Grunting, Bill drove his fists into the vinyl covering the punching bag. They sank in with satisfying thumps, sometimes jarring his knuckles when he hit too hard. He imagined the bag as a variety of enemies—most of whom were bloodthirsty, monstrous Cerinians. His fist connected with snapping jaws and pupilless sets of eyes, while others were more recognizable. A punch into Ariki's smug face, wiping his superior grin clear off it. A jab into his ill-fated mate's stomach, causing her to double-over right as she was gloating over Bill's fallen men. With a vicious swing, he struck Fox right across the… across the…

He hesitated, shocked at what he'd just imagined. For a second he'd pictured one of the Cerinians morphing into Fox.

He shook his head. How had it come to this?

During their time at the Academy, Fox had been his best friend. He knifed through his emotionless, introverted exterior to give him the warmth his father never did… Yet something about the todd had always frustrated him.

Maybe it was his general attitude towards his studies: their classes, the lectures they attended, and their tedious homework. Fox rejected them all, often skipping classes or turning up without any of his work done because he ran off to fly with his father instead. He regularly flunked tests and floundered in class, but whenever it came time to practice in a sim or in a real cockpit, Fox set his teeth and somehow outperformed them all. He didn't care about studying theory or following the rules, as if he just felt what was right.

Bill hated that about Fox: the fact he could succeed at anything he tried without doing the same tireless work that Bill did. Yet all the same, he admired Fox for that same reason: his natural, instinctive talent. At first he mistook his rebellion for apathy, but in reality Fox was just as ambitious and driven as Bill.

Sometimes, however, a little too ambitious.

Dropping out of the Academy to make his own path as a mercenary was one thing. So too was defying orders he didn't agree with. But there was a line between going your own way and becoming the enemy, and Fox had finally crossed it. In a way, Bill felt vindicated for all those years he secretly viewed Fox as a delinquent.

Every minute they drew closer—he could feel it. He couldn't wait to fight Fox; to punch some sense into him; to repay him for the ridiculous chase he'd led him on for the past month. If Fox hadn't gone off and kidnapped that Cerinian, Bill wouldn't be here, humiliated, his men wouldn't be dead, and Miyu and 19 wouldn't be wounded. He was to blame for all this!

A part of him dreaded that moment, and made him hesitate now. He wanted to feel like beating Fox's face in, but… he didn't. He struggled to even picture himself doing it—but all the same, he forced himself to grit his teeth and swing.

"Well, I'd hate to be that bag of yours."

Bill straightened and spun around. "Dr. Makepeace!" He cursed himself; he'd acted as if Pepper himself had walked into the room.

The vixen strode into the gym, carrying her ever-present tablet and observing him through her glasses. "You don't fantasize about that being me, I hope?"

Bill shifted between his feet. "Er, no… why would I?"

She smirked knowingly. "Come now. I do hold a certain amount of authority over you. It's normal for subordinates to feel aggression towards their superiors. But beyond that, I risked your life to kill Ariki, and I suspect you resent me for my involvement in the Cerinia project."

19, Bill realized she meant.

"…No, I don't resent you," he slowly said. "I respect all my superiors, no matter the circumstances. I made the decision to risk my own life against Ariki, and I realize the Cerinia project is necessary. I don't harbor hatred for those choosing who to save and who to sacrifice. I don't envy them, either. I know what it's like. Often, leaders are sacrificing just as much of themselves as anyone else."

Pivoting, he returned to punching the bag in front of him—but he could feel Makepeace's intruding gaze falling on his back.

"Practicing for the fight ahead?" she asked.

"Mhm," he grunted. "Want to be prepared."

The doctor watched him for another minute. "You know, I thought you learned this after Ariki, but you won't stand a chance in a physical fight with a Cerinian. At least, not one like 28."

"I know. But if it came down to it, I'd like to give myself every little advantage I can. If I lacked even a hair's breadth of strength needed in a crucial moment, I'd never forgive myself for not training—I wouldn't be around to forgive myself."

"Well, I admire your determination."

"Every day brings us closer to Fox and 28," Bill continued, jabbing. "At least, if this mysterious 'Sibyl' is to be believed."

"I assure you, their information will prove accurate."

Bill paused, rubbing his knuckles. "Look, I followed your orders and searched to the east of the ruined city, even though I don't know what Sibyl even is. Is it some all-knowing supercomputer? A psychic you consult that tricks you out of money? Or just a random soothsayer you pulled off the street?"

"Sibyl is Cerinian 39."

"Oh…" He raised his eyebrows. "And they can… sense things like that? Even across lightyears of distance?"

Makepeace looked away. "That's one way of putting it, though she is not tuned to 28's wavelength specifically like 19 is. 39 does not choose what she hears."

"But how can you know their—her information is accurate?" Bill pressed. "Have they ever—?"

Lieutenant Baines' voice interrupted them over the comms: "Captain Grey, Dr. Makepeace: Cerinian 19 has located 28! We've narrowed her position to a valley on the far side of the desert. We could be there within fifteen minutes. Shall we pursue?"

A shiver ran up Bill's spine; those were the words he'd been waiting to hear for a month. He wanted nothing more than to give the order and fly straight there, but he knew rushing in without a plan would be folly. Instead, he stepped over to the comm unit on the wall, pressing the button to answer.

"Negative, Baines. Hold our current position and keep the camouflage activated. I'll be on the bridge in a few minutes—prepare to debrief me."

"Roger that, Captain."

After changing into his uniform, Bill marched straight to the bridge with Makepeace. Upon entering, he found Lieutenants Baines, Fay, and Miyu already gathered around a holodeck table, studying a 3D map of the area. On the opposite side of the bridge, Cerinian 19's sensory deprivation pod lay open like a clam shell, while the vixen in question stood nearby, wet but wearing her restraining gown. On Bill's request, the scientists positioned makeshift screens around the pod, giving her more privacy than they'd usually cared to.

Bill joined his officers at the holodeck. "Alright Baines, what do you have for me?"

The lieutenant pressed a switch, causing the expansive bridge windows to darken; the lowered light allowed them to better see the map.

"Sir, this is our current position on the west side of the desert," he said, pointing. "19 identified 28's thought patterns coming from this direction again: pretty much due east. As you can see on the geographic readout, the only possible hiding place intersecting that line is this valley, here—on the eastern edge of the desert." Baines zoomed-in on the valley, blowing up the digital mountains. "The valley's created by two adjoining mountain ranges and bordered by a river along the western range. Previous satellite scans on the visible spectrum turned up nothing, but that's because there's perpetual cloud cover over the mountains. Similarly, 19 never sensed other Cerinians there, and she's only heard 28 a few times—when her thoughts were 'the loudest.'"

"It's a cover," Makepeace said from beside Bill. "The Cerinians there are shielding the valley with clouds and muting their thought patterns."

Bill raised an eyebrow. "Is that even possible?"

"It's the only explanation, else 19 would constantly pick 28 up."

"Then you think Fox took 28 here, and they're living with… other Cerinians?"

"Most definitely. I know of this valley; its natural springs serve as an important water source for the surrounding area. That is, before the Cerinians turned most of it into desert. It's also the source of the waters Andross used to spread KLA through this hemisphere. The valley would be a perfect hiding spot for an agrarian society to flourish."

"Then we can finally get 28 back!" Fay breathed excitedly.

Bill furrowed his brow, studying the mountains. "As much as I'd like to swoop in there now, we can't afford to rush into this blind. First we need to visually confirm 28's presence in the valley and study their society and defenses. Based on past groups we surveilled, cloaked drones are off the table; they sensed those even when camouflaged. So that only leaves us with satellites. Can they see through a cloud layer like that?"

"If we use adaptive optics," Baines assured. "Besides, the clouds aren't present a hundred percent of the time."

"Then recall the orbital satellites from their current locations. Place all three in geosynchronous orbit above the valley and start collecting images. Once we have sufficient data we'll devise a plan…" he clenched his fist, "…and wait for an opportunity to strike."

Miyu wrung her hands unconsciously, still concealing bandages beneath her uniform. "Bill, are you sure about this? We'll be going up against an entire valley of Cerinians, and we were barely able to defeat two before they took out the entire ship."

The captain nodded grimly. "It's… definitely a concern, but fighting those two gave us valuable experience, and the general ensured the Justice was well-equipped with a variety of tools. Let's wait till we know what we're dealing with before we despair. I'm confident we'll come up with"—he glanced at Makepeace—"something."

The officers and scientist broke from the holodeck, returning to their stations to accomplish their individual tasks. On his way to the captain's chair, Bill passed 19's isolation pod, noticing the vixen peering around one of the curtains to watch him. Pivoting, he joined her behind the thin screens. Now out of sight of the rest of the crew, he took both of her hands in his, squeezing them. He was still a stranger to such actions, but he did his best to show her gestures of affection any way he could.

After what happened, Bill made sure to spend as much time with 19 as possible. He couldn't stand seeing her cooped up in her prison of mirrors or the sensory deprivation chamber, so whenever they allowed her a break from tracking Subject 28, he took her for a walk around the spacious ship. He felt embarrassed about the surprised looks he'd get from crewmen and soldiers as he passed, but 19 didn't think anything of them, so ultimately he tried not to care either.

Bill rubbed her knuckles as he held her hands. "Thank you, 19. You finally did it; you finally found Cerinian 28 for us!"

Her silver hair obscured one of her eyes as they looked down. "I know, but… I should have found her sooner."

"Not at all; Marjorie says the Cerinians she's with are likely masking her thoughts—yet even through their efforts, you still managed to pick her out. You should be proud!"

The faintest of smiles tugged at 19's lips at the praise, but eventually her expression turned downcast. "28… didn't seem happy."

"What do you mean?"

"Her thoughts were full of anguish. She was scared, and sad, and… hateful." She swallowed. "Just like I was, when…"

Bill's eyes widened, knowing what she meant.

She looked up at him again, searching his eyes. "You'll take care of her when you find her, won't you? Just like you took care of me?"

Setting his jaw firmly, Bill nodded. "You have my word; I promise. If it wasn't too late for you, it won't be too late for 28. Trust me, 19:

"This is for her sake."

ㅤ⦼ㅤ

Falco spent the next indeterminant amount of time drifting in and out of reality. Lights passed overhead, but they could have been hallucinations for all he knew. One moment they'd be dazzling and multicolored, blinding him, while the next they'd chill him with soft, cool glows. But in between he'd pass through long stretches of nothing but blackness.

A constant force tugged on his legs, dragging him across the floor. He smeared blood as he went, and the dull pain of his wounds began to return—especially that of the gunshot. His cheek rubbed against cold concrete, slick tiles, and rough carpet, one material after the next. The sharp smell of alcohol, the pungent odor of urine, and the metallic scent of blood all took turns seeping through his crooked mask.

Occasionally he'd manage to flutter his eyes open, allowing him to catch brief glimpses of his surroundings. He saw boots, shoes, and even white, bare paws next to his face: the legs of tables, chairs, and barstools, and the bases of silver dancing poles. Once he saw someone else lying beside him—a rat with a ruby red hole in his forehead. He stared back with unblinking eyes, tongue lolled out grotesquely. Before he could linger on the sight, a body bag zipped closed over the rat's head, and Falco was dragged on—but the image remained. He passed several other such bags, some stained with blood. At some point he managed to twist his head upright, staring at the ceiling so he didn't have to see them anymore.

The figures of his captors drifted in-and-out of view. Most of the time he saw shadowy forms he didn't recognize, each with unfriendly faces that leered down at him. But sometimes he'd look up to find the angelic feline mannequin from before watching over him, as if she guided his passage through the underworld—but her face remained covered in a respirator as always.

He heard many noises on his voyage: there were pained cries, screams, pleas, gunshots, wails, moans, and laughter, all blending together dissonantly without rhyme or reason. Underneath the cacophony, he gleaned voices whispering in hushed tones, but it was impossible to distinguish thought from actual speech.

'So this is the leader of the Free Birds?'

'No way in hell he beat that lizard today—he's half his size!'

'This is the guy all the surface sirens are for? Laaaame.'

'I heard he's a genius scientist—maybe even a wizard. That drug isn't natural.'

'He looks dead…'

'Damn, already?'

'Dressed like shit for a gang leader.'

'I heard the new boss and his crony have beef with him.'

'That's right! What's the boss gonna do to him? Feed him to the eels again?'

'Dunno, but at least I got an eyeful of the North End's "hero" before he disappears forever.'

'Falco, where are you…'

Katt's voice—closer now than she'd ever been before!

Hearing her again rejuvenated his spirit, and he began to fight back. He grunted, trying to break his arms free and lift off the floor—but the exertion merely drained his energy completely, and the mannequin girl forced him back down with her footpaw.

After a few strained spasms, his head fell back against the floor, and he lost consciousness again shortly after.

Mission No. 63

Zoness
Lair of the Black Dragonfish

"Masks in the Dark"

ㅤ⦲ㅤ

The next time Falco awoke he felt slightly better. At least, his head did. While he could think more clearly, his wounds felt less numb: the pain more prevalent—but it was a welcome pain that tethered him to his own body again.

He was seated in a chair somewhere, but his arms were unbound, and he could freely move. That was a good sign; at least they weren't going to torture him. Yet. They must've trusted him for the time being—or trusted his present frailty to keep him from trying anything. To his surprise, he sported a few new bandages—especially on his side where the bullet grazed him. Odd…

Blinking away the fuzziness, Falco realized he sat in a spacious reception room. On either side were black marble fountains, dusty and covered in cobwebs, but still choking out trickles of stale water. A set of terraced steps led up to a stage, upon which sat a highbacked chair and desk, covered in shadow. The back wall was a dull, shadowy blue: nearly black—but near the top flitted an array of phantasmal, ghostly lights. They hovered in place like a chandelier of fireflies, sometimes blinking in and out, sometimes wavering as if seen through water. The whole thing seemed… alive. The odd chandelier barely illuminated the rest of the room with a dim, murky glow, but the lights were wiggling.

He sensed the presence of other minds nearby, but couldn't tell how close. The thought occurred to him to use this opportunity to escape. Frantically he reached into his pants, but the blaster—his only weapon besides his mind—was gone.

"Lose something?"

The muzzle of his own blaster pressed against his head, and he froze. A light turned on above Falco's head, bathing him in the glow of a spotlight. Compared to the ever-present darkness in the rest of the sewers, the light was blinding, and he flinched.

The mannequin-like cat from before rounded the chair to stand in front of him, the spotlight glowing off her pale, ghostly fur and chrome respirator. She held the gun at arm's length, firmly pressed into his forehead as she observed him with hidden eyes.

"Brave of you to come here alone, with only a blaster at your side—especially in this condition."

Falco exhaled, staring her down. "Didn't have a choice."

His voice came out muffled through his own gas mask, the rubber restricting his beak from opening all the way. The woman prodded it with the blaster. "You don't need this anymore. Why not take it off?" She cocked her hips. "You show me yours," she snickered, "and I'll show you mine…"

Humoring the woman and her gun, Falco unfastened the mask and slipped it off. It felt good to not smell the rubber. The feline kept up her end of the bargain and removed her respirator as well, revealing her face. Her narrow eyes told of a dangerous cunning, while her grin betrayed an impish mischief.

He looked her up and down for a second, lingering on her figure—but his thoughts were elsewhere as he made small-talk. "So… what? Best welcoming committee the Dragonfish could manage was a single stripper?"

She giggled, circling around him. "You're funny."

"Am I wrong?" He turned his head to follow her. "Only reason you'd walk around like that is if you were a prostitute—or you owned the place."

"Maybe it's the latter. Sometimes the richest clothes money and power can buy are… none at all," she winked.

She was an angel alright: an angel of death—one Falco couldn't let his defenses down for.

The woman had removed the gun from his head in order to take off her mask, leaving him unguarded. Unwise of her to give him an opening. All he had to do was jump out of his seat, wrestle the gun from her arm, and hold it to her head. Just like that, he'd have a hostage to barter with: perhaps one who could lead him to Katt. He was weak, but with nothing to hide her body, Falco was easily able to judge her strength—and it wasn't much. He knew he was still strong enough to overpower her.

Sucking in a breath, Falco reared back and launched out of his chair. The cat stepped back in surprise, but just when his tail feathers left the seat, a knife pressed against his throat.

The avian flung himself back against the chair and froze, the blade cutting into his skin. A scale-covered arm wrapped itself around his torso, the claws at the end poking into him. He had to suck in a breath and straighten up in his seat to keep the knife from cutting deeper.

"Ah-ah-ah, there'll be none of that," a cruel, muffled voice hissed from behind him.

"I warned you, Nestra, he'd still have some fight left in him," yet a third voice came from the shadow-covered desk.

For the first time, the cat was caught off-guard—but she quickly recovered. "G-Good!" she forced a smile. "He wouldn't be worth keeping alive if he didn't have spirit left."

"Hm, indeed."

Nestra walked back up to Falco—cautious at first, but outwardly gloating. She placed a finger beneath his beak and raised his head to look at her. "You poor thing; you've given away so much of yourself over the past few days, and now you're stretched so thin. Yet you still take everyone's weight on your shoulders. I like that."

Falco struggled against the lizard holding him in his seat. He wondered which of the three brothers it was, but eventually he surrendered. Slowly the knife withdrew, and the other arm released him. "That's more like it," his hidden captor hissed. "Now, behave."

Falco lifted an arm to shield his eyes, peering beneath it at the chair on the stage—that was where the third voice had originated from, but its owner sat in the darkness, out of reach of the spotlight.

"Alright, I'm here," he said, speaking between haggard breaths. "Now where are you keeping Katt?"

"If you mean your tail, then trust me, she's safe and unharmed—a lot more than you are."

The figure spoke in a smooth yet gravelly, condescending voice. For some reason it rubbed his feathers in all the wrong ways, but if he recognized it he couldn't place it yet.

"Look, do whatever you want to me, but let me see Katt first," he pleaded.

"Hm, temperamental, aren't we?" Rather than address his request, the figure paused. A faint orange glow by his muzzle flared for a second, and a cloud of cigarette smoke billowed into the air. He made Falco wait an anxiously-long time before responding. "Fine. Something tells me I'd get nothing out of you till you see her again, and I prefer having you in a cooperative state." He waved his hand tiredly. "Release Ms. Monroe."

There was a scuffle in the back corner of the stage—probably where a side door was hidden.

"Falco!"

Another feline silhouette rushed down the steps and into the spotlight, revealing herself to be Katt. She knelt beside his chair, laying a hand on his side. "Are you alright?!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he grunted, though the wounds all over his body smoldered beneath the clothes and bandages. It was easy to ignore them when he felt so elated to see Katt again. "Hey, they didn't hurt you or nothin', did they?"

She shook her head. "Man-handled me a bit, but they treated me well, all things considered."

He accepted Katt's hand, gripping it tightly, then looked back up at the chair behind the desk. The occupant still hid from view. "So, you let Grimmer put you up to this?"

The figure growled quietly. "I'm not one to be put up to anything, Falco."

He raised an eyebrow. "You had a deal, right? Grimmer's Gang ruled with your blessing. You wanted them to get rid of me."

"I'm afraid the Black Dragonfish are… under new management. Grimmer's deal has been reconsidered—and terminated." He finished by snuffing out the butt of his cigarette on an astray.

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but my beef is with their gang—not you. Just let me see the brothers."

The figure shrugged. "Suit yourself…"

In a flash, the wall at the back of the room brightened, now illuminated by bluish-green light. It wasn't a wall after all, but a plexiglass viewing-window. On the other side of the glass sat a large chamber of water some twenty feet across. The walls were steel, yet covered in rust and algae. Falco's eyes were quickly drawn upwards—for there, floating at the top of the tank, were four bodies: Grimmer, Scrimmer, Dimmer, and a suit-clad boar that Falco only recognized by the tattoo on his wrist. Their arms and legs were spread out lifelessly, wavering in a faint current. Each of their eyes was freakishly-bloated: their mouths puckered open.

A dozen aquatic creatures swam around them: long eel-looking things with webby black skin, unnaturally-long jaws bristling with teeth, and bulbous, vacant eyes. It hadn't been a chandelier at all that Falco had seen, but the glowing, bioluminescent lures that hung from the animals' heads like fishing lines. They gorged on the flesh of their unfortunate victims, tearing into them with ravenous teeth till they rained bloody chunks of scales and flesh down through the tank.

Grimmer and his brothers were dead.

…And whoever that fourth guy was.

Falco's stomach twisted at the sight, and Katt winced. Even Nestra could only stare for so long, but she masked her discomfort by observing Falco's and leeching off it for pleasure instead.

Sweat began to bead on the bird's brow. "What the hell happened here?"

"Grimmer's gang of petty street ruffians is no more. They sowed chaos, made enemies of everyone they ruled over, and failed to eliminate a tiny street gang with a child, a broken robot, and drug-addled whore. In fact, they pissed off so many people that they rose up and ousted the gang themselves. Utterly pathetic. An embarrassment to the Black Dragonfish: the old Black Dragonfish. But, unlike the previous boss Satori (the boar you see floating before you), I don't tolerate failure; I breed it out of my men with natural selection. The weak die, and the strong live."

That was when Falco put it together: the eerily-empty headquarters, the dead bodies in the club, the bloodstains—and now this odd individual with a familiar voice, talking as if he owned the place. A coup had taken place here; perhaps as soon as he defeated Grimmer.

He narrowed his eyes, finally asking, "Who are you?"

Even in the darkness, Falco caught a flash of white teeth grinning: sharp, canine teeth. "You're supposed to be the mind reader," he said smugly. "You tell me."

Falco frowned. A test?

Apprehensively, he reached out with his mind. The effects of Corruption were wearing off, but he still had enough to perform one simple trick, so he tapped into the mind of the hidden figure. He picked up no words or voice at this point of withdrawal: only a series of images and motions. They flashed by in a blur: the interior of a strange cockpit; sunlight glinting off red-and-silver wings as they swooped across a sky of snow; and a glowing dome of energy against the backdrop of a muddy, yellow planet.

At once he put the images together and solved the riddle.

"Wolf," he whispered.

"Impressive!"

The figure switched on his desk lamp, revealing a familiar lupine seated in the throne-like chair. Even then, it was hard for Falco to recognize him anymore; he'd seen far better days. His face was newly-scarred, but his black patch hid his missing eye as usual. His right hand and leg were mostly missing, both replaced with bionic, silver parts.

"Long time no see, Falco. I'm sure neither of us expected to meet again under… these circumstances," he growled. "In fact, I don't think you expected to meet me again under any circumstances."

"But Fox shot you down over Bolse—we all saw it! There was no way you survived that crash, let alone the whole satellite exploding afterward!"

"Ah, it's an exhilarating tale of bravery and cunning! But suffice it to say, you ever-so-lucky rookies were too distracted with destroying the core—and the hundreds of Venomian fighters swarming you—to wait and see what became of us. In all the chaos a shuttle rescued myself and Leon from the wreckage of our Wolfen. The pilot wanted to take us to the hospital aboard that nuclear meltdown waiting to happen, but Leon convinced him otherwise, directing him here. Oh, speaking of which…"

"Greetings, Falco."

The avian cringed, an ice-cold shiver running down his spine; that voice ground on his nerves like claws on a chalkboard. Slowly he turned around, gritting his beak. The figure who'd held the knife to his throat finally stepped into the light: it was the same person who'd delivered Grimmer's invitation earlier that day—he recognized the clothing and gas mask that hung at his neck, though minus Grimmer's patch now. Now that the lizard had removed his mask, he could plainly see the angular, emerald face of Leon, Wolf's right-hand man.

"Yes, I survived too," he hissed. "But I haven't forgotten how you shot me down over Bolse, and Wolf hasn't forgotten what your friend McCloud did to him, either."

"Let me guess… Pigma and Andross's nephew are lurking close by?"

Wolf made a stank face. "Please! They weren't so lucky. Both are particulate matter scattered across Sector V by now."

Falco smirked, trying to remain cool. "You know, when I first got the message you'd kidnapped Katt, I thought you were those dumb lizard brothers trying to get revenge. Now I know better; it's just some other idiots looking for revenge."

Wolf shook his head slowly. "Please Falco, revenge is the furthest thing from my mind! It would be too easy this way. Of course, I still want revenge, but at the moment it would be impossible to get it the way I want. Star Wolf and Star Fox are no more—at least, for the time being. It will be ages before we face each other from the cockpit again. So for now, I assure you, any revenge will be entirely incidental. You see—"

"Can I have a drink?" Falco blurted impatiently. "I'm kinda parched."

Wolf's nose wrinkled. "I prefer you sober."

"Doesn't need to be hard—I'd kill for some Whimsy soda right now."

"You drink that foul sludge often?"

"Yeah. It's more addictive than Corruption, if you think about it."

"Don't drink Whimsy."

Falco squinted at him funny. "Why?"

"Just… don't. Consider it a word of advice."

Deciding not to press the issue further, Falco shrugged it off. "But what brought you to Zoness of all places? It ain't exactly the vacation hotspot it used to be anymore."

"I needed a place to recover. It was clear Venom's days were numbered, so I had to look elsewhere for safe harbor. Leon grew up on Zoness, so he brought me here. In fact, as I understand it, you had some history with Leon here?"

Falco glanced backwards at Leon, who grinned, his lizard eyes twinkling. "We had a few unpleasant run-ins."

"Well, District 13 turned out to be the perfect hideout. After my surgery, I needed some time to recover before I sat in a pilot's seat again, so I got in with the local underworld. I still have my networks outside of Zoness, so I had much to offer them. Only, then you came along. Leon and I watched your career from the shadows with much interest. Imagine: Falco Lombardi, former ace of the Star Fox team, stooping to running drugs! I never thought you'd pick up our way of life, but Leon tells me that's all you used to know."

While Wolf spoke, Nestra turned her back on Falco and slinked up the steps. She approached Wolf and sat comfortably in his lap—but the lupine flinched and hissed something curtly in her ear. The feline hastily scooched onto his other leg—his good leg—settling there instead. Relaxing now, Wolf rested his chin on her shoulder and began stroking a hand down her stomach fur possessively.

"The head of the Black Dragonfish and his cabal didn't appreciate how you shook things up. They had this Grimmer punk pawning Allusion off on everyone, and your 'Corruption' ate into their market share. They wanted to be done with you, but myself and others"—he slung an arm around Nestra's waist—"disagreed. You see, I dislike Allusion—Scales—whatever you call it. It makes people complacent rather than rebellious. It's a pacifying religion; not a rousing movement for change, like yours. We saw the potential in your product, and we bartered for your survival. We convinced Satori not to snuff you out. When you made Grimmer that offer to duel him, I suggested we let him take it. You might even say you were permitted to live this long because of me—because of us."

Falco could feel Leon's eyes drilling into the back of his head—probably gloating.

"When news of your victory came, the tables turned on Satori, who supported Grimmer. He thought everyone in the Dragonfish had his back. Little did he know Nestra here—his most beloved concubine—had eyes only for me since the moment I turned up on their doorstep. We had many a secret rendezvous behind his back, during which I persuaded her to betray Satori. She promised to stab him in the back…"

"And in return, Wolf promised to crown me the head of the Black Dragonfish," Nestra finished. She leaned comfortably back against the lupine, nuzzling him.

Wolf sighed in contentment. "Now here I am, ruling the old boss's gang, sitting in his chair, drinking his booze, and fucking his favorite tail." He finished by obscenely licking the feline's neck, who leaned her head to the side to enjoy it.

Falco grimaced, Katt stiffened, and Leon rolled his eyes—though perhaps that was normal for the chameleon.

The avian cleared his throat before they could begin anything else. "So everything that happened today was some elaborate setup to bring me here? The fake bomb threat, the showdown with Grimmer, and… kidnapping Katt?"

Wolf cringed. "Look, about your girl… I'm genuinely sorry we had to do that, but it was absolutely imperative! The streets were swarming with Bureau officers, and, in your present condition, it was only a matter of time before you were caught. I had to get you into the sewers for your own safety. At the same time, I needed to put your 'Corruption' to the test. I had to see if it was the real deal; that it could actually do all the things you said it could."

"So… did it pass this 'test' of yours?"

The lupine grinned. "Oh, it passed alright. You managed to tail Leon through 13's maze of sewers—an impossible task otherwise. Now I know for sure Corruption is different than anything else on the market." He laughed, smacking his desk. "I mean, who would believe it? A drug that makes you telepathic? That gives you the ability to hear others' thoughts?" He leaned forward again. "But, perhaps more importantly, who could compete with it?"

The pheasant narrowed his eyes. "If the power to read minds is all this is to you, you're missing the point. It's so much more."

"Interesting…" Wolf stroked his chin fur, staring at Falco thoughtfully. Eventually he scooted his chair out and stood up while Nestra hopped onto the desk, kicking her legs absently. With some difficulty, Wolf descended the steps from the stage, hobbling down the terraced platform with a hefty clunk every time his metal foot landed. He stopped right in front of Falco and Katt while Leon brought him a chair to sit in. He landed heavily in it, sighing.

"The way I see it, Falco, we're in the same situation. Today, both you and I challenged the order of things here in District 13, and we came out on top. You beat up some wannabe gangster, and I executed a coup to assume control over Zoness' most powerful crime syndicate (slight difference, I know). I'd say that was cause for celebration! …But we're still in tight spots. Both of us are recovering from wounds, leaving us vulnerable. Both of our teams disbanded, making mercenary activity out of the question. And perhaps most importantly, we both want to get back at Corneria."

Falco crossed his arms. "It's not a matter of getting back at Corneria," he stressed. "This isn't about revenge; it's about picking up their slack. Besides, anything they did to you before or during the war you fully deserved."

Wolf sighed. "I can see you're too stubborn to change your mind on that issue, so I won't waste my breath. But I assure you, Corneria is far from your friend. You know they're trying to kill you, right? Given the circumstances, it would seem we're on the same side now."

Falco raised an eyebrow. "And why should I work with you?"

Before Wolf could answer, Nestra slid off the desk and descended the steps. Stopping at Wolf's chair, she hugged him from behind and leaned over him. "Come now, Falco," she spoke patronizingly, "aren't you getting a little old to be joyriding around the city in your toys? You've come of age: the age when you must make a choice. It's the same for everyone who grows up in the slums. When you're young, you only have to choose which petty street gang you're a part of: Free Birds, Grimmer's Gang, it's all the same. But when you become a man, you make the real choice. Will you join an actual organization like the Black Dragonfish, or will you go straight, obeying the Bureau like a good little chick?"

"I've made my decision. I'm not following anyone else; I'm making my own path—it's you who'll be following me."

Wolf snorted. "What, being Lylat's hero wasn't good enough for you? You had to come back here and fuck things up for the rest of us to get a hit of that high again?" He lowered his voice, even in the safety of his own secluded office room. "Falco, I don't think you understand. It's you against the world right now. The Bureau is looking for you; Zoness' government cracked down on you on Corneria's request. That means Pepper, and whoever else is in charge, have betrayed you. They wanted to take you prisoner and make you spill everything you know—or have you outright killed. They hate you because you're a threat to them…"

Wolf pulled out a small bag from his pocket and dumped it into his hand. Corruption's blue-and-red-colored pills spilled into his palm, some plinking to the floor.

"…This, is a threat to them—and everything they've built. Did you know Andross kept spies in Corneria's intelligence agencies during the war? Not all of them were caught or escaped. Some stayed put, assuming their fake lives and living on as if they were always on the victor's side—but now that Andross is gone, and his nephew is presumed dead, they keep in contact with me. We're not sure how quite yet, but this"—he held up a pill—"is the key. Whatever Corneria is scheming with their programs—Stratum, Pentagaze, the ones 'Verax' leaked to us—Corruption is the counter."

Falco shook his head, confused. "I don't understand. You have the pills. It won't take long to reverse-engineer 'em so you can make it yourself. Why do you still need me or the Free Birds?"

Wolf frowned and nodded. "True, true. But most importantly, Falco…" He stood up and approached him, while Katt stood between them defensively. "I need that face of yours."

"…Huh?"

Wolf raised his arms. "It's all a matter of branding. Both of us were mercenaries; we just happened to do business with different employers, and mine turned out to be… megalomaniacal. Your average person doesn't understand the business aspect of mercenary work; they'd never forgive me. If the people get wind that Wolf O'Donnell of Star Wolf is behind Corruption, they won't want anything to do with our product. So I need you to continue selling it.

"The people adore you, Falco." His eye twitched. "You're a local hero around here: the North End's claim to fame. But you're also one of the heroes of Lylat. And Falco, with my network, I plan to extend Corruption's reach outside of Zoness. I see this product becoming an interplanetary phenomenon. All you have to do is work alongside me, your old rival, who is so eager to put aside his differences and let bygones be bygones!"

Wolf extended his metal hand. "So, what do you say?"

Falco looked at it warily. In truth, he hated the idea of working for his arch nemesis. The metaphorical wounds from their previous battles still hadn't healed. It had only been a year since Bolse, where Star Wolf very nearly cost them their lives—and the war. He loathed the thought of working alongside Leon most of all. What would Fox think if he said yes? What would Slippy and Peppy think? Would they feel betrayed? If the rest of the system found out, would that change their opinion of him?

Falco glanced between everyone in the room: Wolf's expression was one of sickening, forced friendliness; Nestra watched over his shoulder with feline curiosity; Leon couldn't stifle a smirk; Katt gripped his shoulder worriedly, eyes screaming no; and Grimmer and the Dragonfish' old leader gawked at him with horrified expressions as they continued to float in the tank.

Falco began to rock in place, feeling faint. The world swam around him like the hazy waters outside the window. Wolf's open paw faded in and out, sometimes reappearing as two. He had to make his decision fast, or he'd give out right then and there, and that would be the end of him. His Corruption was nearly gone, but for what it was worth, he couldn't detect anything outright deceitful in Wolf's surface thoughts…

He wanted to refuse Wolf and go his own way, but… the offer was too tempting. With his help he could make a fortune from Corruption and reinvest it back into Zoness. He could buy his way into the Bureau and better the planet with their help. He could bring so many people together—even across Lylat—working to recover the system from the ground up where each planet's government had failed to do so from the top down.

But to do that he had to betray himself and everyone he loved…

Darkness crept in from the edges of Falco's vision. There was nothing else for it, so he reached out and grabbed Wolf's hand. It was hard finding it with his fading eyesight, but as soon as he felt the cold metal, he grasped it tightly, squeezing as hard as he could.

"Deal," he gasped, as if his soul had escaped his body in one last breath.