The name Captain Falcon meant many things. To some, he was a hero. To some, he was an obstacle to overcome. To some, he was a name whispered beneath the dim lighting deep underground.

To Douglas Jay Falcon, he was a facade. And as he slowly crept back into the world from the depths of his sleep, he was reminded of it in the most painful way.

The back of his neck hurt like hell, from the back of his skull to his shoulders. Whenever he tried to move his head, pain would cut through the haze still settled over his mind. A pained hiss escaped his lips, and as he reached up to rub his neck, Falcon glanced over at the dials and buttons dotting the dashboard in front of him.

"Falcon Flyer" he mumbled, "what time is it?"

From a speaker to his right, a monotone voice replied, "10pm in the local time, sir."

A look outside the window proved it correct. Darkness covered the sky, broken only by the stars scattered throughout it and the blinking lights of the city below.

"You have been asleep for six hours," the voice droned on, "and at your current velocity, you will arrive at Ylisstol Airfield within five minutes."

"I only asked for the time, not a status report," Falcon said. "Why don't you give me the weather while you're at it?"

"The local weather forecast calls for clear skies for the next–"

"Falcon Flyer, please shut up."

The voice of the Falcon Flyer cut off with a click. Falcon leaned back in his seat and scowled, waiting for the throbbing in his neck to subside.

"What I wouldn't do to be back in my bed right now," he groaned, and he rubbed his neck again. "Why did I have to take this job, anyway?"

The voice was quick to respond. "You took the job for the payment, and the next F-Zero race is in three months."

"Yes, I know. No need to remind me." Falcon waved a hand behind him. "I just wish this bounty was a little closer to home."

Running a hand down his face, Falcon rolled his neck, finding satisfaction in the popping noise it made. As he rolled his shoulders back, he lamented all the wonderful amenities he'd left back home. His soft bed, his bathtub.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A sharp noise shook him from his thoughts. Falcon leveled a glare at the flashing red light on the dashboard as if it were the cause of all his problems, and he briefly wished he had remained asleep.

"Who's calling?" he asked.

"Jody Summer, from the Galactic Space Federation."

"Tell her to call back later. I can't be bothered to deal with her this early in the morning."

"It's night."

Falcon narrowed his eyes. "Not at home, it isn't."

"Logistics dictate that would be an unwise decision," the voice said, its flat voice somehow carrying an admonishing tone. "She is your contractor, after all."

"Well, she can contact me later. If she has a problem with it, she can talk to you."

The voice fell silent. For a moment, Falcon relaxed, believing that problem dealt with, and he let himself settle into the calm that followed.

Reaching beneath the dashboard, he felt through the cold metal compartments beneath, brushing past sheets of paper that were probably important and a forgotten pack of gum until finally, his fingers closed around the familiar shape of his helmet.

He pulled it out and set it down in front of him. Setting his chin on his steepled hands, he stared down at the thing. His lips tugged down into a frown. Though the visor was dark, he could easily imagine two glowing blue eyes staring back at him.

He'd heard somewhere that all self-reflections took place in the dead of night, under the silver light of the stars.

Faintly, he was aware that the red light was still flashing. He didn't have the energy to answer it, still in the middle of hauling himself into the waking world. If he were Captain Falcon, though, maybe he would have been able to.

Captain Falcon didn't get a stiff neck. Captain Falcon didn't whine about having to stay away from home. Captain Falcon didn't take so long to wake up, even in the middle of the night.

The helmet, the very same one before him, was all that separated him from Captain Falcon. Yet they couldn't be more different.

At least Captain Falcon would have the courtesy to answer the damn phone.

"I am patching her through now."

Falcon's eyes widened, the calm shattering and falling to pieces around him.

"Wait, what?"

"Boss' orders."

"I am your boss."

"And she is yours. Therefore, her word overrides your own."

Falcon cursed. "Hold her for a minute!" he shouted, as he fumbled for his helmet.

The face of Jody Summer blipped onto the screen on the dashboard just as he finished slipping it over his head.

"Jody!" Falcon forced his lips into a smile he hoped didn't look too plastic.

Jody quirked an eyebrow. "Captain. I haven't disturbed you, have I? The flight over to Ylisstol is quite long, so you need all the rest you can get."

"Not at all," Falcon said, shaking his head. "If crime never sleeps, then neither shall I! Now," he leaned over the dashboard, "was there anything you needed to tell me?"

Jody looked like she wanted to ask something, but she shook it off. "As you know, we've received reports of Blood Falcon in the area. Since your task is to hunt him down and put a stop to whatever havoc he may cause, you'll need a place to stay."

"Well, that's not going to be a problem! The Falcon Flyer is good enough for me." Falcon slapped a hand over his seat, and he flashed a smile to reassure her.

"Surely the Falcon Flyer isn't the most comfortable place to sleep," Jody said. "Ylisstol is quite large. I expect it will take some time for you to hunt him down. As such, I've made a few arrangements with a friend of mine for you to stay somewhere within the city."

Falcon paused, and he had to hold back a grimace. Frankly, that sounded like a terrible idea. He'd have to go out of his ship and expose himself, not as Captain Falcon, with all the attention that would bring, but as Douglas Jay Walker.

Then he glanced back at his ship, to the giant blue car parked inside, and at all the hard, metal surfaces between. Just thinking about sleeping in here almost made him wince.

Before Jody could notice him falter, he returned his grin to his face. "You're too kind! Where can I find this place?"

"My friend set up an apartment room somewhere downtown." A message flashed across the screen. An address of some kind. "Head to the cafe located here, and the owner should be able to direct you there."

"Will do." Falcon gave her a salute. "Is that all you wished to speak about?"

Jody looked away. After a second's pause, her shoulders slumped, and she said, "If anything is bothering you, I'd be willing to listen."

"I'll let you know if I ever need it," Falcon chuckled. He pressed a button off to the side, and Jody's face faded into black.

Falcon collapsed back into his seat with a sigh. His eyes lingered on the blank screen, almost as if he was afraid she would appear again to try and wring out his life's story from him. Beside it, the red light showed no signs of life.

She'd be willing to listen? He laughed dryly. To Captain Falcon, maybe.

His eyes wandered to the window, watching the lights from the city below run past him, so small from his place high in the sky. A minute passed by as he just sat there idle, the gentle rumble of the engines keeping him company in the lonely silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

That is, until that infuriating sound barged back into the room. Why couldn't the world just let him have some peace?

"Who is it now?" Falcon growled.

The voice of the Falcon Flyer replied, "It's air traffic control."

"Oh. Well, I'll leave you to take care of it, like you always do."

A crackle of static was his only reply. The beeping had vanished, but the flickering red light meant that the Falcon Flyer's AI was doing its job, leaving Falcon to stare at it wordlessly, waiting for something to happen.

It wasn't as if he could do anything to help.

Eventually, the Falcon Flyer returned. "Air traffic control says we're clear to land at–bzzt."

A burst of static cut off the Falcon Flyer without warning. Worry creased Falcon's brow, and, leaning closer to the speaker, he said, "What's going on? Is something wrong?"

He received no response. A nervous tingle raced up his neck, and although he could see nothing wrong, a pit opened in his stomach.

He realized why a second later: everything had fallen deathly silent. The constant hum of machinery around him came to a grinding halt. Even the engines no longer made a peep.

Suddenly, Falcon was reminded of the fact that he was trapped inside a metal box, hovering thousands of feet above the ground.

"Hey! Is something wrong?" he asked again, trying to keep his rising panic from his voice.

This time, he got a response. One that didn't make him feel any better. "Error. Connection to the controls has been severed. Reinstating manual control."

"Manual control?" he almost screamed. "I don't know how to fly this thing!"

He could drive a flying car any day, but an aircraft? An aircraft was different. With how much the thing was automated anyway, he hadn't bothered learning how to pilot it.

Not that he had much time to regret his decision, not with how fast the ground was approaching.

"Thirty seconds left. Better hurry."

Falcon lunged for the steering wheel, the one thing he could make sense of. His fingers slipped over it on his first attempt. He caught it on his second try, but the ship shuddered, shaking it free. The third time, he managed to grab it.

"Twenty seconds left. Oh no."

The lights on the ground, so small in the distance, were a lot bigger now. He could make out the lights lining the runway, the lamps scattered over the pavement.

Falcon's first thought was to jerk the steering wheel up. When he tried it, the entire ship trembled. The lights flickered. Behind him, the engines gave a nasty cough. Something snapped.

He flinched. Slowly, he set the steering wheel back down. Maybe there was some other way to go about this?

Then, at the dead center of the windshield, he saw her. A woman. Flowing blue hair. Standing right in his path.

"Ten seconds left."

There wasn't any time to think of a better way. Mustering all the strength he had, Falcon pulled.

"Five."

A bolt beneath the wheel popped off. A few wires snapped.

"Four."

In front of him, the woman's eyes were wide with terror.

"Three."

Her blue hair trailed behind her as she disappeared from sight. Falcon could only hope she'd remembered to duck.

"Two."

The road before him drew back. Slowly, it began to level off.

"One."

His ship jolted. A loud, metal clang followed.

His ears resounded with a terrible screeching. Long and drawn out, like an awl dragged over his eardrums.

Thud!

Then, it all stopped, leaving Falcon dazed, hovering over the dashboard of his ship, his face inches away from the glass. The second his back hit his chair, he let out a gust of air. His helmet felt hot and stuffy, so he tore it off, letting the cool night air wrap around his face.

Sweeping his gaze over the inside of his ship as a few red lights flickered against the dark, he muttered, "I really need to learn how to fly this thing."


I apologize for the late chapter, my life just decided to throw me into the gutter last week, and writer's block hit me like a truck full of porcupines. Hopefully, I can get this thing updated more regularly.

I've never actually played an F-Zero game, so my research consisted entirely of scrolling through the F-Zero wiki and picking up what bits and pieces I could find. I tried to piece what I could get into a cohesive character as best I could, mixed in with a few headcanons I thought would spice up the conflict a bit. If you think I did a piss poor job at it, feel free to let me know.

The next update will roll around in two weeks. Until then, I wish you all well, and stay safe!