Disclaimer: I do not own Star Fox. I promise.
Badlander
Chapter 6: An Aerial Tomb
The young, injured ferret winced sharply as First Lieutenant Hazel Bartlett fastened the make-shift splint to his lower leg. Upon searching one of the nearby rooms, Hazel had come across a janitor's closet rife with brooms, mops, and wrapping equipment which were highly useful in the construction of make-shift leg splints, Hazel recollected.
Once the splint was fastened, she paused to take the ferret's pulse. Good… His circulation isn't blocked, she thought quickly and emitted a low sight of relief.
The ferret made another attempt to stand.
"Oh, no you don't, kiddo. Stay still," the Doctor within her warned. She shook her head. "You can't put any weight on that leg just yet." She stood and quickly left the small dark enclosure that housed Carson's immobile form.
"Here," she retrieved a small wheel chair and set it in front of the young ferret, "I found this hunk of junk in the Rehabilitation Lounge."
The ferret looked at the reddish vixen strangely, obviously confused. For split second, Hazel envied Carson's apparent unfamiliarity with serious injuries. A brief vision of blood flashed nearly imperceptibly across her mind, causing her to shiver involuntarily.
Hazel sighed and continued, "You can't put any weight on that broken leg; not unless you wanna do something stupid and damage it more than it already is," she placed her hands underneath the mammal's prone form and began to lift him. He was surprisingly light despite being nearly as tall as her.
Carson winced as he settled into the cushioned seat. His right leg rested immobile on the attached footrest Hazel had already set up for him.
"S-so… you're a medic?" She didn't answer. "A doctor?" he ventured as they began to move. The hallways glowed darkly with the emptiness found only in places that have been abandoned.
Carson didn't see Hazel's face grow dark with recollection of a past long forgotten and buried. Her eyes, once vibrant and golden with intelligence, sunk into a dull blaze of brooding copper. For nearly a minute, only the fathomless hallway that skidded by his vision offered a silent answer to his question.
"Yeah," Hazel lied softly as she pushed the wheelchair through the deserted building. The absence of people in the military institution disturbed her. During her prolonged stay at CADA, she rarely had a moment to herself, and now the entire building seemed empty. Shouldn't there be people moving about coordinating a counterattack? She wondered nervously. Where the hell is everyone?
"These hallways seem so…" Hazel trailed off when they turned a corner. In the distance, a room glowed brightly against the darkness of that chilling morning.
"Deserted?" the ferret volunteered. "Maybe-" he grunted slightly in pain and shifted in his wheelchair, "Maybe after the Main Operations Center got bombed and we lost power, people figured the building was just a sitting target. Most of the civilians and ground personnel have probably been evacuated to the underground shelters."
A distant, feral scream filtered lightly though the hallway. Hazel stopped for a moment to listen. Immediately after, a low clat-clat-clat-clat echoed from somewhere in the distance.
"Let's go, Lieutenant!" Carson demanded, gesturing toward the lit room down the hallway. "We're running out of time!"
Gideon Waller strapped his Thompson submachine gun to his back climbed up into the cockpit of his gleaming P-51 Mustang. The warm leather chair he had grown so fond of awaited him like a bed would await its owner each day. But this was no time for rest, Gideon knew. He unequipped his Thompson and slid it into the conveyer underneath his chair. He heard the subtle click as the automated organization systems within the craft hooked the gun into his Ejection Survival Pack.
Satisfied that his weapon was stowed properly, he thumbed the ignition and the newly painted fighter roared to life. Within the enclosed hangar, the majestic silver-blue fighter growled with a feverish intensity, professing its readiness to once more be thrust into the gruesome wonder of aerial warfare.
Meters away, the Star Fox team hovered near the entrance to the hangar in their gleaming Arwing II's. The main doors slowly slid open, allowing the somber glow of the distant red sky to penetrate the barely-lit hangar.
"Okay, guys, I think the enemy knows we're here," Fox's level voice crackled over the communications equipment. "I got a message from Peppy saying that the enemy has not deployed paratroopers over our soil, but the Air Force is still bogged down over the Capital and can't send us reinforcements."
"They must be trying to weaken the Cornerian assets before they start a land invasion, and Star Fox is most definitely an asset," Gideon agreed, scratching the thickening stubble on his chin. "That's textbook Imperial Japanese warfare; quickly level an area with sneak air attacks, then move in and take the ground positions."
"Hah. The pansies aren't even invading yet. Let's just get up there and mop em' up!" Falco's voice blared over the Mustang's audio equipment.
Gideon sat in silent admiration of the avian's open passion for the defense of his homeland. In many ways, Falco reminded him of many young, gung-ho American pilots who smoked cigarettes, listened to Frank Sinatra, and took girls to the movies. Most of those poor, rebellious souls flew sorties into the darkest depths of space only to never return. Only Falco had somehow always returned unscathed. For an unprecedented moment, Gideon wanted so much to care, to live – to be able to see the things only a soldier sees and keep his soul intact. But it would never be so, he knew.
He was born a soldier and he would die a soldier; alone, forgotten, abandoned on some distant otherworldly tomb that only the most distant stars would shine upon. He would never be loved, Gideon accepted, but wished that one day far into the future someone would stumble upon his ancient resting place and remember.
But wishes are for children, he quickly reminded himself and renewed his focus upon his Aerial Proximity Scanner. Several red blips on the far corner of the map slowly inched their way down toward Gideon's own position in the screen's center.
"Don't get cocky, Falco," Gideon warned, "They're here to do serious damage, and if their dedication is anything like that of the Japanese they're going to take extreme, even suicidal risks to make sure they destroy us all. I've seen great pilots and starships get shot down during Japanese sneak attacks because we underestimated our enemy."
"'Don't get cocky, Falco,'" the avian imitated through the communications network. He grunted in self-confidence, "Says the human who screams like a maniac before downing a fighter with a machine gun!"
"You think that was a big deal?" Gideon retorted, smiling despite the gravity of the situation they were about to thrust themselves into. "You should've seen the Gang Wars during the Depression – Al Capone and his bootlegging boys once brought down a frigate using just Tommy Guns. The-" he paused for a moment, considering some far-off memory, "The Neo Legion did the same with swords."
"Bah, lies!" Falco practically belched into his communications equipment. Gideon could immediately hear the subtle laughter of Slippy, Krystal, and even Fox, who Gideon was absolutely certain hated everything about him.
"Alright, that's enough, boys," Krystal intervened warmly, as a loving sister would between a quarrel amongst two brothers.
Does this mean they've accepted me? Gideon wondered urgently, and for a fleeting moment his thoughts brought up the image of the reddish vixen Hazel who'd actually survived a conversation with him. He suddenly wished more than anything that he had Krystal's frightening ability to read other creatures' minds just so he could know for certain what others felt of him. No, it doesn't mean that, Gideon corrected himself sullenly as the image faded. It's just banter designed specifically to improve morale and insure mission success; nothing more.
He slumped back into his seat, his heart beating slower with each passing second. His blue eyes hardened and became cold once more.
"Tally-ho, everyone," Fox notified level-headedly, " I'm reading twenty-seven blips on the APS. Can you guys recommend an approach?"
For the second time since the group activated its vehicles, Krystal spoke: "If the Captain's right and these fighters are practicing a high-risk, high-reward fighting strategy, then it's probably best we surprise them in the sky to throw their edge off," she voiced mechanically.
Gideon was very surprised at how the normally feminine, somehow English-accented voice became rigid and analytical when discussing combat strategy. She reminded him of the female English fighter pilots from across the Commonwealth of Worlds who were normally warm companions off-duty, but instantly became flying bringers of death in their Spitfires once a Nazi squadron was sighted. He was instantly curious as to whether or not Krystal's home world had been part of the Commonwealth or even the British Empire sometime in the past.
"I think you're right Krystal," Fox agreed, "Okay everyone; once the enemy settles overhead, we'll launch and take them by surprise. Charge your weapons and ready engines; we're in for a hell of a fight!"
Hazel watched urgently as Sam Carson tattered away on the nearly powerless controls of the Auxiliary Operations Center. Unsurprisingly, like much of the rest of the base, the blinking room was deserted save for the various buttons, dials and screens which glowed brightly against the darkness despite their low power.
It only takes a small flashlight to see in the dark, Hazel mused silently, and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wanted more than anything to run, to dash toward the hangar bays scattered throughout the CADA airbase. She wanted to take a fighter and blast off into the skies, because at least then she would be able to affect the outcome of the battle above. She sighed helplessly. She glanced back at the injured ferret as he tapped urgently at the controls. For now, at least, she had a purpose; a reason to keep going, she considered unconvincingly.
"Oh, crap," the ferret glanced at one of the consoles in front of him, tattering on the controls fervently.
"What? What's going on?" Hazel asked, her brow furrowing. Her bright amber eyes lit up like stellar orbs shimmering in the blackness of space.
"I-I can't do it!" Carson professed loudly, and slammed his paws down on the lifeless gray console before him. "I did everything I was supposed to, and the AA Systems still won't activate," he protested and glanced at another screen that blinked in front of him. "And the Team's about to launch! Shit!" He swore and moved his arms to cover his face.
Hazel grabbed his arms before he could do so and looked into his eyes, an intense expression spreading across her face.
"Okay," she took a deep breath and released Carson's wrists, "You're under pressure, kid, I get that, but right now we need you. Please don't give up now."
The ferret nodded somberly and immediately went back to work. "I'm sorry," he mumbled and quietly returned to his work on the controls before him.
"Can you patch me in to the Team before they launch?" Hazel didn't know why, but she felt like she had to say something.
Carson nodded and pressed a few keys on a silver-gray metallic board. He retrieved a microphone and held it up to Hazel. She took the small, screw-like device and held it up to her chin.
"Testing, testing," she voiced unnecessarily through the communications link. Immediately, the sound systems in the Operations Room crunched incomprehensible static before low, unintelligible voices answered her call.
She continued, "Captain, Fox, everyone; it's Hazel," she paused to collect herself, hoping that Captain… she didn't know his name, she lamented silently… no, the Team, she corrected herself, could hear her, "The Main Operations Center was destroyed in the initial bombing; that's why the anti-aircraft turrets aren't working. But I ran into a techie who needed patching up and long story short, he's working on a way to get the AA defenses back up and running. But guys," she gulped, "he needs more time…"
"He needs more time…" Fox barely interpreted through the communications equipment within his Arwing. Around him, the Star Fox team; his friends hovered near the outer doors of one of the bigger hangars on the CADA airbase.
A violent mechanical roar erupted from behind him. He turned and what he saw astonished him. The medieval-looking human warplane, newly painted Cornerian blue with the reflective silver of the hull, hovered within meters of Star Fox's Arwings, and just as gracefully, Fox considered.
"The communications systems in the base must've been damaged," Slippy surmised between the ships. A low shuffle of mechanisms could be heard over Slippy's microphone. He continued, "Dangit! There doesn't seem like there's anything I can do to fix the link!"
"Ah, screw the link!" Falco squawked, "We need to buy Hazel more time!" His Arwing inched ever-closer to the threshold of the poisoned realm beyond the hangar.
"Wait," Fox held up a warning hand. He scoffed lightly and quickly brought the hand back down to the Arwing's controls. Yeah, hand gestures to people in other ships. Good thinking, Fox. He chastised himself quietly and shook his head. He glanced back at his Aerial Proximity Scanner and continued, "Wait," the red dots moved closer. Almost there…
A dark rumble crackled from somewhere in the distance.
"Now!" He throttled the engines of his fighter and quickly cleared the hangar. The Arwing's inertial dampeners kept the g-forces from causing him any discomfort as he ascended violently into the dark skies above.
As he ascended into the glowing morning sky, Falco could scarcely believe his luck; the dark green enemy fighters had separated into distinct fighter-groups that lagged behind the closest attack group. He estimated that there were no more than six fighters within attack range; easy pickings for the Star Fox team.
He moved behind an enemy fighter, intercepting it rather than mimicking its panicked movements as a rookie would. Within seconds, the enemy fighter was within his sights. Wasting no time, Falco launched two volleys of green energy that smashed into the enemy fighter, destroying it instantly.
"Shit!" he cursed as a large piece of scorched rubble streaked past his cockpit like a demonic shadow.
"Are you okay, Falco?" Falco's wingman Slippy asked as he destroyed his own enemy fighter.
"Yeah, Slippy. It's nothin'," he warmly reassured the toad. Although Slippy was easily the smartest member of Star Fox, he never performed well under emotional pressure that was a non-negotiable constant during aerial conflict, Falco knew.
Everyone has a weakness, Falco thought somberly as he tracked another fighter. Suddenly, a red missile screamed through the air and pounded into the enemy fighter, completely incinerating it. The remains of the fighter trickled down to the broken earth below in filaments of ash and melting metal. He turned his head and saw the American P-51 Mustang roar past his cockpit like a prehistoric lion striking out majestically against a pack of descending hyenas.
Missiles on fighters? Falco thought doubtfully. He instantly wanted to ask the American Captain why his fighter didn't use the more advanced Charge Beam which could also lock on to enemies and never ran out of ammo. But as he took one more look to survey the complete and utter destruction of the enemy fighter, he had to wonder if the Charge Beam really was more advanced. He shook himself back into reality and quickly regained his focus.
Falco took a moment to glance at his APS and surveyed the skies around him. All of the initial attack fighters had been destroyed. The remaining twenty-one fighters awaited menacingly in the distance like reapers of the dead.
"Good job, everyone. The immediate airspace is secure," Fox's voice filtered commandingly through the communications equipment. "We've lost our element of surprise, so be extra cautious once the rest of the ships enter the area of engagement."
"I'll take point," the human's cool voice emanated smoothly from the Arwing's interior speakers. Instantly, the giant silver-blue fighter took position ahead of the Star Fox fighter-group. The Arwings formed up behind him. Fox and Krystal occupied the human's left while Falco and Slippy formed up on Waller's right flank.
Off in the distance, Falco could just barely perceive the outline of the distant Cornerian capital that stood like jigsaw shadow against the glowing red sky. He could just make out the distant flashes of light as ships exploded over the graceful city. Are we winning? He thought hauntingly about the implications of the alternative as he sat miles away, unable to save his city.
Suddenly, four red projectiles freed themselves from the alien fighter's wing and rocketed forcefully towards the enemy battle group. The missiles glowed like venomous fireflies as they streaked across the reddish sky beyond. The red projectiles tracked their targets with stunning accuracy and within moments four enemy fighters were tumbling towards the ground in the form of black snow and molten rain.
Krystal watched in awe as the American missiles incinerated their targets without a shred of mercy or error. A sudden realization dawned upon her. This just might work, she thought silently and opened her mouth to speak.
"Fox, I have an idea!" she spoke enthusiastically across the communications network.
"I know what you're thinking, Krystal," Fox replied wistfully. For a second, Krystal could have sworn that the vulpine was actually smiling. Krystal scoffed silently at Fox's latest tease and waited for him to continue. "Falco, Slippy, Krystal; I want you to power up your Charge Beams. As soon as the enemy gets into range, lock-on and take out as many of them as you can before they return fire."
Krystal nodded at the order and flipped a red switch on the Arwing's control console. She heard the soft mechanical whirring as the ship adjusted its power levels for sustained weapon charging.
It really is a shame we don't have any bombs loaded, Krystal lamented silently, and thumbed the second trigger that rested on top of the Arwing's throttle. Instantly, visible green energy snaked along the outside of the silver-white hull and accumulated on the ship's pointy nose like an emerald sun.
The energy began to thrash violently ahead of the Arwing's nose and Krystal turned off the energy diversion switch. Instantly, the green energy which once snaked along the hull of the Arwing dissipated and the Charge Beam regained its stability. Automatically, a red targeting square appeared on the ship's Heads Up Display and began to hover across the glass canopy.
Krystal scanned the horizon, searching for an enemy craft that had wandered into weapons range. Within seconds, a low chirp clicked from the Arwing's speaker and the red target square centered on one of the closer enemy ships. She opened fire.
Gideon watched from within his fighter as the green ball of energy rocketed across the open sky and collided with a distant enemy fighter, sending it trailing smoke toward the ground below. Almost immediately, three more green orbs of energy made their way towards the enemy fighter group.
The first two orbs smashed into the pointy enemy fighters, shattering them into clouds of metallic rubble. The third orb snaked into an enemy fighter, ripping off one of its wings. Although the fighter managed to stay afloat, its long-lost wing fell back and smashed into the glass canopy of a fighter directly behind it. The skewered fighter promptly span out of control and collided with an adjacent bomber that made a vain attempt to evade the incoming vessel. Both ships crumpled mid-air and began falling toward the ground.
What? No explosions? A primitive part of Gideon's mind wondered darkly. As if on cue, the explosives within the bomber ignited and the mash-up between the two ships lit up like the New York starline. Much better. With that, the dark thoughts subsided.
A sudden thud woke him from his appreciation of the make-shift fireworks. He looked around just in time to see a yellow blast of energy lance out toward his ship and slice across the Mustang's right wing. Fortunately, the plane's armor prevented serious damage aside from a dark burn mark that stretched vertically across the wing.
Gideon regained his focus and throttled his fighter forward, speeding blindingly towards the enemy fighter-group. His sudden increase of speed caught them by surprise as the enemy fighters fired randomly across the sky in a sudden panic. Gideon quickly dodged the clumsy energetic attempts on his life and nosed down toward the enemy group, triggering his fighter's four super-heated plasma casters. The orange blasts of directed energy phased into the two fighters directly in front of his path, incinerating them mid-air. Immediately after, new blasts of yellow energy snaked past his ship. Gideon banked his fighter downward and increased his speed, shooting across the atmosphere in an effective retreat.
Around him, Gideon could perceive the remaining enemy fighters attempting to surround and pick off the members of Star Fox, but they held their own, dispatching six more enemy fighters that crumpled like distant blazes of energy.
"This…" the Mustang's auditory speakers crackled over the battle. "Lieuten… lett."
Hazel?
"This is Captain Waller to Lieutenant Bartlett," he answered, pausing to dodge a sudden volley of energy bolts. "Say again, I repeat, say again."
"AA… ready. Lieuten… Car... rep… turrets." The voice crackled, seemingly oblivious to Gideon's response.
"Are you guys getting this?" He switched to address the rest of the Star Fox team. "I think the AA Systems at CADA are back online," he added hopefully.
"Yeah, I'm getting it, too," Fox answered. A low rumble resounded over the communications channel. "Damn it, that was close." The orange vulpine continued, "We're out of range of the base, so I don't think – unless you're thinking what I'm thinking." Fox's voice took on an uncharacteristically enthusiastic tone.
"I am," Gideon confirmed, smiling slightly, "We're going to lead those clueless bastards right into the hands of those AA guns."
"They're what?" Carson blurted out, staring flabbergasted at the small room's APS. Behind the green blips that represented the American Captain and Star Fox, several red dots pursued with near-equal speed.
"The Team's coming home!" Hazel joked darkly, smiling. "Flip the switch, kid, and let's roast the suckers who're chasing 'em."
Carson's eyes widened slightly in realization. He smiled slightly, "You got it Sir – sorry, Sir - I mean Ma'am! Sorry, Ma'am, or whatever it is we Cornerian men call our female superiors." The ferret chuckled slightly.
Hazel's amber eyes flared up at the sudden barrage of titles, yet the circumstance of each carried some sort of familiarity that she could almost barely grasp. She shot Carson a questioning look as she picked up a pencil and squeezed, easily snapping it in half.
The ferret gulped, his dark eyes losing their usual nervous glee.
"Waller totally paid me to say that the first chance I got," he admitted nonchalantly, his gaze drawn toward the floor.
"That sneaky bastard," Hazel mused, smirking, remembering a conversation between them which had gotten her stuck as his wingman. "And here I thought he didn't he didn't have a sense of humor. It was still kinda lame," she continued. "Um, don't tell him I said that," she amended suddenly.
"Oo, the plot thickens," Carson replied with uncharacteristic confidence as he returned to the console and typed in a few commands.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hazel pried, suddenly on the defensive. She crossed her arms and glared unrelentingly at the injured ferret.
"N-nuthin," the ferret stammered and snickered softly despite his apparent nervousness. He clicked a few buttons on the console in front of his cushioned wheelchair. Suddenly, his entire side-portrait drained of color and the ferret went silent.
"Something wrong?" Hazel asked, her face beaming with relentless intelligence once more.
"T-the emergency power generator should kick in automatically like it should whenever we get cut off from the Grid and the primary generator fails," Carson stated somberly.
"Wait a sec," Hazel exclaimed, "You mean to tell me that even though you managed to somehow get the turrets running, we don't even have enough power to fire them?"
"That's correct," the ferret replied, his voice starting to shake. Suddenly, his arms started a flurry of activity upon the consoles in front of him. Various technical images and schematics buzzed across the screens in front of him. The ferret's eyes, seemingly unaffected to the sudden changes in imagery, followed the progress of the screens with a seemingly unreachable level precision and comprehension.
"That's the emergency generator room," she stated somberly when the ferret settled on a familiar schematic. She had often visited the room in the past during the mandatory engineering course she had barely survived during her training.
Memories of circumstances before suddenly began to surface within her mind; memories from a time she had lived under the shadow of the Dark Life. Hazel shivered involuntarily. The impending possibility that she would once more be dealing with complicated technology somehow chilled her more than the oncoming swarm of hostile fighters and bombers.
And at that moment she knew what she had to; without question she knew. She stood up numbly as if something else were occupying her body, driving her very soul. She left the room without a word or gesture, oblivious to Carson's younthful calls which reverberated timelessly against the dark hallways Hazel sped down. At the end of the hallway, she caught her first glimpse of the darkening sky beyond. She hesitated for a moment, just a moment, to admire the redness of the distant world above before she continued forward.
The yellow bolts of energy slipped violently past Gideon as he thundered his majestic silver-blue fighter across the nameless molten sky like a warrior abandoned by the stars and rejected by the people below. And now the ones from below had arisen to claim him in his nameless home. But he would never let that happen, he knew. The sky was his home; his tomb. He was the shard of a man chipped from the cold ice of the stars in the heavens and cast down into the gaseous perpetuity of the skies. And the ones from below hated him for it, rejected him for it, and now sought to strip him from it.
Gideon was beyond hate, he knew as he sped ever-closer to the CADA airbase, where perhaps some salvation awaited him in the future. Hate was an object from Below, in the world of Man and Cornerians. Hate had no place in the sky or the stars above, but once intelligent had found a way to visit the strange beauties of the skies and the cosmos, hate spread across the universe like a disease; a virus whose singular appetite was everything.
Memories of the metallic Warden Legatus and the tortures that always followed flashed before his vision like a nightmare that had somehow spilled into reality. Gideon shook his head and remembered Wishes, the bane of all nightmares; the things that were for children.
His blue eyes sparkled as he contemplated the welcoming arms of people who would gaze upon him and see something other than a monster, and lift him into the heavens once more.
He reached the forlorn base and the images faded, the people turned to ash, and the prospects of ceremony were ripped unceremoniously in half like sheets of paper composed of time and hopelessness.
Gideon was suddenly struck with a dire realization.
The guns aren't firing. I've led the enemy to an undefended base! He panicked quietly and shook off his sudden bout of panic. He throttled faster and banked his fighter across the sky to face the enemy.
Undefended, my ass! He shook his head as he sighted the nearest enemy fighter and opened fire.
Hazel ran faster than she had every run in her life. Her dark red hair whipped coldly against hollow morning air as she approached CADA's generator building. The dark, metallic building stood dauntingly above her like a make-shift shack that had once housed the tools of otherworldly giants.
Further above her, still, the sky had suddenly grown dark and she felt the subtle trickle of the rain that skittered down her fur and collided with her dark navy flight suit. Amongst the coldness of the rain, the blurred silhouettes of the fighters cast their vengeance upon one another in the form of technological lightning.
Quickly, she entered the building and ran down the hallways that flickered chillingly in darkness, oblivious to the crackling thunder of the fighting ships above.
At the end of the hallway, the confined space opened into a flickering room. The hulking form of the emergency generator awaited her like a baton of light that sparkled defiantly in the darkness.
She approached the glowing generator slowly.
It looks just like… she couldn't think the words. They had erased themselves from her mind the moment that her old life had ended. She shook her head and walked up to the generator, suddenly undaunted despite the darkness of the moment and the closeness of her memories. She found it. The lever. The switch that would transfer power from the emergency generator and end the shameful conflict above. At least for now. She pulled the lever and was immediately greeted by the distant droning of the AA guns stationed across the airbase.
She didn't hear the broken fighter above as it fell toward her.
The cold, masked figure stood imperiously against the window that blocked the radiation from the beautiful yet treacherous star of this new system. The Lylat System, the figure considered disdainfully. Populated by impure, subhuman creatures barely worthy to lick the grime off a human's boot, this primitive system practically begged for its own annihilation. And the figure was not one to deny the cries for death.
"My Lord; the aerial phase has been completed," a new voice stated dully, "Despite losses sustained from Star Fox, Corneria has never been more open for invasion."
The figure turned to gaze upon a shadowed presence which shared the room. Not a single decoration or piece of furniture graced the unliving space. The room was tiled and cold. The air they breathed was empty; stale. Within the unholy room, the visible light itself felt dead. It as if the individual photons in the room had been sapped of their energy, but still glowed chillingly in the soulless vacuum of that room.
"Yes," the figure replied without inflection. "And after the Americans lost exclusivity of their Kinetic Bombing technology to the Soviets, the threat of mutual annihilation will prevent either side from interfering. Not even Neo Roma has the influence to force an intervention. You will have your war, animal. Given Corneria's destructive little conflict against those… insects," Masked spat distastefully, "and the technology the Soviets are providing for the DRC, such advantages will insure that the War and this System will rest in your hands, so long as you adhere to our… agreement."
"Yeah?" Shadowed shot the figure a challenging glare, "The Cornerian cause was lost once they started letting the Americans shove people off their land to build their McDonalds and their conformist suburbs," Shadowed shook its head, "No; the Cornerian military doesn't concern me or my generals. What does concern me are those mercenaries from Star Fox! What do you plan to do about them?" the shadowed figure emphasized. His voice reeked of weakness and impurity, the masked figure recognized with disgust.
"Star Fox is immaterial. Since the Greatest War ended, we have stood still, waiting as we have for over a thousand of years after the Fall. We will not wait any longer, especially not for the incompetence of a primitive," Masked warned coldly. Shadowed trembled slightly and took a step back.
"U-understood," Shadowed complied wisely, "But what of the Mustang pilot. This… Waller?"
For the first time, Masked showed a minor semblance of what Shadowed might have considered an emotion.
"Ah yes; the American legionnaire," Masked mused chillingly. For a startling moment Shadowed could have sworn the masked figure was smiling from underneath the black hollow contraption it wore over its face. Somehow the prospect of seeing the figure's dark grin chilled Shadowed more than the emptiness of the cosmos where no life could hope to exist.
"A-an American? Fighting against us?!" Shadowed clenched his fists, "I will-"
"You will do as you are told," the masked figure growled, and the room grew colder than the black vacuum that existed mere inches beyond.
"Capture him alive," its voice rasped coldly, scraping into the thin layer of glass that separated the derelict room from infinite chaos. "We have great plans for him."
A/N: Wow, that was a fun chapter to write! I find that the more I continue this story, the more fun it becomes to write; it truly is a remarkable and rewarding experience, especially with all the great feedback I've received over the past few weeks.
Special notice: Vulaan Kulaas was kind enough to donate some OC's to help me write this story. Watch out for them in the coming chapters!