The world was crumbling around them.
The strikes had come so quickly and ruthlessly that no one had time to prepare: for a decade, now, Venom had rested quietly in the black abyss of space, forgotten except in the campaigns of politicians, the ornamental memorials circa the Lylat Wars, and the foulest footnotes in history textbooks. It became so effectively a symbol of strife and victory and Cornerian greatness that no one ever bothered to consider the possibility of something sinister lurking just below its surface.
One by one, they dropped off the radar. First Bolse. Then Katina, Fichina, Fortuna...
Soon Corneria was all that was left.
They needed the best of the best, the biggest and the baddest, and to the Cornerian government and so many eager fangirls alike, that meant one thing: they needed Star Fox. And they needed Star Wolf, too, because why not?
Wolf wore a grim look on his snout when he entered the conference room, joining the grudging alliance of fighter pilots. For all that he had his own sinister, twisted predilections, the most fundamental selfish desire of all was survival, and he'd shown in the past plenty enough that when times were dire and the whole of Lylat needed him, he could thrive in the skies just as much as Fox McCloud.
It took a great deal of maturity for Fox to wrest away his pride and grudges alike and let the man enter the room without a blaster soon drawn on his face.
"Whoa, whoa. Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. What the fuck is he doing here?"
Fox turned his head towards Falco. He expected a little bit of resistance, but that was a little bit uncharacteristically over-the-top. "Listen, Falco. We've got to work together with him on this. We don't have any other choice."
Wolf looked more than a little annoyed that Fox, of all people, was coming up to his defense. "Much as I hate to admit it, I agree with that runt, here. Time to set all that shit aside. We've got a job to do."
"But," Falco continued, "it's fucking Wolf O'Donnell."
Fox sighed. "Yes, but—"
"Wolf."
"Falco—"
"Wolf. As in, like O'Donnell, Wolf, you know? Like… like he's Wolf, Fox. What the fuck?"
Fox had a hard time not clamping a hand around Falco's annoying little beak. Each time he said Wolf's name it sounded more and more like a squawk. "I get it. Look, what's your problem with him? I don't like him either, but—"
"What do you mean what's my problem? I fucking hate him. He's Wolf."
Wolf's lone eye kept darting back and forth between them with every line. He seemed unable to decide if he should be amused, confused, or pissed off.
Fox furrowed his brow. "I… I don't understand. Why do you hate him?"
Falco shrugged. "I don't know. I just do."
"But…" Fox looked over at his rival, then back at his old teammate. "But, see, I don't get it. You've always been much more cavalier about this whole mercenary thing than I am. And, like, Wolf's just a mercenary. Right?"
Falco shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Like… I don't know. Like when I was on Sauria? You were off on your own, doing missions, all by yourself. Not with Peppy or Slippy or anything. Almost like Wolf, you know? I thought you'd understand if anyone did." He blinked. "I mean, I was always trying to save the world, and doing every government job I could find, but you kept running off on your own, and…"
"Yeah, but Wolf's a fucking asshole. And an outlaw. And a stupid mercenary, and..."
Fox frowned. "I don't get it. You never seemed pissed off at him before. I thought it was Leon you hated. Like, you'd think I'd be the one who hated Wolf way more than you. I still don't know what happened with James, and it's always my ass he tails in the sky. But even I can work with him."
"But, man, that's just what I do. I hate him."
"Why? Can you please just grow the fuck up? We're adults here, Falco. Can you stop making such a damn scene and let's just do the damn mission?"
"No." Falco shook his head so hard that his beak audibly sliced through the air; it was a damn wonder it didn't generate enough lift to pick his ass up off the chair.
Fox glanced around. Everyone looked just about as confused as he did; if this were an anime, he could imagine little question marks floating up around everyone's heads. On the other side of the room, Wolf sucked his teeth and muttered something under his breath that made Panther chuckle.
Fox was beginning to get awfully curious about kind of squawks Falco might loose if he just wrapped his hand around the bird's neck and squeezed, but he forced himself to calm down and be rational. "Can you just… let's fix this, okay? Can you just explain to me what your deal with him is? Like, there must be some kind of misunderstanding, because I don't think anyone here gets why it's you freaking out about Wolf when I'm perfectly fine."
"I don't know, Fox." The anger had drained from his brash voice. "I don't know why I hate him. It's just… it's what I do. It's what people have me do. Whenever Wolf comes around, it's just… I have to hate him. I have to."
"What the fuck are you talking about, Fal?"
"Please. Please, make it stop." Now Falco's voice was somber, and he stared forward, eyes pointed unfocused towards the wall, like he was peering into another reality. Though there were formerly four walls in the room, one of them seemed to be rather abruptly missing to him. "Please, stop making me hate him so much. It doesn't make any sense."