Chapter 1.
Slippy Toad wandered through the desolate white brick halls of the Cornerian Defense Academy, his hemispheric eyes staring down every hall. Time and again, the only response he received was his own discouraging echo. The gaping square windows, pelted with elliptical raindrops, led to a view of black skies and a few dull orange street lamps.
He stopped halfway down a dim corridor and pushed open a towering metal door. A stray basketball and a forgotten uniform lay in the faint beam of light poking through the opened door.
"Falco?" Slippy called into the darkness. "Falco?"
The voice bounced off the walls and decayed into a mess of echoes.
"Falco, where are you?" Slippy mumbled as the door squeaked shut.
The vixen propped a foot against the wall and sighed. She felt her face falling as Fox told her what had happened in Oberon and what became of Falco. The terrorists killed 40,000 people in one blow—and Falco was there for it all. Now there was no question: Falco had to be found.
"We've checked the base, the campus, the common areas—we've gone everywhere except the garages and the lockers. … Well, right now it's just Slippy and I. Peppy's helping, but he's thinking the same things you are: Let him go. But I just can't bear to leave him behind, Fox. Slippy's right. What if he's hurting and he needs us?"
As Fox McCloud replied on the other end of the cellphone line, she ran her free paw through her Prussian-blue hair.
"Come to think of it, there was something unusual. A few weeks ago, Falco came in looking exhausted. I'd never seen him look so sick. I only asked him once if he finished setting up something with the computers. I asked one time too many, because he shouted, 'Then why don't you help me get this freaking thing to work?'"
On the other side of the line, Fox sighed. He remembered that incident and how Falco used a slightly stronger word than "freaking." But there was something else Fox said, too. Whatever was going on with Falco, it was bad.
"I know it's bad," said Krystal. "That's all I know—it's bad. And all I want to do is help him, but he won't let us. And I keep asking, 'Isn't God doing anything about this?'—I know He is, but it doesn't seem that way."
After giving his answer, he said he had to go. Krystal gave a discouraged goodbye and slid her cellphone back into her coat pocket.
Keep praying and get on with your life, she thought, quoting Fox's words. Why do we, for all the good it's done?
"Krystal?"
A heavy voice prompted Krystal to turn around. "Mr. Hare. Slippy. Did you both find anything?"
Peppy shook his head, his floppy ears wagging. "What about Fox? Did he hear from him?"
"No, and he won't look. He's had enough."
Peppy nodded. "So have I."
Slippy's eyes narrowed. "Well, I haven't. Guys, I don't like this. Something's seriously wrong—I just know it. Now look—he's not camping out in the places we thought he'd be. So let's think of the last places we'd ever suspect he would go."
Krystal sighed. "Slippy, you're a good friend, but we're not going to find him."
"You don't know that, Krys. And I'm not waiting until Monday to find out what's going on."
Peppy spoke without warning. "You'll have to wait a lot longer than that."
"What do you mean, sir?" Krystal said. "You know what's happened to him?"
"I don't think I'm at liberty to say. But frankly, I'm surprised you hadn't picked up on it by now."
"Why not?"
"Because earlier this afternoon, there was a brawl at the common room. And I…"
Peppy hesitated, giving Slippy and Krystal a more direct look.
"I had to discharge him…dishonorably."