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Mission No. 6

Corneria
McCloud Residence

"Visions"

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Retreating inside, Fox double-checked his swimsuit was still tied and brushed his hair back into place. Trying to forget the awkward scene he just caused, he immersed himself back in the party, avoiding going out on the deck and having to face Abby, Ana, or Falco again.

For a painful, torturous hour he aimlessly drifted between different people and cliques of partygoers. He rubbed elbows with other famous celebrities and satellite groups of fans, but he couldn't stomach talking with any of them for more than a few minutes. The other young celebrities were all catapulted into fame at his same age; they didn't know it, but they were drowning just like him, and Fox hated seeing himself reflected in their situation. The random fans on the other hand all drooled over him, pestering him to tell war stories or making desperate passes at him like Abby and Ana. He was so goddamn bored out of his mind he actually ate for once.

Eventually he'd gone through every group in the house, alienating himself from each one and never making some friends to settle in with. Feeling like a stranger in his own home, he returned to the punch table, pouring himself what must have been his twelfth drink that evening.

He sipped his plastic cup, facing the table to avoid having to look at the crowd in the living room. Falco had rigged his speaker system for guests to blare the music they wanted; many artists used it to show off unreleased demos or upcoming songs they were working on. It all sounded the same to him, the repetitive, droning vocals and thumping beats drilling their way into his head. Combined with the white noise of the crowd's chatter it was beginning to bring on another migraine…

Grimacing, Fox desperately looked around the living room for a place to escape. Eventually his eyes caught sight of a sports jersey with the number '85' emblazoned on the back, facing him. It was owned by a lithe, white-furred vixen with lime-green highlights: one of the last people he neither recognized, hated, nor had talked to yet. She wore the oversized jersey casually, tying the extra hem in a knot above her torn-off denim shorts. From the way she wore it, and the odd smattering of paint stains, he could tell she didn't really care much for sports—which was fine by him.

The girl stood off by herself against the far wall, looking down at a table full of his family photographs. Ultimately, it was her fixation on said photos which intrigued Fox the most—specifically, he imagined, the ones of his mother. It looked like she was an artist trying to commit them all to memory.

The funny thing was, as soon as he noticed her, his headache seemed to vanish. All the pounding noise in the room faded away.

Curious, Fox filled another cup full of punch and carried it over. Stopping beside her, he cleared his throat.

"Excuse me…"

The vixen looked up, then seemed to recognize him in surprise. "Oh! You must be McCloud."

"Fox," he corrected. "I guess you already know who I am, huh?"

"Oh, not at all! I hadn't heard of you before tonight, but I recognized you from the pictures here and put two-and-two together."

He sighed internally, actually relieved she didn't know who 'Fox McCloud' was supposed to be.

"Um, I couldn't help but notice—"

"Me staring at your photos? Sorry, it's just… you make an adorable kit," she teased. She gazed down at the rest of the pictures, smiling. "Your mother is quite pretty, too."

"Yeah, she was…"

Fox coughed when he noticed he'd trailed off, lost in thought. "Must be kinda desperate for something to do if you're staring at pictures, huh?"

"Well, I got to meet a lot of famous people today, and the food's nice, but after a few minutes my strength to socialize at parties completely dies. I just feel tired after a while."

"I know how it is. I'm starting to peter-out, too."

Remembering the cup he poured, he offered it to her. "I noticed you didn't have a drink. Care for some punch? There's no alcohol, so don't worry. Er, unless you wanted something hard, in which case I could go back and—"

"No, that's alright. But…" She suspiciously narrowed her eyes at him, lifting the cup to his mouth. "Can I see you taste it first?"

His eyes widened. "Oh, you don't think I'd—?"

"I know what happens at these parties. Just being careful."

Eager to prove his lack of ill intent, Fox took a long sip. "See? All fine."

"Thanks."

He offered her the cup back, but instead she took his half-empty one and drank from that instead, forcing Fox to stick with her glass. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Mm. It's good."

"To be honest I have no idea who brought it."

"Sorry for being paranoid. It's just, one time—"

He waved his hand. "It's fine, you don't have to explain—"

"It's the reason I don't go out to parties much anymore."

"I'm sorry. But for what it's worth, I'm glad you came to this one."

"Well, I'm glad you gave it."

He laughed awkwardly. "To tell you the truth it wasn't even my idea. No shit, I just woke up and Falco—my teammate—had half the guests here already. Wasn't even dressed yet…"

She laughed, and it was the first time he'd seen her smile. "Really? You poor thing. I can tell from the way you stand you'd rather be anywhere else."

"Oh, not at all! At least… not anymore. I think I just needed a quiet moment to recharge, and talking with you helped. So, thanks for that, uh…" He blushed, scratching the back of his neck.

"Liza, and it's okay," she said. "No one else asked for it tonight."

He stared at the vixen, scrutinizing her. "So… you really don't know who I am, do you?"

She laughed again, this time in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I don't really keep up with the celebrities around here. I hope you don't feel insulted."

"No, I don't. That's… that's actually good. I prefer it this way."

Their conversation wore out again, replaced by the white noise of people laughing, bass thumping, and one of Fox's guests horribly singing through an autotune effect. They looked around awkwardly, and Fox felt himself slowly drifting away from her, sucked by a blackhole back into the party. It would be so easy to just excuse himself and slip away into the crowd again, but he didn't want that to happen.

Working up the courage, the todd shuffled on his feet. "So, Liza… care for a swim?"

She looked down at her jersey and torn shorts. "I would, but I didn't bring a suit."

"No problem. We could just—"

"Sit on the edge?" she finished for him. "Thanks, I think I'd like that."

Outside the sun was beginning to set. The air cooled off pleasantly, while the sea breeze picked up. More guests came out to swim in the pool or mill about the deck and outdoor bar, talking and dancing beneath multi-colored strands of lights.

Fox wove between the partygoers with Liza, heading towards the pool—until he spotted Falco again.

"Oh no…"

"What?"

He discretely pointed to the bird, who sat hogging the hot tub with Abby and Ana, an arm around each of their shoulders.

"It's Falco and those girls again. I've been avoiding them all night."

"'Those girls'? What's wrong with them? They look pretty hot."

Fox paused, struggling to find an answer. What was he supposed to admit to her? Their attention made him uncomfortable? He was still getting over Fara? He hated feeling so… used?

He rolled his head uncomfortably. "They're… plants. Operatives hired by a rival PMC to pump us for information about Star Fox."

"Star Fox…" she repeated. "Is that a ligma setup?"

He frowned at her. "It's the name of my mercenary team. My dad was the one who came up with it…" he grumbled. "We hit it bigtime during the war, and now every other corporation wants to know our secrets. Half of me is worried Falco's gonna spill everything to them. I'm staying out of their crosshairs so they don't try the same thing on—"

"A lie."

He blinked, looking at her. "Huh?"

She couldn't help but laugh at him. "You're such an obvious liar—you get overly-serious and melodramatic, like you're acting. What's really up?"

He chuckled awkwardly. "Didn't fool you, huh? Well, really they're just publicity agents, trying to run a spread on the glories of running a PMC for a mercenary mag. They're just a headache of constant questions I don't want to—"

"Uh-uh. Another lie. You know, I've got a thing for sensing when someone's pulling the wool over my eyes, so you might as well give it up now. Tell me, why are you avoiding them? If you're really this 'famous mercenary' guy, I bet they'd be all over you. You may have even scored some tail by now…"

He smirked. "Problem is, they're trying to score me."

Liza crossed her arms and lowered her voice. "Well, I'm surprised you gave them up for me."

"Trust me, you shouldn't be." He took her elbow. "Come on, let's sneak to the far side and hope they don't see us. I'd rather not have to mingle with them again."

Liza pointed. "Well you're about to have another shot, Mr. War Hero."

Fox looked up, horrified to see the three of them climbing out of the tub and heading their way.

"Aw crap…" He began swiveling his head back and forth. "I gotta hide somewhere! Maybe—"

"The storage shed? Quick, in you go!"

Suddenly Liza grabbed his wrist and yanked him into a shed on the side of the deck. Eventually they managed to squeeze inside and close the door behind them, but it was quite cramped. Plunged into darkness, they tripped over pool supplies on the floor, till eventually they leaned against each other, with Fox holding Liza steady. Breathing heavily, they put their ears to the door and listened.

"That's funny, I coulda sworn I saw Foxy here a second ago…"

Falco and the girls safely passed them by, leaving Fox and Liza to turn their attention inward. The todd realized their faces were so close his nose brushed hers. He could see the thin crack of light reflecting like crescents off her eyes, staring at him. For a moment they looked at each other, regaining their breaths.

"It's… nice and quiet in here," she whispered. He could feel her breath on his chin.

"Dark though."

Suddenly Liza's phone came on, lighting the vixen's chin in a pale underglow.

"Better?"

"Yeah…"

Fox looked down, noticing her phone background: a painting of a mer-vixen facing the rising sun.

"That's… pretty."

"Thanks."

"You don't mean you made it?"

"Mm-hm."

He examined the painting closer. "You're a good artist. You're in college, right? Is art your major?"

Her shoulders slumped. "No. Business—Westport University. I'm only minoring in art because I don't think I can get a job doing it."

"Well then, you should make it your major. It'd be a waste if you didn't. Um… mind if I see more?"

She laughed awkwardly, hiding the screen from him. "Oh god, don't embarrass me—"

"No, really, I want to. There's not much else to do while we hide in here."

"Well, alright…"

As Liza opened her image gallery, Fox cleared some gear and managed to get them a pool float to sit on. The donut-shape however made them scoot uncomfortably close together, sharing the hole in the middle.

The vixen handed him her phone, and Fox began flipping through it, starting with her most recent images. She had quite the gallery of paintings and sketches stored up.

"Wow… you got a lot of these."

"I know, I'm addicted. Some were for school projects, while others I did in my free time—admittedly, when I should have been studying."

Portraits and figure painting seemed to be her thing. She gave little consideration to the background, but the people she depicted completely made up for it; every character had a remarkable photorealism to their appearance.

"These have to be the original references, right?"

"No, I really painted all this," she giggled, feeling awkward.

He whistled. "They're really good. The way you capture hair, fur, scales, clothes… it's so real."

He thought it odd, however, that a girl like her lacked any real-life photos. He didn't pass any of her friends, her house, campus, vacation spots, or even selfies.

The next picture he swiped to was a familiar white vixen with green hair. He elbowed her gently. "Hey, look who it is!"

But Liza tensed beside him.

Grinning, Fox flipped to the next one—and the smile soon vanished from his face. In its place, blood rushed to his cheeks.

"Oh, um…" He quickly swiped back to the previous image, then offered her the phone back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to see that—"

"No it's… it's fine." She gently pushed his hand back, returning her phone. "I don't mind. They're just… paintings, after all. It's not really me."

Swallowing, Fox anxiously flipped back to the image, revealing another self-portrait of Liza: this one depicting the arctic fox from the waist up. Fox tried to give it the same attention and interest as he'd given all her other works, but he couldn't keep his eyes from darting back down to her chest every second. Really it wouldn't even matter if she didn't paint them so damn realistically…

He swiped to the next one, but it was more of the same. In fact, the next several paintings were all of Liza around her house in a similar lack of attire, exhausting every possible angle and close-up.

"It was part of a figure study," she blurted, wringing her hands. "I was sick and missed the days the model came in, so I had to use myself…"

"You're… beautiful," Fox whispered. "—They're beautiful!" he hastily corrected.

"Th-thank you."

The last painting he landed on made his face burst into flames. He looked back up, shoving the phone towards her. "I really shouldn't be looking at—" But when he turned, he found her face mere inches from his again. They were so close he could feel her quick, shallow breaths on his muzzle. Her eyes darted over his face, repeatedly glancing down at his mouth. Then, as if reading each other's minds, they leaned forward till their lips—

Liza pulled up suddenly. "He's here."

Fox blinked. "Huh? How do you know?"

She held up a finger, and soon a muffled voice reached them from outside.

"I think Fox keeps them in here—"

With no further warning the door flung open, revealing Falco standing outside in his swimsuit. Fox and Liza quickly untangled, looking guiltily away from each other.

"Ah, there you are, Fox! I was wondering where you've been all day. Say, uh, you wouldn't mind if I borrowed that pool float you're sitting on?"

Embarrassed, and a little peeved, Fox helped Liza off the donut innertube and shoved it at Falco. "Knock yourself out…" he said through grit teeth. And try not to get stuck upside-down in the hole and drown.

Oddly, Liza couldn't stifle a snort.

For the rest of the party Fox and Liza avoided each other—and most everyone else. By the time night fell, the party had run its course, and most guests felt they got their money's worth. They bid Fox farewell and left in groups, till the only ones left were Falco, the peach-furred cat, Liza, and the host himself. Fox occupied his time by picking up trash—which was quite abundant—while Liza curled up on a chair at the other end of the living room, burying herself in her phone. The two ignored each other.

Falco and Abby, meanwhile, were busy making out on the couch. It wasn't till Falco came up for air and looked around the room that he noticed the final guests had left. They stood up and approached Fox, with Falco holding a wing around the cat. The pheasant looked guiltily at the stack of half-empty pizza boxes Fox was accumulating, but he had other priorities.

"Hey, uh, I hope you don't mind picking up all this—"

"No-no, it's fine," Fox assured with a neutral tone.

"I'm gonna make sure Abby here gets back to her dorm safely, but first thing tomorrow, I swear I'll be right back to help!"

Fox returned to stuffing pizza boxes in trash-bags, still ignoring Liza. Fat chance of that, he thought.

The pair of lovebirds gathered their clothes and towels and walked down the hall to the foyer. Then, as soon as the door softly clicked shut behind Falco, Fox and Liza pounced. They rushed across the room, pulling each other close to finally share their long-awaited kiss. Liza carelessly dropped her phone without another thought, while Fox dropped his armful of trash. Soon, his swimsuit and her clothes joined the rest of the items on the floor.

The vixen took his hand and led him breathlessly outside, and together they swam under the stars.

Exhausted, Liza rolled off Fox and lay with him in the shallow end of the pool. Panting together, they looked up at the night sky, tracing the constellations and galaxies that hung there. Now that they lay still again, the pool water began to cool their hot flesh down, while the violent ripples on the surface calmed.

Liza rested her head on his shoulder like a pillow, snuggling in—but suddenly she looked up at him.

"Fox… what's wrong?"

He glanced down at her. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. All of the sudden you just seem… sad. Or is that just how all guys are after…?"

He folded his arms behind his head, sighing. "I'm sorry, I was trying hard not to show it. I didn't think I was."

"No, it's alright. You can tell me."

"Well…" Fox leaned back, looking up at the stars again. "I just feel kind of guilty. I… I broke up with someone last night."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, Fox, what we did just now! I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine, it's my fault. I just feel like I messed up somehow, even though…"

"…Even though you know you needed this?" she offered.

Fox raised his eyebrows. He laughed sadly. "Did anyone ever tell you you're good at finishing sentences? You know what I'm thinking better than I do."

"Then let me take another stab: she's only part of what's going on. There's more, isn't there?"

He furrowed his brow, thinking harder. "After I killed Andross and returned to Corneria, it felt like it had all been a bad dream. The nightmare was over. I thought I'd wake up and be together with my parents again… but I never did. Now it feels like I'm living in a twilight world without them, still dreaming; my actions don't have any consequences, and my choices don't matter. I feel like I don't have a future anymore. Like saving Lylat was the peak of my life, and now it's all just downhill from there."

She looked up at him. "Don't think me conceited, but… I know what you mean. I'm an artist, after all. Every time I finish a project, and my friends tell me it's the best one I've done yet, I get scared. I lose confidence, thinking I'll never be able to top it. I'll go to lay paint on the next canvas, but my hand will get stuck, shaking inches away."

She reached up to rub her fingers through his chest fur, as if painting with a brush. "I little voice in my head says, 'What if it's not as good? What if I mess this one up? How can I possibly do better?' Weeks used to go by before I touched a brush again… but eventually I learned to get over it."

"You did?" he asked in surprise. "Mind telling me your secret?"

She shrugged. "I just forced myself to keep painting. If I couldn't outdo my last one, it didn't matter; at least it was practice for the next. And before I realized it, I completed an even better piece than the one before."

She climbed up his chest to plant a kiss on his cheek. "I don't think your life will go downhill from here; I think you're bound to do even greater things. If you give up now and say, 'I'll never do anything like this again,' well, that's what seals your fate. You may feel down right now, but I think your life is just in transition. If you keep at it, I'm sure you'll do something even more amazing—yes, even more-so than saving Lylat. You just need something new to inspire and get you going again."

She lay her head on his chest, her warm confidence seeping into him directly. It pierced through the walls of his doubt, and for once he dared feel a little hope for his future.

After lying together a little longer, Liza stood up, wringing the water out of her long hair. "Would you like to take a walk on the beach?" she asked.

Fox laughed. "Like this?"

"Will anyone see us?"

"Well, it's a private beach, and not many people are out at this hour…"

"Then come on!"

They climbed out of the pool into the cool night air, grabbing their towels. Fox couldn't help but stare as the white vixen dried herself off. She looked so perfect standing there by the deck railing; the blue lights from the pool gave her blank fur the illusion of glowing a gorgeous, serene hue.

Unable to resist, Fox reached for his phone and candidly snuck a picture of her without telling; he was worried she might say no if he asked.

Once dried they descended the wooden stairs behind the deck, and together they adventurously stepped onto the beach. They walked southward along the shore, hand-in-hand at a leisurely stroll. The sand felt soft beneath their paws while the dark water intermittently rushed up to nip at their ankles. The gentle sea breeze felt refreshing, yet brisk—cold enough to give Liza an excuse to sidle up to Fox, and him a reason to put his arm around her.

Fox smiled contentedly. He thought the party would be one prolonged torture, but the night had turned out better than he ever could have wished for.

Suddenly Liza tensed. "Fox, there's someone over there…"

Stopping in his tracks, the todd looked up. "Where?"

She pointed, continuing in a whisper. "There, atop the hill."

Sure enough, someone was standing at the top of the sand dune hemming in the beach. Even in the darkness they seemed lit by a bright glow, as if from the moon or a flashlight.

Liza hurriedly covered herself while Fox protectively tightened his grip around her. Squinting, however, he thought he was able to recognize the person.

"I think it's… Fara!" he realized with a start.

He released her, walking ahead. "Stay here. I… I need to explain this to her."

Swallowing, Fox shamefully stumbled up the beach towards the dune. He wasn't looking forward to what he was about to do, but he knew it was the right thing. When he reached the foot of the sandy hill, however, he realized it wasn't Fara at all—not even a fennec for that matter, but another fox like himself.

Much, much like himself.

His heart stopped beating, and he froze in disbelief.

"M… Mom?!"

The vixen stood at the top of the hill, the wind billowing her dress. She wore a familiar set of clothes he was sure he remembered from one of her photographs.

"Fox…"

It was her!

Not sparing another second, nor worrying about his appearance, he sprinted forward. He scrambled up the side of the dune, the sand caving beneath every hand- and foot-hold, impeding his progress. For a while it felt like he was going nowhere, making no progress at all like a bad dream.

Finally, when he reached the top… Vixy was gone.

Incensed, Fox desperately scoured the hillside, but all that lay on the other side of the dune was a vacant lot. His mother was nowhere to be found—she had completely disappeared.

In her place, however, sat a cardboard box. He bent over and picked it up, but couldn't read the label in the darkness. Was it meant for him?

Turning, Fox slid down the dune and returned to the sandy shore, carrying the box with him… only to find Liza had vanished as well. At least he spotted her footprints in the sand before the waves could erase them, and he realized she must have fled to his house before she was caught.

But when he finally climbed onto the pool deck again, the arctic vixen was nowhere to be found, either.

"Liza?!" he called.

Wrapping a towel around his waist he rushed inside, setting the box on the counter. He checked the floor, but her clothes and phone were missing from where she'd dropped them in their passion.

Lastly Fox ran to the front door and let himself out onto the porch, peering into the darkness of his front yard.

"LIZA!"

There was no sign of her; just gently waving palm fronds and an empty lawn. He half considered chasing after her into the street, but there were too many directions she could have fled to. So, shoulders slumping, he returned inside and shut the door.

Sleepwalking into the living room, Fox scratched his chin. "Am I… dreaming?" he asked—but he couldn't have been. There was the mysterious box sitting on the counter, clear as day, and when he checked his phone, the picture of Liza was still his most recent capture. He half expected it would have vanished—along with all other traces of the aspiring artist.

Finally he turned his attention to the box. Normally he had his mail checked for bombs, anthrax, and other fun pranks sent by vengeful Venomians, but Fox didn't have the patience to wait; he felt too anxious. He examined the box, finding no postage stamp, no return address, and no shipping labels—only his name scribbled in permanent marker across the top.

He set to work sliding a knife through the packaging tape, then gingerly clasped the two flaps before they flipped apart on their own. Swallowing, he slowly lifted them open—as if at any moment he expected an explosion to go off, or a knife to fly at him from a spring trap.

The box fell open.

Nothing happened, and he almost felt disappointed it hadn't exploded.

There wasn't much inside except for a sea of foam packaging peanuts, a dirty brick to give it weight, and a single photograph laid on top.

Brow furrowing, Fox reached in and lifted the photo, examining it. The picture was taken on the steps of a blinding white Cornerian university, or perhaps a research institute. Pale blue sky and bright pink cherry blossoms added some color to the photo, as well as the three individuals standing in front of the steps. His eyes widened when he recognized his mother, Vixy, and Vivian Hare, Peppy's wife, standing next to each other, holding hands and smiling brilliantly at the photographer. The right half of the photo, however, was nearly ripped off… but mysteriously left on before the last tear could be made.

Fox carefully folded the nearly-severed piece over so as not to rip it further. When he realigned the two halves, making the rip vanish, he let out a quick gasp.

It was him.

The third person in the photograph, standing tall and proud next to his mother and Vivian, was none other than Dr. Wolfgang Andross.

And all three were smiling.