision from his left eye, but now he wore his dark eye patch with dignity. It was a badge of his status - a fallen hero.
Andross harbored him, along with the other Starwolf pilots, but with its founder dead, the Starwolf team had long since dispatched. Pigma left in search of fortune, Andrew fled for his wretched life, and Leon bade Wolf farewell before he too, embarked on his own journey in search for an employer. Wolf trusted none but Leon. A silent and clever assassin he was, most suitable for the position as Wolf's right-hand man. Now that they were gone, Wolf needed competent companions. None were to be found – his underlings had just been destroyed. He returned to the encampment to recruit more disposable pawns.
It was close to nighttime at that particular part of Zoness. Wolf surveyed the vast expanse of water that covered the surface of the tropical planet. A small inky green patch rolled into sight, with a bonfire burning prominently in the center. He skillfully landed his Wolfen II near the encampment. Lifting the glass canopy, he casually strolled out. An air of desperation weighed heavily upon the camp. It was the lair of the needy and dangerous, and those who have been robbed of the slightest sense of sympathy for others. The way of the rogues was ruthless. All of the people, however impoverished they were, held a few weapons under their possessions. Yet, they have learned to keep a distance from Wolf, who had won a reputation as a wild and lethal mercenary.
Wolf did not particularly enjoy that atmosphere. He missed the comfort of Corneria when he first fled to this desperate area, but gradually grew accustomed to the cutthroat ways of these hideouts. He sat down at a crude bar, which was nothing but a few wooden stalls covered with canopies of filthy rag. The others shuffled uneasily in their seats, eyeing him cautiously. Wolf ignored them, but kept a keen eye on those he deemed worthy and possibly usable. At last, two cloaked figures approached and stood behind him.
"Ah, Wolf O'Donnell, from team Starwolf. Correct?" one spoke in a wispy voice.
Wolf did not turn his head. He continued to look away; the two did not interest him the least bit.
"We saw your past battles with Fox, along with the suicide mission you sent your underlings on. You seem to be looking for assistance," the other one continued.
"What do you want?" Wolf finally answered in annoyance.
"We are most impressed by your performance in combat. Our commander wishes to see you."
"Well tell him to come over and if he wants to recruit me, tell him to forget about it. No one will command me," he replied easily, eyes unmoving.
Wolf could hear loud metallic clicks as he felt cold steel pressed against the back of his head - a blaster. Wolf slowly and calmly turned his eyes to see the scaled hands that held the gun. The visitors were presumably reptilian – perhaps of the same kindred as his sacrificed underlings. He gave a lopsided grin at the thought of one of his inferiors threatening him. Fools.
"Now," the cloaked figures demanded.
Wolf turned his head just enough so that he could peer into the depths of their dark hoods and stare into their eyes. Yes, they were reptilian. His cruel, amber eyes pierced their composure. The reptilians froze and stared back blankly, as if mesmerized. Their grips on the blasters loosened.
Seizing the opportunity, Wolf quickly drew his combat knife from his belt. A swift blur of gray, and a cold flash of the blade – the knife was stabbed into the arm of one of them. The blaster dropped with a clink, with its owner sprawling on the ground in pain. Blood seeped through the dark soil. The other visitor leapt back frantically and let loose a few inaccurate shots of laser. Wolf dodged in a flurry of motion, the amber eyes gleaming. He knelt down to pull the knife from his victim and charged at the next. The lizard's leg swept across the air with a high kick. Wolf dropped to the ground, avoiding the blow, then knocked out the assailant's feet with a tail whip. At last, he leapt and forcefully stabbed the lizard in the chest. The reptilian's head drooped to the side lifelessly.
"Be wary of whom you threaten," Wolf snarled as he pulled the blade from his dead victim, casting one last glance at his assailants before returning to his seat. A dark crimson tainted the silver metal. The others watched silently as the brawl settled. Such incidents were all too common in these areas.
From a dark corner behind the rotten wooden stalls, Wolf could hear applause. Another dark, cloaked figure emerged from the shadows – also reptilian, but greater in stature.
"Most impressive, Wolf O'Donnell," the deep voice commended.
"I detest those who sacrifice their underlings for foolish reasons. If you want to talk, speak for yourself."
"And in what position are you to criticize me?"
Wolf cruelly chuckled to himself, remembering the pawns that he had just recently disposed of. Perhaps they were alike in some ways…
"Alright, what do you want?" Wolf finally asked in mild amusement, but his eyes still seemed to glow with threatening fury.
"…Nothing but a small alliance. Do not decline my offer too rashly. No one will command you. All I ask for is a little assistance in achieving a common goal."
"And you are…?"
The cloaked figure paused, then continued thoughtfully.
"You can call me General Scales, or just Scales if you like."
Having monitored the battle between Fox and the bogies, Wolf returned to one of the rogue encampments that he frequented. Little did the Cornerian Federation know about these encampments on the far-off planets of Zoness, Macbeth, and other lesser stars of the likes. Pirates, fugitives, and often-dangerous mercenaries seek shelter in these crude hideouts. This was where Andross recruited the Starwolf team. Yes, Wolf recalled the day when Pepper imprisoned and executed his father on charges of alleged piracy. It was the day Corneria expelled him from its seemingly perfect sphere of protection; from the eye of the storm, so to speak. Those cast outside of Corneria's circle of favor would never forget the chilling disregard that they were subjected to. Wolf knew he was in danger. He fled, alive, but not unscathed. The general who praised him and wrote infinite Academy recommendation letters for him ordered the extermination of all the O'Donnells. Ah, yes… the widely admired general took vision from his left eye, but now he wore his dark eye patch with dignity. It was a badge of his status - a fallen hero.
Andross harbored him, along with the other Starwolf pilots, but with its founder dead, the Starwolf team had long since dispatched. Pigma left in search of fortune, Andrew fled for his wretched life, and Leon bade Wolf farewell before he too, embarked on his own journey in search for an employer. Wolf trusted none but Leon. A silent and clever assassin he was, most suitable for the position as Wolf's right-hand man. Now that they were gone, Wolf needed competent companions. None were to be found – his underlings had just been destroyed. He returned to the encampment to recruit more disposable pawns.
It was close to nighttime at that particular part of Zoness. Wolf surveyed the vast expanse of water that covered the surface of the tropical planet. A small inky green patch rolled into sight, with a bonfire burning prominently in the center. He skillfully landed his Wolfen II near the encampment. Lifting the glass canopy, he casually strolled out. An air of desperation weighed heavily upon the camp. It was the lair of the needy and dangerous, and those who have been robbed of the slightest sense of sympathy for others. The way of the rogues was ruthless. All of the people, however impoverished they were, held a few weapons under their possessions. Yet, they have learned to keep a distance from Wolf, who had won a reputation as a wild and lethal mercenary.
Wolf did not particularly enjoy that atmosphere. He missed the comfort of Corneria when he first fled to this desperate area, but gradually grew accustomed to the cutthroat ways of these hideouts. He sat down at a crude bar, which was nothing but a few wooden stalls covered with canopies of filthy rag. The others shuffled uneasily in their seats, eyeing him cautiously. Wolf ignored them, but kept a keen eye on those he deemed worthy and possibly usable. At last, two cloaked figures approached and stood behind him.
"Ah, Wolf O'Donnell, from team Starwolf. Correct?" one spoke in a wispy voice.
Wolf did not turn his head. He continued to look away; the two did not interest him the least bit.
"We saw your past battles with Fox, along with the suicide mission you sent your underlings on. You seem to be looking for assistance," the other one continued.
"What do you want?" Wolf finally answered in annoyance.
"We are most impressed by your performance in combat. Our commander wishes to see you."
"Well tell him to come over and if he wants to recruit me, tell him to forget about it. No one will command me," he replied easily, eyes unmoving.
Wolf could hear loud metallic clicks as he felt cold steel pressed against the back of his head - a blaster. Wolf slowly and calmly turned his eyes to see the scaled hands that held the gun. The visitors were presumably reptilian – perhaps of the same kindred as his sacrificed underlings. He gave a lopsided grin at the thought of one of his inferiors threatening him. Fools.
"Now," the cloaked figures demanded.
Wolf turned his head just enough so that he could peer into the depths of their dark hoods and stare into their eyes. Yes, they were reptilian. His cruel, amber eyes pierced their composure. The reptilians froze and stared back blankly, as if mesmerized. Their grips on the blasters loosened.
Seizing the opportunity, Wolf quickly drew his combat knife from his belt. A swift blur of gray, and a cold flash of the blade – the knife was stabbed into the arm of one of them. The blaster dropped with a clink, with its owner sprawling on the ground in pain. Blood seeped through the dark soil. The other visitor leapt back frantically and let loose a few inaccurate shots of laser. Wolf dodged in a flurry of motion, the amber eyes gleaming. He knelt down to pull the knife from his victim and charged at the next. The lizard's leg swept across the air with a high kick. Wolf dropped to the ground, avoiding the blow, then knocked out the assailant's feet with a tail whip. At last, he leapt and forcefully stabbed the lizard in the chest. The reptilian's head drooped to the side lifelessly.
"Be wary of whom you threaten," Wolf snarled as he pulled the blade from his dead victim, casting one last glance at his assailants before returning to his seat. A dark crimson tainted the silver metal. The others watched silently as the brawl settled. Such incidents were all too common in these areas.
From a dark corner behind the rotten wooden stalls, Wolf could hear applause. Another dark, cloaked figure emerged from the shadows – also reptilian, but greater in stature.
"Most impressive, Wolf O'Donnell," the deep voice commended.
"I detest those who sacrifice their underlings for foolish reasons. If you want to talk, speak for yourself."
"And in what position are you to criticize me?"
Wolf cruelly chuckled to himself, remembering the pawns that he had just recently disposed of. Perhaps they were alike in some ways…
"Alright, what do you want?" Wolf finally asked in mild amusement, but his eyes still seemed to glow with threatening fury.
"…Nothing but a small alliance. Do not decline my offer too rashly. No one will command you. All I ask for is a little assistance in achieving a common goal."
"And you are…?"
The cloaked figure paused, then continued thoughtfully.
"You can call me General Scales, or just Scales if you like."