"Hello"
He wasn't quite sure what was happening at the time; all he knew was that a sharp pain was prodding his side and a sticky paste had formed in his mouth during the night. Gradually his one electric-blue eye eased open, dry and bloodshot, and he found himself staring up into the black hoods of a pair of jailers that worked for the Cornerian justice system. Sure enough, one of them was poking him none-too-gently in the ribcage with a long, slender stick, and he was certain that if he could have seen their faces they would have been amused.
Had the day finally come? So quickly?
"You've got one hour, O'Donnel," one gruff, harsh voice whispered to him from beneath the heavy cloth. "I suggest you start praying to whatever god will hear you." Without another word, the pair trudged away, thankfully taking the sharp stick along with them.
Wolf O'Donnel, the former leader of the mercenary unit Star Wolf, ran his paws through the mottled grey fur of his face and coughed a few times, trying to re-orient himself. He had been locked up in the exact same jail cell for the past few weeks now, and contrary to what those guards thought much of his time had been spent in fervent prayer, pleas to any god listening to pardon him, to see the error of his ways. Either it was the deities' month off, or supernatural beings didn't answer to guys whose name began with 'O' and ended with 'Donnel'.
The Lylat Wars had ended roughly two months ago, and to the dismay of the four mercenaries of Star Wolf Andross had been taken out by their arch-enemies of Star Fox. It didn't seem to matter how fast or how far they ran; there were always affiliates of General Pepper behind them, firing laser guns, until finally Wolf had run out of places to hide. When they had clapped him in irons and thrown him in the brig of a Katinan starship en route to Corneria, Wolf had known that his time was running short.
Funny how things worked out in the end. Now it was the first of September, and he knew the significance of that day.
Strangely enough it hadn't taken Wolf long to realize that his chances for a pardon were non-existent. He was a top supporter of Andross, and no matter how many truths or lies he screamed at the Cornerians his words always fell upon deaf or uncaring ears. No, he was a condemned thing, a man staring down into the gallows with a dim comprehension. His fellows had already been executed: Pigma was the first to go, for every Seperatist in the galaxy had wanted him dead since his betrayal of James McCloud. Leon and Andrew went out together, Andrew screaming that he had been set up, Leon quiet and unfeeling to the end. And now it was his turn, the valiant mercenary Wolf O'Donnel, the killer of so many Seperatists, and it didn't matter what he said or did now. His fate had long since been sealed.
"Playground school bell rings again . . . "
Wolf had never really been much of a religious man, but he got to his knees in that jail cell and clasped his paws together, each clutching the other as though it was the only thing each had left to hold on to. He bent over double, a strange prickling in the backs of his eyes, and he prayed as he had never prayed in his life. He didn't want to die. He hated Andross, hated the person he was, hated the Cornerians for seeing the lie that was his entire existence.
But he was going to die anyway, and he knew it.
"Rain clouds come to play again . . . "
Half an hour passed, and the former mercenary leader at last shuffled to his feet and began pacing his cell, paws clasped behind his back. Someone would hear him, he forced himself to believe. Someone, anyone, would heed his prayers and take pity on him, for he wanted to change, and wasn't that what being truly saved was about? Repenting and seeing the error of foolish ways? But time slipped away from him, and sweat beaded upon his brow, and gradually Wolf came to understand that his prayers, too, were falling upon deaf ears. So it was that he took to muttering to himself.
"Please don't do this," he whispered, wringing his paws together feverishly. "Please don't just let me die. I know what I've done is all wrong, but all I need is one more shot at life. I can fix this. I can make it all right again. Just please hear me and please save me."
"Has no one told you he's not breathing . . . ?"
His words echoed with a hollow, monotonous sound off the stone walls of his jail cell, and still no answer came, divine or spoken. Wolf punched out at the nearest wall and cursed when an explosion of pain shot up his entire arm. "Come on!" he shouted, baring his canines menacingly and clutching at the bars in a dependent fashion. "I'm not making this up! People can change, and I want to change! I don't want to die cold and alone and forsaken by everything I thought was worth believing in in this world, damn it, now listen to me! You people are supposed to save the righteous and condemn the wicked or something like that, right? Well, am I wicked? Am I?"
Wolf dropped to his knees again, ignoring the pain as his knees hit the stone. " . . . Am I?"
"Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to . . . hello . . . "
And he knew then that he would not be heard or saved. In the bowels of a Cornerian jail, alone and terrified and wondering how it was all going to end, Wolf O'Donnel came to understand that the time for repentance had long since passed him by.
They found him in the exact position he had fallen in, hunched over his knees with his arms hanging limply at his sides, staring at the stone floor as though seeing the world for the first time with open eyes. The guards pulled him roughly to his feet, but Wolf was hardly paying attention as he continued to stare blankly at the ground, suddenly fathoming his fate and the fact that it was all he deserved. One of them spat in his face, but he didn't protest; another tied his wrists together with a crude piece of rope and cut off the circulation to his hands, but he seemed not to notice.
By that time, Wolf was already long gone.
"If I smile and don't believe . . . "
For some reason he remembered something that Leon had said to him once long ago, and he heard the words vividly in his mind as though the chameleon was standing right beside him. "People don't choose their paths, Wolf . . . their paths are already determined and laid out before their feet long before they are born. It is not how we are born or the environment in which we grow that may change that path, but the choices we make along the way. You and I are cursed men, Wolf; our choices have already led us down a black path that can only lead us to hell. This must be what they call the point of no return."
"Soon I know I'll wake from this dream . . . "
There were at least ten guards shoving him roughly down the narrow corridor leading out of the jail, but in Wolf's absent-minded state one could have done the job just as well. Sunlight was shining merrily as he was pushed into the open air, but it all seemed false now as he trudged willingly along with his troupe, false and ironically surreal. A crowd of hundreds was teeming about the area, and an unearthly wail came up from the lot of them when the lupine form stumbled into their wake. Among the crowd, Fox McCloud and Falco Lombardi looked down upon Wolf for the first time in many weeks, and seeing him now, so dirty and devoid of hope, the pair of mercenaries were overwhelmed with pity.
"Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken . . . "
"I'm going to die," Wolf mumbled incredilously under his breath, and one of the guards behind him whacked him in the back of the head with the same stick he had been poked with an hour previous.
"They treat him like pond scum," Falco whispered under his breath to Fox as he crossed his arms and ruffled his feathers. "Even O'Donnel doesn't deserve to die like this, you know, stripped of his honor and everything that used to be his life."
Fox shook his head. "I only wish that we could have saved him. No one deserves to die like this--forsaken and without hope."
Falco nodded and spat on the ground at his feet in disgust.
"Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide . . . don't cry . . . "
Wolf was vaguely aware that he was ascending a row of stairs now, but his mind seemed numb with shock and realization that his panic did not surface. The guards shoved him in line with a strangely familiar-looking coil of rope and seemed to disappear into the very air before a dull voice cut through his thoughts and penetrated the last free corners of his mind.
"Wolf O'Donnel, you are found guilty on charges against the Seperatists of the Cornerian Army and all the free peoples of the Lylat System in your servitude of the late Doctor Andross, Tyrant of Venom. Your charges stand thus--conspiracy to assassinate the general of the Cornerian Army, Aronius Pepper, treason against the executive systems of Corneria, treason against the executive systems of Katina, treason and infiltration against the executive systems of Fortuna--"
"Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping . . . "
"--And mass murder. Therefore, by the charges found against you, you are sentenced to death and will be executed by hanging, this first of September, the year 2128."
All at once Wolf became aware that he was standing up before an enormous crowd, and with a strangled cry from somewhere within his throat he recognized the rope hanging before him to be a hangman's noose. He glanced around helplessly for some means of escape, but there were none; he attempted to run, but a guard caught him from behind and beat him mercilessly until he quit resisting and put him in line with the noose again.
"Is this how it all ends?" Wolf asked himself in slurred tones as his one eye swam back into focus. "Is this, then, the path laid down before my feet? Is this where I, Wolf O'Donnel, no longer the mercenary or the murderer but the man, was meant to fall? So utterly alone and afraid and despised by all who now look upon me?"
"Hello, I'm still here . . . "
Wolf glanced up as the hangman secured the noose about his neck; he choked, and suddenly found his gaze locked with that of Fox McCloud. The lupine expected Fox to look away in disgust, or to spit in his direction, or even to curse him at the top of his lungs until his final seconds of life, but the fox did none of these things. Quite the contrary, Fox raised his head up high and smiled--but it was no smile that taunted the battered Wolf. No, it was a smile that lifted up his last shreds of courage, a genuine smile that conveyed to him in the smallest of ways that he was not alone in this, his final adventure, his darkest hour. Fox McCloud, ironically enough, was the last person that Wolf expected to support him at a time like this, and yet there he stood, offering his courage and sympathy for a man he owed nothing. And Wolf raised his head up with him and smiled back, understanding that his gods, whatever gods those may be, had heard him after all, and had sent their messenger to him through Fox McCloud.
"Thank you," he mouthed, and Fox nodded across the crowd as though he had heard every word, and Wolf did not doubt that somehow, someway, he had.
"All that's left of yesterday . . . "
And then the hangman pulled the lever, ending the shared moment between the pair of mercenaries, shattering the sad existence that had been Wolf O'Donnel's life. A great cheer erupted from the crowd when finally Wolf's body hung immobile, and when Falco looked around to say something to Fox, he found that his friend was gone.
Fox was already halfway down the street, had left as soon as the lever had been sprung, and he was suddenly just as utterly alone as Wolf had been, comforted by nothing but the false hope the sunshine seemed to bring and the restless moaning of the cool September wind.
Disclaimer: The song used for this fanfic is called "Hello" by Evanescence off their album entitled "Fallen". I did not steal it, so please don't sue.
He wasn't quite sure what was happening at the time; all he knew was that a sharp pain was prodding his side and a sticky paste had formed in his mouth during the night. Gradually his one electric-blue eye eased open, dry and bloodshot, and he found himself staring up into the black hoods of a pair of jailers that worked for the Cornerian justice system. Sure enough, one of them was poking him none-too-gently in the ribcage with a long, slender stick, and he was certain that if he could have seen their faces they would have been amused.
Had the day finally come? So quickly?
"You've got one hour, O'Donnel," one gruff, harsh voice whispered to him from beneath the heavy cloth. "I suggest you start praying to whatever god will hear you." Without another word, the pair trudged away, thankfully taking the sharp stick along with them.
Wolf O'Donnel, the former leader of the mercenary unit Star Wolf, ran his paws through the mottled grey fur of his face and coughed a few times, trying to re-orient himself. He had been locked up in the exact same jail cell for the past few weeks now, and contrary to what those guards thought much of his time had been spent in fervent prayer, pleas to any god listening to pardon him, to see the error of his ways. Either it was the deities' month off, or supernatural beings didn't answer to guys whose name began with 'O' and ended with 'Donnel'.
The Lylat Wars had ended roughly two months ago, and to the dismay of the four mercenaries of Star Wolf Andross had been taken out by their arch-enemies of Star Fox. It didn't seem to matter how fast or how far they ran; there were always affiliates of General Pepper behind them, firing laser guns, until finally Wolf had run out of places to hide. When they had clapped him in irons and thrown him in the brig of a Katinan starship en route to Corneria, Wolf had known that his time was running short.
Funny how things worked out in the end. Now it was the first of September, and he knew the significance of that day.
Strangely enough it hadn't taken Wolf long to realize that his chances for a pardon were non-existent. He was a top supporter of Andross, and no matter how many truths or lies he screamed at the Cornerians his words always fell upon deaf or uncaring ears. No, he was a condemned thing, a man staring down into the gallows with a dim comprehension. His fellows had already been executed: Pigma was the first to go, for every Seperatist in the galaxy had wanted him dead since his betrayal of James McCloud. Leon and Andrew went out together, Andrew screaming that he had been set up, Leon quiet and unfeeling to the end. And now it was his turn, the valiant mercenary Wolf O'Donnel, the killer of so many Seperatists, and it didn't matter what he said or did now. His fate had long since been sealed.
"Playground school bell rings again . . . "
Wolf had never really been much of a religious man, but he got to his knees in that jail cell and clasped his paws together, each clutching the other as though it was the only thing each had left to hold on to. He bent over double, a strange prickling in the backs of his eyes, and he prayed as he had never prayed in his life. He didn't want to die. He hated Andross, hated the person he was, hated the Cornerians for seeing the lie that was his entire existence.
But he was going to die anyway, and he knew it.
"Rain clouds come to play again . . . "
Half an hour passed, and the former mercenary leader at last shuffled to his feet and began pacing his cell, paws clasped behind his back. Someone would hear him, he forced himself to believe. Someone, anyone, would heed his prayers and take pity on him, for he wanted to change, and wasn't that what being truly saved was about? Repenting and seeing the error of foolish ways? But time slipped away from him, and sweat beaded upon his brow, and gradually Wolf came to understand that his prayers, too, were falling upon deaf ears. So it was that he took to muttering to himself.
"Please don't do this," he whispered, wringing his paws together feverishly. "Please don't just let me die. I know what I've done is all wrong, but all I need is one more shot at life. I can fix this. I can make it all right again. Just please hear me and please save me."
"Has no one told you he's not breathing . . . ?"
His words echoed with a hollow, monotonous sound off the stone walls of his jail cell, and still no answer came, divine or spoken. Wolf punched out at the nearest wall and cursed when an explosion of pain shot up his entire arm. "Come on!" he shouted, baring his canines menacingly and clutching at the bars in a dependent fashion. "I'm not making this up! People can change, and I want to change! I don't want to die cold and alone and forsaken by everything I thought was worth believing in in this world, damn it, now listen to me! You people are supposed to save the righteous and condemn the wicked or something like that, right? Well, am I wicked? Am I?"
Wolf dropped to his knees again, ignoring the pain as his knees hit the stone. " . . . Am I?"
"Hello, I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to . . . hello . . . "
And he knew then that he would not be heard or saved. In the bowels of a Cornerian jail, alone and terrified and wondering how it was all going to end, Wolf O'Donnel came to understand that the time for repentance had long since passed him by.
They found him in the exact position he had fallen in, hunched over his knees with his arms hanging limply at his sides, staring at the stone floor as though seeing the world for the first time with open eyes. The guards pulled him roughly to his feet, but Wolf was hardly paying attention as he continued to stare blankly at the ground, suddenly fathoming his fate and the fact that it was all he deserved. One of them spat in his face, but he didn't protest; another tied his wrists together with a crude piece of rope and cut off the circulation to his hands, but he seemed not to notice.
By that time, Wolf was already long gone.
"If I smile and don't believe . . . "
For some reason he remembered something that Leon had said to him once long ago, and he heard the words vividly in his mind as though the chameleon was standing right beside him. "People don't choose their paths, Wolf . . . their paths are already determined and laid out before their feet long before they are born. It is not how we are born or the environment in which we grow that may change that path, but the choices we make along the way. You and I are cursed men, Wolf; our choices have already led us down a black path that can only lead us to hell. This must be what they call the point of no return."
"Soon I know I'll wake from this dream . . . "
There were at least ten guards shoving him roughly down the narrow corridor leading out of the jail, but in Wolf's absent-minded state one could have done the job just as well. Sunlight was shining merrily as he was pushed into the open air, but it all seemed false now as he trudged willingly along with his troupe, false and ironically surreal. A crowd of hundreds was teeming about the area, and an unearthly wail came up from the lot of them when the lupine form stumbled into their wake. Among the crowd, Fox McCloud and Falco Lombardi looked down upon Wolf for the first time in many weeks, and seeing him now, so dirty and devoid of hope, the pair of mercenaries were overwhelmed with pity.
"Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken . . . "
"I'm going to die," Wolf mumbled incredilously under his breath, and one of the guards behind him whacked him in the back of the head with the same stick he had been poked with an hour previous.
"They treat him like pond scum," Falco whispered under his breath to Fox as he crossed his arms and ruffled his feathers. "Even O'Donnel doesn't deserve to die like this, you know, stripped of his honor and everything that used to be his life."
Fox shook his head. "I only wish that we could have saved him. No one deserves to die like this--forsaken and without hope."
Falco nodded and spat on the ground at his feet in disgust.
"Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide . . . don't cry . . . "
Wolf was vaguely aware that he was ascending a row of stairs now, but his mind seemed numb with shock and realization that his panic did not surface. The guards shoved him in line with a strangely familiar-looking coil of rope and seemed to disappear into the very air before a dull voice cut through his thoughts and penetrated the last free corners of his mind.
"Wolf O'Donnel, you are found guilty on charges against the Seperatists of the Cornerian Army and all the free peoples of the Lylat System in your servitude of the late Doctor Andross, Tyrant of Venom. Your charges stand thus--conspiracy to assassinate the general of the Cornerian Army, Aronius Pepper, treason against the executive systems of Corneria, treason against the executive systems of Katina, treason and infiltration against the executive systems of Fortuna--"
"Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping . . . "
"--And mass murder. Therefore, by the charges found against you, you are sentenced to death and will be executed by hanging, this first of September, the year 2128."
All at once Wolf became aware that he was standing up before an enormous crowd, and with a strangled cry from somewhere within his throat he recognized the rope hanging before him to be a hangman's noose. He glanced around helplessly for some means of escape, but there were none; he attempted to run, but a guard caught him from behind and beat him mercilessly until he quit resisting and put him in line with the noose again.
"Is this how it all ends?" Wolf asked himself in slurred tones as his one eye swam back into focus. "Is this, then, the path laid down before my feet? Is this where I, Wolf O'Donnel, no longer the mercenary or the murderer but the man, was meant to fall? So utterly alone and afraid and despised by all who now look upon me?"
"Hello, I'm still here . . . "
Wolf glanced up as the hangman secured the noose about his neck; he choked, and suddenly found his gaze locked with that of Fox McCloud. The lupine expected Fox to look away in disgust, or to spit in his direction, or even to curse him at the top of his lungs until his final seconds of life, but the fox did none of these things. Quite the contrary, Fox raised his head up high and smiled--but it was no smile that taunted the battered Wolf. No, it was a smile that lifted up his last shreds of courage, a genuine smile that conveyed to him in the smallest of ways that he was not alone in this, his final adventure, his darkest hour. Fox McCloud, ironically enough, was the last person that Wolf expected to support him at a time like this, and yet there he stood, offering his courage and sympathy for a man he owed nothing. And Wolf raised his head up with him and smiled back, understanding that his gods, whatever gods those may be, had heard him after all, and had sent their messenger to him through Fox McCloud.
"Thank you," he mouthed, and Fox nodded across the crowd as though he had heard every word, and Wolf did not doubt that somehow, someway, he had.
"All that's left of yesterday . . . "
And then the hangman pulled the lever, ending the shared moment between the pair of mercenaries, shattering the sad existence that had been Wolf O'Donnel's life. A great cheer erupted from the crowd when finally Wolf's body hung immobile, and when Falco looked around to say something to Fox, he found that his friend was gone.
Fox was already halfway down the street, had left as soon as the lever had been sprung, and he was suddenly just as utterly alone as Wolf had been, comforted by nothing but the false hope the sunshine seemed to bring and the restless moaning of the cool September wind.
Disclaimer: The song used for this fanfic is called "Hello" by Evanescence off their album entitled "Fallen". I did not steal it, so please don't sue.