Chapter 5: False Betrayal

It seems as though I can never really look forward to life, unless I look back. - Fox

Disclaimer: I don't own Starfox. Nintendo owns them.

Disclaimer 2:Theactions taken towards an epileptic in this chapter are not the correct way to handle that situation. Don't copy. For those who don't know, when a personis havingan epileptic seizure, you should never try to restrain them, or stick anything in their mouths. You should make sure that thier immediate surroundings are clear.I repeat, do not attempt to restrain due to possible injury to the victim.


Fox kicked with his free leg at the giant black mass, but it was all a wasted effort. It's body simply absorbed each attack, putting it's teeth deeper and deeper into his flesh. A movement behind the thing caught his attention; Greg had wisps of black smoke emitting from his fingers that were connected to it. 'He's controlling it-that bastard ' he thought, his mind racing to figure out how to get the blob to turn loose of his leg.

His eyes darted all over his immediate surroundings, looking for something to throw. He grabbed one of the cylindrical pieces of wood that held the banister up, to steady himself. The thing started to thrash a little, like dogs fighting over their favorite toy. Finding nothing at his disposal, he nearly resigned himself to the mercy of Greg. Tightening his grip, an idea struck him. He yanked and pulled as hard as he could on the piece of wood, which was only held down by a nail in the floor and in the banister. After three good yanks, it's top cracked, obviously where the nail was giving way. Another pull had it completely removed from it's place.

Fox suddenly felt a sharper pain then any other shoot up his leg, and more warmth as the blood came out of the wound and soaked his pants. A holler of pain escaped his lips as he sat up halfway and threw the wood at Greg with all the strength he could muster. It met its target upside the head. The man, who'd been long dead and just newly gained Falco's body, reeled back, holding his bleeding head, screaming obscenities. The blob was severely weakened, and Fox used this moment to grab it's fangs, and start prying them open.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Blood had started trickling from his palms as more and more force was applied. After a few seconds, the things mouth opened wide enough for him to pull his leg out. He crawled backwards, dragging his aching leg, which was leaving a trail of blood.

"So, you think you're so smart?" Greg said, retracting the beast into nothing but smoke. His head was bleeding, but not as heavy as Fox'd hoped, "I must admit, it was rather clever for you to use barbaric methods. I had forgotten pain, and the frailty of the body in my many years as a spirit, but let me assure you, it won't happen again."

Greg set upon Fox faster than he'd ever seen Falco move. His hand was tightly gripping his neck, slowly getting tighter. Fox gasped, and tried to dig his fingers between Greg's hands and his neck. No avail. Falco's body heaved slightly to his left, and then an even greater heave to the right as Fox was flung over the banister and onto the floor below. The wind was knocked out of him, and blood ran hot from his mouth, as he soundlessly cursed his enemy, holding his leg. He rolled over and started to push himself up, every bone and muscle in his body begging him to stay on the floor. He turned his head to see Greg slowly walking down the stairs, a look of distant amusement on his face. Fox quickly turned around, looking for something, anything to defend himself with. Limping painfully, he made his way into the kitchen. He pulled drawers out of the counter, searching for a knife. He found the biggest of the bunch, and started limping for the foyer, weapon at the ready. He stopped, trying to pull his leg over Peppy's body, when he saw something black on his friend's side, held to his body by a belt. A gun. Fox looked from the knife to the gun, and chucked it over his shoulder, almost laughing at himself.

He yanked the gun from Peppy's side, and found it to be one of the later models, which packed a hell of a lot more punch then his current one. He stepped unsteadily out of the kitchen, cocking the gun, and aiming it, just as Gregory had stepped off the landing, meeting his stare. For a moment, he seemed to take the threat seriously, but that subsided, as he started to laugh.

"You idiot. Have you forgotten whose body this is?" Greg waved Falco's arms around, and continued laughing, "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you'd kill your friend?"

Fox wavered from his previous determination for a moment, and then regained it. His eyes steadied on his best friends body, "I'm not entirely sure that Falco wouldn't disagree with my methods. I'm sure death is no worse than—"

"You know nothing of death!" Greg shouted, his once calm exterior displaying rage. He lunged for Fox again. Except, he was ready. A tear rolled down his cheek, as his finger squeezed the trigger, all the while his mind begging Greg to stop. No such luck. A loud cry, then a bang echoed around the house, followed by a sickening thud of something hitting the ground hard.

Fox backed into the wall, then slid slowly down it. Tears profusely poured from his eyes as he stared at his friend's limp and lifeless body. The previous events played over again and again in his mind. Falco, lunging for him. His finger tightening on the trigger, then something odd occurred. Falco's eyes changed, they didn't have that sinister look in them, rather one of surprise and hurt. Fox had known instantly that Greg had left his body, and Falco was welcomed from the darkness he'd endured by the sight of his friend, firing a gun at him. Fox put his hand to his head, remembering the cry Falco had made.

"Fox, no…!" Before the shot had torn threw his shoulder. The whole was large, the exit wound larger, and blood spilled quickly on the floor. Fox crawled towards him, examining the wound, holding out hope that he might survive, if he got some help immediately. A gasp coming from Falco mad Fox fall back. Blood running from his mouth, and a dazed look in his eye, Falco turned his head towards the vulpine.

Before he could say anything, the avian cut him off, "Why…..why did..shoot me?" came weakly from his lips. Fox moved his mouth to respond, but couldn't manage any words. Instead, he put pressure on the wound, and reached for the table on the side of the staircase, which the phone was situated on, and pulled open the drawer. He always thought that putting a first aid kit in there was a rather dumb idea of Peppy's, but was now glad that he'd obeyed the order. Sloppily, it fell to the floor; it's few contents spilling out. Fox grabbed the roll of medical gauzes, alcohol, and some painkillers. He wasn't sure if it would help him, but he had to try. He held Falco down while he poured the alcohol into the wound. Falco yelped, and kicked and threw his mobile hand around, whacking Fox across the head, and landing his foot on his injured one. He fell over on his bird friend, groaning. After a moment, he pulled himself up, and held him down with more force.

Dressing the wound took five minutes, mostly because Falco kept hitting Fox wherever his fist would land, shouting at him for putting him in this predicament in the first place. The vulpine didn't pay much notice to the pounding headache which was the result of this. He pulled out the syringe, attaching the needle, then filling it with the painkiller. Falco's pupils shrunk as he saw the size of the needle, although Fox kept assuring him between punches to his sides that it was just a little prick. It would take more than that, though, to convince him. He fought harder against the aiding fox, cursing, biting, punching, and kicking.

"First you shoot me, pour burning acid into me, then you want to stab me with a needle!"

"Well, the pain's got to go away somehow. And it wasn't acid, baby –" He stopped while Falco's fist met with his eye, "-it was alcohol." The needle dug into the birds arm while he cried out more obscenities.

Finally, Fox let off Falco, and sat next to him with his legs outstretched. He advised him not to move, but then again, when has his teammate ever listened to him? Falco tried to move his right arm, and found that it was still too painful to budge. So, he used his other one to prop himself up, eventually coming to a sitting up position. He clutched his wound, murmuring darkly towards Fox. He stopped when his eyes came upon his leg, glancing over all the blood. Next, he saw the tear in Fox's shirt which showed a little of the cut he'd received, along with a puncture wound in one of his hands. Falco's curiousity was peaked. It was strange enough for him to wake up from a peaceful dream, to see his friend aiming the gun, but apparently a lot had happened during that time lapse. Fox had already started to dress his stomach wound, wincing as the alcohol hit the broken flesh.

His eyes next came on his face. A small cut ran across his right cheek, where he'd punched him, a few bruises on his neck and a black eye. Fox'd just finished his hand then. Falco nearly laughed at this, thinking that he must've blacked out, and given the friend the beating of his life. But, he wanted to know what he'd done.

"So, what happened while I was out?"

Fox slowly looked up at him, his eyes broadcasting pain, and slowly told him what'd happened; from the time Falco and the others passed out, to when his body was relinquished by Gregory. When Falco cocked his head curiously at the name, Fox relayed what the spirit had said. The whole thing took no more than five minutes to explain, but Fox felt like it was an eternity to talk about it. It was all so weird, and had happened so fast. Falco scoffed, "You expect me to believe that? Please, you're probably just delusional. And I probably drank more than I thought, blacked out, and kicked your ass."

"Well, then, genius, how do you explain Peppy and Slippy being ou-" A chill ran down Fox's spin when he remembered that Slip had been killed. He painfully turned his head towards the kitchen, eyeing his dead comrade, "I mean, Pep being out cold, and Slip being…dead.."

Falco's eyes widened at this, as he got up as fast as he could. He unsteadily stepped into the kitchen, leaving Fox behind. A minute later, Falco re-emerged with a distant look in his eye.

"He's dead, he's really dead………you killed him!" Falco pinned down Fox, hitting him with his free hand again, "You killed him, then came up with that lame story to cover it! You didn't get those wounds from a ghost, Slippy just fought back! I can't believe you, what'd he ever do to you!" Tears fell on Fox's face from his assailants as he tried to get Falco off him. He was about to punch him, but pulled it back when he saw the gauzes on his shoulder. He felt so bad about it; he couldn't cause him any more pain.

"No, I didn't kill him, I'm telling you, it was Greg!"

"You still say that this 'Greg' cat did it? Give it up, there's no one else here besides you, and you were the only one able to move! It had to be you!"

Fox yelped as he felt the control of his limbs leaving him. 'I can't have an attack now ', he thought. He yelled at Falco to get off, telling him he was about to have a fit, but Falco was so set on Fox being a murderer, that he didn't heed him. All his limbs went numb, and started shaking uncontrollably as Fox's eyes went distant, and gasps escaped his mouth. Falco didn't care, though. He restrained his former friend fiercely, hoping that it would cause him great pain, possibly an inkling of what Slippy must've felt.

After about six minutes of the fit, Fox slowly regained control of his body, his senses coming back to him. For a moment, he didn't have a care in the world. Reality bit him hard when he realized where he was and what had happened. The avian looked meaner than ever, almost murderous. Fox tried to say something, but due to the force his teammate was exerting on his chest, couldn't get enough air to muster anything half intelligible. Falco, after some time, got off Fox, dragging him to his feet. He left his bewildered friend standing there, while he went into the kitchen. The sound of drawers being dug through loudly came pouring out of the doorway. Fox half stepped towards the kitchen, but doubled over, clutching his ribs.

A chill ran down his spin suddenly. Fox recognized the sensation, and eyed the room, looking for him. He had to get what friends he had left out of there, before he had to take desperate measures again. He pathetically crawled towards the wall, turned his back against it, and started pushing with his legs to lift himself up. He moaned from the pain that shot up and down his wounded leg. The chill grew stronger.

He tried to move towards the doorway, but was too zapped of strength to do so. Falco's blue body popping out of it quickly made Fox's heart skip a beat. Falco looked at the spot where he'd left Fox, then around, quickly spotting him on the wall. The avian started towards him, but fell flat on his face as some invisible force wiped the feet right out from under him. He looked up, bewildered, trying to see what had done it. Fox called for Falco, and fell towards him, but the same invisible force knocked him across the room while he was in mid-fall, against the wall, and into a pained slouching position. He cried out in pain, then clenched his teeth. Blood came a little more profusely from his mouth, and a throbbing pain was centered on the back of his head. Fox looked around, and the muffled sound of Falco shouting at him could be heard.

"Fox, what the hell was that?" Falco looked around. He couldn't see the thing that'd done it, and was starting to think that Fox hadn't been lying to him. He turned to get a good look at the surroundings, then back to his companion. He wasn't looking so good. His head was tilted to the side, and his green eyes just stared straight forward, the only movement his body made was the rise and fall of his chest as he struggled just to keep that going. Falco stepped towards him, holding his shoulder, "Hey, Fox, are you alright? Answer me—Fox!"

His eyesight was a little blurry, he could just barely make out Falco crouching over him, trying to get him to respond. Fox tried to say something, anything, but couldn't make any words. He was aware of Falco laying him gently on the ground, trying to get him to move.

"Fox, say something, move something. I'm sorry I blamed Slip on you, I'm sorry that I hit you. Please, just be ok." Falco's voice was laden with sorrow and regret as he lean over Fox. He wanted him to die just moments before, figuring he was a murderer, not beleiving a word that came from his mouth; but now Falco regreted having doubted him and hurt him.

Greg appeared behind Falco, and smirked.


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