Disclaimer: This will be dumb. In fact, at this moment, I have no idea what this story is going to be about. I think this won't even add up to five hundred words, but what the hey, take a shot at it, huh? Obviously, consideration goes out to Nintendo for owning and keeping Star Fox away from us for, what, a year now? This sucks. I can't wait until Star Fox Armada comes out.
Take a shot. Go ahead. It won't matter. What you do will be insignificant. Absolutely irrelevant. Completely idiotic. Nothing you do can affect the universe in whole. Nothing you do can change the past. Nothing you can do will be written down in history, so why even bother? You are obsolete. You are finished. You are NOTHING! Oh, going to talk back, now are, you? That's even more pointless. Nothing. A speck of dust on a bookshelf. A beetle to be squashed by a bigger organism. That is what you are. You cannot... You won't... You wouldn't... You can't beat him. Ever.
Wolf suddenly sat up in his bed, gasping for breath.
"Jesus! What a nightmare..." Wolf swallowed hard and threw the covers off himself. He staggered around his apartment, tyring to find the bathroom in the pitch darkness. His hand touched the wall, and he followed it, feeling for the switch. His shin bumped into something twice before he found it and flicked it on. Light flooded the room and he was finally able to see the entrance to the bathroom.
His apartment was about as worthless as he was. It was just another run-down place in a run-down planet. Somehow, it felt like Zoness was as bad as it was before the Cornerians cleaned it up. The streets still reeked of filth and garbage, and the stench somehow snaked its way into every nook and cranny, making every citizen sick. Most never stayed long. Wolf was one of the others. He stayed because none of the poor urchins recognized the evil he was. Anywhere else, he'd be caught and shot within an hour of arrival.
Wolf put his hands on the edge of the sink and leaned on them, inspecting himself in the mirror while his mind slowly woke up. His ragged grey fur was no different. His angry, dark eye were just the same as yesterday. His black patch on his other one was just as dirty as before. He slowly peeled it back to remind himself of what it looked like under there. He groaned, and slapped the patch back almost immediately. He thought back. Yes, McCloud had done that, nearly twelve years ago, he thought, remembering his first assassination attempt. Fox had completely foiled it. In the process, he had scorched Wolf's right eye with a laser shot, and he had nearly got his brain, if it weren't for Wolf's agility.
"Give me two minutes with that guy," Wolf growled, gripping the sink with his hands, "On the ground, without his precious Arwing, and I bet I can snap him like a twig." He thought about Fox squirming in his grasp for a few seconds, then sighed, releasing his death grip on the sink. "What's the use? It'll never happen."
Wolf turned on the squeaky faucet and watched as the yellowish water poured from it. He retched, though it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. He had been living in that disgusting apartment for three months, though he still hadn't got used to it. He splashed some water on his face and wiped it off with a towel that hadn't been washed for weeks. Wolf grumbled miserably as he turned off the tap and slunk back into his bedroom.
Turning off the lights again, he climbed into his blankets. He felt them. There was a beetle on one of the edges. He brushed it off without a care and closed his eyes.
Never will you get to kill Fox. He'll have all the luck. He'll be the one who's sleeping in the king-sized mattress. He'll be the one with the girls. He'll be the one with all the pride and money. He'll be the respected one. He'll be the glorified one. He'll always be better than you. Absolutely nothing you say or do can change that. Not now, not ever. Perhaps, you will die just like this, in a worn-out, moth-eaten piece of springy crap, drinking water filled with parasites, eating out of a garbage can. But Fox will be the one who will die fabulously wealthy, with dignity and honour, with a beautiful vixen at his side who had been with him all his life, with children who will mourn him and tell his tale for centuries. Worthless... Dust... Pathetic... Weak...
Nothing.
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A/N: That turned out to be more pointless than I thought, though it gives a bit of insight, now doesn't it?