Metal corridors stretched for a hundred yards. Each wall was inlaid with large steel doors indistinguishable from each other in the light beige interior. Falco moved down each hallway, checking the large black numbers resting above the dull gray padlocks. "235, 237, 239," he spoke to himself, counting down each odd number as they came by. "243, 245, 247." He came to it at last.

He stood silently, blankly staring at the door in front of him. "Should I really do this?" he asked himself aloud. He rested his hands on the back of his head. Curiosity was getting the better of him; no, he had to know.

He tapped the number on the padlock, noting each number of the password excessively worn. Falco chuckled inwardly. If you had enough free time you could probably guess the damn password. With the final keystroke the padlock lit up and the door opened with a hydraulic hiss. The falcon peered in, but saw nothing. He fumbled in the dark, feeling along for a light switch. His hand ran into a plastic button and he smacked it. The room lit up with a dull whiteness.

Shielding his eyes, he glanced across the room. Nothing. He squinted his eyes to clear his vision. Still nothing, just barren walls and empty space.

"What, there's nothing here?" He cried out loud, "This is bullshit." He took a few steps forward, scanning around the area in case his eyes deceived him. Why in the hell would Fox lie about this? Was this some deathbed joke given so Fox can laugh at him in the afterlife? He took one step backward, making to leave. He was fuming. His heel hit something solid and he lost his balance, falling backwards and smacking his head on the concrete floor.

"FUCK!" he screamed automatically. Sitting up, he grasped the object in his hands. Falco moved to strike it for having the audacity to trip him, but he stopped a second before. "Oh, there is something here." he thought to himself, a little embarrassed. He held a plain wooden trunk, no more than 3 feet across and 2 feet wide, heavily worn and discolored. Two wrought iron latches held it shut. The falcon took one last glimpse at the storage area.

"Jeez, a little overkill for one box, isn't it?" he reflected. "Well, Fox was a little weird about these things."

Slowly, Falco worked on the latches, which released with an audible pop. He opened the box carefully, gazing inside with anticipation. Inside laid an assortment of things. The avian grabbed some in one large handful. Flight tags, a large pair of sunglasses, an intricate platinum ring. Falco shook his head, "What's all this?"

He shuffled through the trunk, moving little nick-nacks and mementos around in a low rustle. Finally, he found a picture frame on the bottom of the trunk. He lifted it to get a better view. There were two figures, both foxes, an adult in his forties and a child barely five years old. Falco recognized them both. James and Fox McCloud. He had seen James several times, in magazines and some of Peppy's old photos. He thought it strange that Fox never had any himself. Well, now he knew why.

He scoured through the trunk again, this time finding a grey plastic box. He held it in hand; it was light weight, small, and held a tiny black globe in the center which protruded just an inch. On the bottom read, "Jarl-Kesson Image Technologies".

"Jarl-Kesson?" he thought to himself, "I thought they went broke, like, thirty years ago.". After fiddling with the seemingly ancient contraption for few minutes he found that it was some sort of video recording device. Three unmarked buttons rested along the sides and Falco instinctively pressed the one on the right. A 3-D video popped out from the black globe.

Gazing into it, Falco noted the grainy likeness of matted carpet. Raising an eyebrow, He watched the video buzz out and turn black. "Okay, that was nice." he reflected sarcastically. Then it came back on again, this time pointing at the ceiling. He heard a disembodied voice come through the device, "Whoa, whoa, okay. Okay I think I got it now." It swung down, dancing lazy over a body scribbling notes on a table. It looked up,

"Pigma, what are doing?" It asked harshly.

Pigma gave a rapid fire hog giggle, "Jus' capturin you workin'." he said, "You know." he staggered about, the camera waving wildly, "A picture is worth a thousan' years, words, or s'it years?" He laughed again.

The figure stood up. "Yeah, yeah, I get what you mean but you should really wait until you're a little more sober to do these kinds of things." It attempted to grab the camera, but Pigma pulled away.

"I'm jus' fine." he replied in his annoyingly high pitched manner. After the camera bobbed around a few seconds, it finally focused on the man. He was a 20 something reddish brown fox, thin, youthful, with bright green eyes and wide ears. Falco would have mistaken it for Fox, but he knew better.

"James," Pigma pleaded with the canid, "No, I'm fine." James didn't look convinced.

"Listen, Pigma." He commanded with an extended finger, "You're so wasted you can barely stand. If you fall down and break that thing it's going to be me who has to replace it."

"I c'n take care of it, I c'n take care of it."

James finally threw up his hands, "Great, you break you buy it, buddy." He slapped Pigma somewhere off camera.

The swine made some horrible guttural noise, "Okaaaay, I'll take care. I'll handle this one." The fox went back to his table and began to write again, shaking his head. The camera zoomed in to the papers.

"Watcha writin' therrre James?

James looked up at the camera, "Well, I was thinking about that situation a week ago, with Echo Squadron." He held up the papers showing his rudimentary sketches of fighter jets. "Now they had two guys. One here." he said pointing to one on the left, "and one here." pointing to another on the right.

"Now what happened is that they had three bandits, each one…" A deafening crash broke his sentence. The screen panned over to a rabbit leaning over the remains of a potted plant. The rabbit was young, well toned, and very intoxicated. He stretched a drunken hand towards to a piece of the pottery and held it to his face.

"Whoa," he looked over to James, "Sorry, this…thing gottin my way." The hare called to him with a slack jaw.

The fox came over and took the broken piece from his hand, "You know what?" he said angerly, "Just, just," he froze a moment, "Just forget it.". He scooped up the plant in his hands, "You guys can go take a leak in the officer's lounge for all I care."

Taking a long uncoordinated step forward, the hare offered a hand in consolation, "Sorry, James, I didn't mean to break it, it just wasn't were it was before."

"It's okay." James responded with half sincerity, "It's okay Peppy just go sit down."

"Peppy?" Falco thought in astonishment. "This drunk kid is Peppy?" After a second glance he found it was true; it was a strong, virile Peppy with no inkling of the wizened warrior he always knew. He carried himself tall and proud with an air of confidence, even when he was wasted.

"Peppy, hey, Peppy." Pigma called from behind the camera. Peppy paid him no mind. He moved over to the chair and, with a very unsteady gait, flopped down on it. The hare rubbed his face for a while as if to rub of the mind blur.

"Peppy, hey Peppy, Peeeeeepppppy." the shrill pig called, "What happened to the chick?"

"The who?" the hare burst out.

"That lady, what's her name, the lady you brought here."

Peppy lifted a finger to the roof, "Oooooh yeah. I put her to sleep in the bedroom."

Falco's mouth dropped open. Peppy, a player? Naaaaah, it couldn't be.

"I knew you would, I knew you would you sly little bunny!" he heard Pigma laugh while smacking what sounded like a table.

"What can I say! They love me." The rabbit replied, putting his hands behind his head in astute satisfaction.

"Oh my god." the falcon said out loud, "And all the crap he gave me about my women! Look at him." The hare stroked his head, smiling egotistically. He was very satisfied with himself. A second later, James came back into view.

"How I'm going to survive bunking with you two is beyond me." He sat down next to Peppy with a tired look on his face.

"Well," Peppy said, "How 'bout you just stop trying to fight against it, and take a few drinks yourself." Both Peppy and Pigma burst out in heinous giggles.

"No, no no no, no, as much as I'd love too." James held up the papers on the table, "I'm working on something here."

"Ooooh, let's see what divine masterpiece you're working on here." Peppy exclaimed, reaching his hand out and bending the paper towards him. "Okay." He squinted a little at the sketches. "You suck at drawing, dude."

Pigma burst out laughing, shaking the camera so the image blurred into fine streaks. James voice cut in amongst the laughter, "Peppy look at it though, this is what got the Echo Squadron guys in trouble."

The laughter quieted a bit, "I think I figured it out." the fox said, "Now, When the three bandits start engaging its two on one, as you can see here." He drew two lines the from the enemy fighters to one of the friendly craft. "Now what I was thinking, if you have the wingman do a chandelle like this." He made the corresponding motion with his hand. "Then you'll come across the bandits nose like so."

Peppy scratched his head, "Whaa? That's suicide, man. All the bandit would have to do is perform a fishhook turn and they would on top of you."

"That's the idea, Peppy. Once the bandit tails you would perform a J-turn here, then your buddy turns like so." The fox scribbled a few lines on the paper. "Then you got the 3 bandits scissored. There's nothing they can do."

"That's right." Falco thought. Peppy and Fox gave him a lesson about this when he first joined the team. It's a brilliant little piece of flying if you've a bunch of slow enemies on your tail. It got a little archaic once the new models came out, though.

Peppy lifted an eyebrow, "Nooooo way. Lemme see that." He took the papers and spread them out in front of him. Pondering a few moments, he traced his finger across the paper, "Well, you could…no wait, you couldn't do that."

Pigma finally spoke up, "You know, you know I think he's right. I think. Okay, I don't know." he finished with a chuckle. "But I don't think we should be talkin' about this kinda stuff."

James threw him a puzzled glance, "Why?"

"Because it's weird, ya know? You guys always talkin' about fightin this or fightin that. It gives me morbid thoughts, ya know? Like we're gonna die or somethin'."

"Morbid?" the fox responded, "Well, I guess it would seem that way." He stood up, looking at the ceiling as if in meditation, "I always get a kick out of flying. Even having basic conversation about it feels great. It makes you want to go out. Makes you want to fight."

To his side, Peppy gazed with beady, concerned eyes. He was listening to James speak a another language, foreign tongues he couldn't understand. "What're you saying, man?"

James went over to him, his arms outstretched like father lecturing a young boy, "When you're in a dogfight, you know what I'm talking about, when the lasers are whizzing past you and you survive each scrape by the skin of your teeth?"

The hare blinked, "Yeah, yeah I think so. But that's scary though, like, really scary."

"Not to me, man. When the chips are down like that it's a great feeling. Like the world can't touch you. You're invincible." The fox pumped his fists to air.

Falco watched James carefully. He understood him, to a degree. He had that feeling, that adrenaline high when the world slowed down and you're heart raced a million miles an hour. You think quick and you react even quicker. You're in the zone. When all was all said and done and you made it out alive, you felt good. At least that's what he thought. He never felt any sort of attraction to it, though. It still seemed to odd.

Pigma made a hacking cough, "You know what I think you need, James?"

"What is that?"

The camera swayed a few times before settling on an oak table. "I think you need a shot from my ol' friend Mr. Whiskey."

Falco laughed, "Uh oh, this looks bad for James."

Looking off camera, the fox shot to his feet, waving his hands in front of him. "Oh no, guys, we have to work tomorrow."

Standing slyly behind him, Peppy laid a hand on his shoulder. James turned to face him, "Well, guy." the hare smiled gently, "Looks like you to have to get drunk tonight." James, wide eyed, tried to get away but got tackled by his friend.

"Alright, Peppy," the pig called like a gym coach, "Hold him down and I'll administer the juice."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys." James pleaded, rolling on the floor and flailing his arms in desperate attempt to escape. "Okay, I'll drink, I'll drink. Just let me go"

Pigma cackled, "Sorry James, but I just don't trust ya." The hog slowly came down, hovering over him beyond the camera shot. His think, lumpy hands snatched onto James's nose, eventually forcing his mouth open. Then, with a swift stabbing motion, rammed the bottle halfway down his throat.

Falco laughed out loud. These three characters were a comedy routine. They're juvenile antics was a playful sting to their older, more serious personalities. Pigma was unrecognizable from the Judas he met, and Peppy, god, Peppy. If only he could only show this to the rest of the gang, the rabbit would never hear the end of it.

"Didn't expect you here." someone spoke from behind. Instinctively, Falco swiveled a half turn to see an silhouette of an old man in a scooter. The device whirred towards him and the figure came into focus.

"Peppy?" Falco exclaimed in astonishment, "Why did you." he stopped himself mid sentence, "How did you know I was here?"

"Well, if you were listening a second ago, you'd had heard that I wasn't expecting you to be here." Falco analyzed him with a dishearted stare. Peppy looked bad as he remembered. Strapped with plastic tubing, he sucked in oxygen with a wheeze and labored under his movements. Behind him lay gaggle of dialysis machines, beeping and monitoring even the slightest ebb in his physical health. He was thin, tired, and living off the graces of doctors and organ donors

"You're looking a little better." the avian lied.

Peppy chuckled, suppressing a cough, "Really? You must not be looking through mirror I looked at this morning." He started into fit of coughing, covering his mouth and shaking violently.

"You okay there?" Falco said, placing a hand on Peppy's shoulder. "Maybe you should have stayed in your hospital."

The hare bat his hand away, "Oh cram it, Falco. I won't die any faster here or there or anywhere else!"

The falcon rubbed his hands together in irritation, "Well excuse me for looking after you."

"Spare me." the hare responded, waving his hand as if swatting Falco's comment. "Now what was I saying again?"

"You weren't expecting me."

"That's right. I was expecting someone like Krystal to be here. I figured that's what Fox would ask for."

"Well, that was what he asked for."

"Hmmm?"

"I kind of came here on my own. I was supposed to tell Krystal to come here."

"And? What do you think?"

"I think seeing this would just make Krystal angry."

"You think?"

"Yeah."

There was a eerie pause between them. Falco couldn't say anything. He knew the message, but not the words to express it. He tapped his foot on the ground a few times and folded his arms. Peppy spoke up first.

"Now, what did you think about it?"

"What did I think." he looked away lazily, as if reading a message floating in the air. "I'm not sure what to think. I guess I understand him, in a way. But I don't understand why Fox decided to throw his life away over it. Estrange his wife, his kid, all of that. For what? Adrenaline? There's better ways to get it."

Peppy nodded, knowingly but not entirely in agreement, like a professor in a school room, "I think you're on the right track. But there is more to it than that," The hare moved his scooter a little closer, "What got them, and this applies to both James and Fox, is that they didn't really love flying per se."

Falco looked confused, "What do you mean they didn't love flying? I don't about James but Fox lived for that stuff."

"I know it how it sounds," he explained, "But looking back on my years with them, it's true. They weren't your normal, cookie cutter beat the guy types. They loved fighting for their lives."

Peppy sat up, holding out his hands like claws, "They flew out there like they were taunting god himself. The more dangerous the better." He let his hand fall, "I distinctly remember a time when Fox was flying over the Cornerian seas, back I was still training him. He was doing low altitude maneuvers when POP." he snapped his fingers, "The right engine blew."

"He went down in a flat spin, twirling like a top before crashing into the water. It scared the hell out of me." Peppy said. "When I got down there to check on him, he had the canopy pulled open and he was just standing there. Like nothing was going on. And when I asked him if he was okay, he just smiled. He just smiled of all things. I would have pissed myself if that happened to me."

Falco nodded. He wasn't a member of Star Fox at the time, but it wasn't a far fetched story. Fox never had trouble in the tough spots; he always enjoyed them.

"But that's when I first saw the signs." Peppy continued, "I don't know if I should have lead him away from that, try to keep him grounded in fear. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference." the hare sighed. He looked up to see Falco hanging his head, a gloomy expression etched on his visage. The hare frowned slightly at the sight.

"I know it's tough, you were right there when Fox died."

"I don't know, you seem pretty calm about it."

"I know, I know. I'm not trying to be cruel or uncaring, it's just that it doesn't seem real."

"You're in denial?"

"I guess so. It was the same when James died."

"Well, I'm sorry about that."

"Thank you."

A moment of silence. "Is there something else bothering you, Falco?

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"I'm worried."

"About what?"

"That I will end up like him someday."

"Falco." Peppy said with irritation, "You won't. You're making comparisons where they're arrrren't aany," and the sentence dissolved into another fit of throaty coughing.

The avian gazed wide eyed at him, giving him his full attention.

"The key difference is you like to succeed. You like the glory and self-satisfaction of beating the odds. I never caught you smiling when you almost get killed."

Falco placed a hand under his beak, thinking. "Yeah, you're right." he said with conviction.

Peppy shifted a little in his seat, trying to get comfortable, "So I heard you got shot down by a couple of your students today."

The avian ran his fingers over his eyes, "Jeez, does nothing stay a secret around here?"

The hare ignored him, "I also heard you were pretty upset about it. Why?"

The falcon shook his head, "I, I feel like I just got outmatched, you know. Like, 'Why am I teaching these kids if they can beat me like that.'"

Peppy gave a jovial smile, "Were they able to shoot you down when they first signed up?"

"Oh god no!" Falco exclaimed. "When I first got them they were barely out of basic flight school. They couldn't out fly a cargo jet."

"See what I'm getting at? That's a huge leap for you, Falco," he said with a smile, "It means you're a good instructor." He began to laugh...and cough at the same time, "When you first told me you were going to teach other pilots, I thought you were never going to make it. I didn't think you had the patience for it."

Falco chuckled sarcastically, "Thanks for the confidence."

"Oh shut it." Peppy shot back. "You've made some serious progress since you were young. You got a steady job, a wife that loves you and supports your lifestyle, and you still get to be a pilot. You have done, and I can't believe this, you've done what I wanted Fox to do."

He leaned forward, "Falco, I'm proud of you."

Falco stood, completely stunned. Not what he was expecting at all. Shifting a little bit, he tried to settle back down. Eventually, after an uncomfortable, speechless moment, he cracked a smile on his lips. "Thanks dad, I'm glad I could make you happy."

Peppy opened his mouth to say something, but Falco raised his hand to silence him, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Really, it does mean a lot to me."

Grinning, the hare put a hand on Falco's arm, "I'm glad, I really am. You always drove me crazy, but I never thought you were a bad kid." He pointed a unsteady finger towards him, "You just needed some..hu..direction." he said, holding back a cough.

"Thanks." the avian replied honestly. He looked down and noticed that the video recorder was still in his hand. "Oh." he held it up, "Do you want this?"

Peppy shook his head, "No thanks, you can just put it back in the trunk."

Falco went over and tossed it in, shutting the hatch after it with a sharp click.

The falcon stood laboriously, yawning widely. "Oooooh man, what time is it. I haven't sleep in ages."

Peppy shrugged, "It's well past 03:00, it'd imagine."

"Wow really?" he rubbed his eyes slowly, "God, I should really get going."

Peppy nodded, making the rubber tubing for his oxygen sway, "Yes, yes you do; you've had a hell of a day."

Falco moved to the hallway, grimacing, "A hell of a day is right. There's been so much damn drama today I could make my own TV show."

The hare gave a hearty laugh, "A TV show? Oh god I could only imagine." With a smile, the falcon walked and embraced the old hare.

"Thanks for the help, guy, you've always been great." Peppy responded by waving his arms about and gurgling.

"Okay, okay, you can show your thanks by not choking me to death." he playfully pushed him away.

"See you later."

"Get outta here, kid."

--

I found myself in a shipper's bar some odd years ago. Dusty, dirty, dilapidated, filled to the brim with weather-worn waitresses and over polished glass. In the corner lay an old jukebox, fashioned like an ancient chassis on some blown out tires. Tacky as hell. I remember putting a coin in and punching up an old tune. But son of a bitch, wouldn't you know it was a goddamn cover song. Some new band decided to desecrate its name with tangy guitars and bullshit falsetto. I stormed out, never even turned around, never bothered to listen. But sure enough, though, about a few years later I found myself in the same bar with the same goddamn jukebox. Like an Alzheimer's patient I shoved another quarter in, expecting the same song I grew up with. Not to be. But guess what, this time, and I don't know why, I liked it. It had its own…spark, if that's the only way to describe it. Man, Imagine that.