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Mission No. 39

Corneria
Capital City

"Result"

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"…Protests continue at the Cornerian National Mall for the second straight week. The number of participants has grown to over forty thousand, many of whom are veterans of the recent war. Government authorities have warned if they do not vacate federal property by—"

General Pepper switched the holoscreen off. He no longer needed to watch the television to get the news delivered to him. Why watch HV when he could see the actual events unfold right before his eyes? Instead, he turned and stood before his open balcony which overlooked the National Mall in question.

"Chaos," he sighed, swirling the wine in his glass. "Utter pandemonium out there. We won the war, but this is all that came of it."

The illustrious general's mansion was one of several lining the western side of the mall. On the far end of the parade grounds and decorative parks stood the Cornerian Parliament building, overseen by representatives of districts planet-wide—but covering the entire lawn in between were countless demonstrators. They'd erected tents, campfires, podiums, and signs with slogans and crude jokes aimed at the parliament.

"What do you think, General?" his guest's deep voice asked from inside. "You must have strong opinions on this… spectacle."

"I think it's a shame—an indictment, even, that they have to be here, fighting for their due pay. It's ironic that we spent so many funds on statues and cenotaphs to memorialize the dead when we should have cared more for the living. Now my men must go without their promised bonuses and battle to even fit into society again."

Pausing for a moment, his heart went out to the veterans amassed on the grounds. "Many of these men look up to me; they served under me. I feel so much regret. We coerced them into service with the promise of good pay and bonuses after the war, but now we can't reward them. They can't wait twenty years for their bonuses; they need them now, when the system is at its lowest."

"Too true. All the government can really do is pacify them with the promise that, if they can just hold out a bit longer, good times are ahead."

Pepper turned his back on the troops outside, retreating into his parlor. Morgan Fredersen sat on a couch inside, holding a similar wine glass. His deep black eyes never seemed to leave Pepper; they followed him around the room.

"Morgan, are you a father?"

The bull nodded.

"Have you ever lost a child?"

"Yes. I… lost my daughter at the start of the war."

"Then you know the pain I feel. Forgive the expression, but I've lost many children in my time; perhaps millions. I mourn for the ones that died in my service, but I love the men that are still alive all the more dearly because of it. I can't stand to see them treated like this. I can't betray them. If President Finley doesn't repay those bonuses, I doubt he'll have another term. At least he won't have the military vote, I'll make damn sure of that."

The bull looked down at his wine glass, admiring its clotted texture and deep red color. "If only there were something more we could do. Of course I have many of my bank's accountants pouring over the legal aspect right now, and you're doing your best to sway the politicians, but maybe there's another option."

"Pray, do tell; I'm open to suggestions," Pepper huffed. "I've gotten nowhere with these stubborn bureaucrats. They just smile whenever I broach the subject and make empty promises they never intend to keep, all because they pity me."

Fredersen nodded. "There was a time when they respected you, though: a time when you had actual power."

Pepper chuckled. "You mean during the war?" He halted in front of his dress uniform, displayed behind a glass casing. It shimmered with innumerable medals he'd earned over the years, their gold trimming drawing his gaze as if they were magnetic. His eyes sparkled at the sight. "Yes, I accomplished much—but that was during martial law. Now that the war is over, things are back to normal, and no one has any more need for me."

"A pity."

One of Pepper's droopy ears raised slightly.

"…That you are no longer the Commander in Chief, I mean. I must say, you were marvelous in that role. It's one thing for me to oversee banks and business mergers, but I could never imagine running an entire planet. All I have at stake is money, while you had every one of our lives in your hands. Thanks to your decisions and leadership, Corneria came through against the enemy. You took this planet from a vulnerable, weak people to the strongest military might in all of Lylat in a matter of years. Now, however, there's so much red tape in the way of getting anything done."

"True…"

"Say what you will about despots, but sometimes the world needs a strong leader with extraordinary authority to enact change. Ironically, the way to defeat Andross was to mobilize the planet in the same way he did. Crises like this demand strong leadership. Finley… that poor man doesn't exactly inspire confidence in his people like you once did."

Pepper conjured up a reference of the ailing president, confined to his wheelchair. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of the roaring crowd outside. The hound rushed to his window, grabbing the rail and leaning out to see what caused the commotion.

"The police are clearing them out!" he exclaimed.

A sea of officers clad in riot gear pressed the throng of veterans back. Several cans of tear gas launched into the crowd, and before long, the grounds were dotted with miniature clouds. Pepper's eyes widened when he noticed several Cornerian tanks rolling onto the field. The tension was palpable in the air. His fur raised; he could feel the pressure rising to a climax.

A gap formed between the riot police and the protesters. More cans of tear gas sailed overhead, while rocks and soda cans pelted the officers in return. Several voices distorted by megaphones yelled orders and made demands at one another across the gap, but their words were lost on Pepper. Finally the protesters' rage boiled over. They broke rank and swarmed the police like a wave crashing on the shore. The unmistakable word "Fire!" rang out, and several gunshots cracked through the air.

Pepper gaped in awe as several protesters went down. Police batons swung through the air, and shields struck the rowdy mob—but it was far from one-sided; several officers fell under the blows of baseball bats and spiked boards. The tanks opened fire, but their shells only drenched the protesters in bright blue paint. Regardless, it was a horrifying sight to behold. Pepper's fist clenched, and the wine glass trembled in his other hand.

"This is all wrong. How did we come to this? Only a few months after our victory against Venom, we've already turned to infighting. Cornerians need not fight other Cornerians. We both serve the same cause, yet brother must raise his fist against brother? My men are just trying to live, and those security officers are only doing their job. Why… why does it have to be like this?"

"It doesn't, Pepper."

The seriousness in Fredersen's voice surprised him. He tore himself away from the violence outside to look back at the bull. "What do you mean?"

The business magnate helped himself to another glass of wine. While lowering his head to the cup, his eyes raised to stare over the rim at Pepper. "Finley is impotent. The people respect one voice and one voice only: yours. The parliament holds no sway over them, nor can they satisfy their demands. I on the other hand have the funds to distribute all the veterans' war bonuses and more."

Pepper narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"My dear general, all good soldiers are opportunists in battle. When they see the chance to strike, they take it. Well, I'm offering you an opportunity now. If you take command of the disenfranchised veterans, I'll pay their war bonuses."

"You-you must be joking! You're essentially suggesting a… a coup!"

Fredersen paused briefly before flinging his head back and bursting into laughter. When the fit subsided, he said, "Well, one could call it that. But names and semantics get in the way. The fact is, Lylat should never have left martial law; it wasn't ready to, and it still isn't. The system needs a strong leader to save it: one who doesn't have to wade through a spider's den of red tape. And you know who the spiders secreting those webs are: Finley, those clowns in parliament, and the bureaucrats squabbling about the letter of the law. Together, my friend, we can cut through their bindings and save the system from imminent collapse."

"Was this your real reason for stopping by?" Pepper looked at the bull as if he were totally alien to him. "I-I can't believe you're proposing something like this. The whole idea is preposterous, if not completely treasonous! Why, we could be arrested for just discussing such notions."

Fredersen shrugged. "No one can hear us over…" he nodded his head to the raucous din outside. "Pepper, the war never ended. It only changed form; the board's pieces shuffled and rearranged. In the end, you and I are still fighting for the lives of civilians and honest men, and the wellbeing of every planet. To the politicians in that building across the lawn out there? It's just a game: a game they force people like you and me to live by. Well, it's time we broke their rules. This isn't a game. It's real—and rules get in the way."

Pepper was at a loss. He set his wine glass down, suddenly feeling dizzy—and it wasn't from the buzz of the alcohol. "Morgan, you know no one cares more about those men than I do," he stated in a low voice. "But that doesn't mean I will become the very thing I despised to save them. I won't become him. The last thing this world needs is more divisions and bloodshed."

"There won't be any bloodshed," the bull assured him. "It will be swift and painless, like pulling a splinter. I don't see this as causing more divisions; it's bringing people together. Industry and the military complex can join hand-in-hand: a sort of business merger, if you will. We don't need leeches like Finley telling us what to do. The government is a third wheel—no, worse: a third cog keeping the other two from turning together at all."

Pepper stared back at his glass-encased uniform, imagining the enticing world Fredersen so skillfully painted and dangled before him. But as the clock on his fireplace ticked on, Pepper shook his head. "I'm sorry Mr. Fredersen, but I must ask you to leave."

The bull sighed and set his wine glass down. He stood up and walked to the door, but paused beneath the frame. Without turning back, he said, "I'm sorry you feel this way. Perhaps in the near future, I can change your mind."

Then, the businessman disappeared.

With Fredersen gone, Pepper was left to himself. The sound of their conversation was replaced by the cacophony of noises from the parade grounds outside. He shut the glass doors to keep the sound out, but try as he might, he wasn't able to silence the desperate screams, sirens, or screeching megaphones that assaulted his ears.

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Well into the night, after the storm over District 13 rained its last poisonous drops, Katt returned to the shop. The feline sported a bright new coat of fur and a box of "machine parts" under her arm. Falco avoided her all evening—and the next morning, too. Katt had no way of knowing he'd seen her and Grimmer that night, but her unspoken guilt seemed to keep her away from him as well. Though, perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part.

The next day, Falco and Kitt returned to Puke's lab for the results of her analysis. Knowing she would likely be sleeping in, they waited till the afternoon to pay her a visit—but to their surprise, Pukes was already awake when they arrived. Kitt had barely gotten in his second of three secret knocks when the green-furred vixen swung the door open.

"Welcome back! Come in, come in!"

Neither Falco nor Kitt were prepared to see Pukes up so "bright and early," nor so full of energy. She seemed possessed by a spirit not her own—and, judging by her still frazzled hair and wrinkled lab coat, she hadn't gotten that full night of sleep she'd planned on.

They followed the green-furred vixen into her backroom laboratory: a cluttered mess of equipment, scientific instruments, and empty styrofoam cups that once contained instant noodles. What caught Falco's eye most of all were some rather expensive-looking neural-imagers, resembling spider webs of electrodes and suction cups meant to be affixed to one's head.

Pukes noticed him staring. "Oh, those? Got 'em on loan from the research institute. Really came in handy with my analysis."

Together they arranged two revolving chairs to face Pukes, while the vixen sat on a rolling stool. She scooted uncomfortably close to them, forcing Falco and Kitt to lean back a bit while she leaned forward. When she spoke, it was little more than a hushed whisper, but with the energy of a child discussing the presents they thought Santa would bring for Christmas.

"Well gentlemen, last night I ingested a sample of the krystal lysergic acid, and—"

"You drank some of it?!" Kitt balked.

Falco waved him off. "Aw don't worry, it's harmless."

The feline swiveled his chair to face him. "What do you mean? You've tasted it too?!"

"Just a few drops!"

Kitt slapped a paw over his face. "You guys… You know Pukes, if you stopped tasting every chemical that came your way, maybe you'd throw up less, and we wouldn't have to keep calling you Pukes!"

"Nah, her fur color would still look like vomit."

"It does not!" she cried.

"Alright, whatever, I'm sorry for insulting your horrible choice in green. Now, can you tell us about the drug?"

The vixen pouted for a minute, then sighed. "Alright. I identified its components and did some research on the web. It's made from a chemical found in certain psychedelic mushrooms in addition to the lysergic acid. Several more of the ingredients are found in OTC meds, others can be extracted from… various commercially-available sources."

"Okay, good to know—but you still haven't told me what it does."

"Well, krystal lysergic acid increases activity in several areas of the brain: organs whose functions no one really understands. Scientists think they atrophied over time from disuse, or even that different species around the Lylat are just devolving them. But this chemical you brought me reactivates them. Additionally, it highly increases the sensitivity of mirror neurons."

"Uhhh…?"

"A mirror neuron is a nerve cell in the brain that activates when you watch someone else do something. For instance—and I have no experience with this firsthand—I'm told that watching another guy get kicked in the balls hurts?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"That's your mirror neurons activating. You can't help but feel a bit of his pain because of them. Likewise, when you watch a video of a blowjob—"

"Ohhhhh! I think I'm getting it now."

Kitt clapped his paws over his ears. "Pukes, do you have to keep referencing—?"

"Okay, okay! You're guys, so it's the best way to make you understand. Dicks have the highest concentration of nerve endings in the body, so corresponding mirror neurons tend to activate more when—"

The feline blushed. "We get it Pukes, we get it. Different example, please?!"

"Fine. Point is, mirror neurons are the basis for understanding sensations other people feel, and for making sense of their actions."

"So when you took the KLA…?" Falco prompted.

Pukes sighed, growing more serious. Steepling her fingers, she locked eyes with Falco. "It increases the transmission capacity of mirror neurons. Like, a lot. You may not believe this, but… last night when I passed out, I had a dream where I was watching someone else nearby. New neighbor living in the flat next to me; never spoken to him before. He was eating a hamburger, but it was like I was eating it. Didn't taste anything like food tastes in dreams; on the contrary, it tasted so… so real!" She licked her lips and stared off into space. "It was the best goddamn burger I've ever had…"

Kitt snorted. "You gotta be kidding. If you passed out—whether from sleep deprivation or something in that drug—you probably just had a really vivid dream."

"No little mister, it was real alright." Pukes gestured to her neural imaging equipment. "I recorded my brain activity while taking different doses. I wasn't sleeping."

"But… but that's silly! Those mirror neuron thingies might fire when you watch someone do something or whatever, but how could you see someone through the wall?"

Pukes shrugged. "I… I don't know. All I know is, he had a hamburger for dinner. And it had ketchup and cheese and juicy pickles… with spicy jalapeno slices… and scrumptious onions…"

"That's ridiculous! It's like… telekinesis, or something!"

"It's not that far-fetched," Falco told him. "Andross had all sorts of experiments in his labs," he explained—though he caught himself before he mentioned Krystal and the Cerinians. "Besides, I felt that sensation too when I tried it—only I felt what a lot more people were feeling, over an entire street corner. But is there anything else I should know about? Is it addictive? Are there any negative side effects?"

"Well, I'd advise against taking large doses. It did increase my dopamine response, but that could just be because I felt someone eating a good fucking hamburger. It doesn't seem addictive, and the effects ended pretty quickly, but I don't know what long-term usage might do." Pukes leaned in again, her glasses reflecting the overhead light. "So… now that you know what it's made from and what it does… what are you planning to do with it?"

Falco scratched the underside of his beak, thinking for a minute. "I… dunno. I have fifteen liters of the stuff, and I don't know what to do with it."

"Well, if you wanted, I could synthesize even more for you, and you could sell it. I guarantee there's nothing like this on the black market. We just need some OTC meds for anxiety and migraines. Ibuprofen, aspirin—heck, even cough syrup. We don't have to lace it with much; the KLA does all the heavy lifting."

Kitt shot up from his seat and began pacing about the room. He covered his ears. "I do not want to hear this part…"

Falco furrowed his brow skeptically. "What about the chemical from the mushrooms? That seems like the hardest part to get."

Pukes smiled. "We're in luck." She placed a tablet in front of Falco that displayed a document from a scientific journal. It featured a photo of a clump of mushrooms and several paragraphs of text.

"Psilocybe crystallinus. The Bureau imported tons of the stuff to help clean the spilled oils and toxins polluting Zoness. It was one of the products the Venomian Containment and Reclamation Program originally unearthed. The mushrooms are being spread all over the districts to filter the pollutants from the sea in a process called 'mycoremediation,' and it just so happens the research institute tapped me to help monitor the progress here. We can take as much as we want and no one will notice."

As Falco poured over the document, he noticed a series of labyrinthine circle patterns Pukes had doodled alongside her notes, but brushed them aside.

"If you want to sell more of the stuff after you unload your current stash, you'll need to reorganize the team. You'll have to collect the ingredients, get them to me, package the product, and distribute it."

Kitt raised an ear again at the mention of reforming the team, while Falco crossed his arms and leaned back in his swivel chair. He exchanged a glance with Kitt. "It'd be just like old times, huh?"

"Yeah!" his face lit up—then it darkened. "Yeah…"

The avian sighed, thinking some more. "I might not be able to stay around 13 for long. It'd put us in direct conflict with Grimmer again, and I don't want to risk anyone's lives for some quick cash. So I guess I'll… get back to you on that, once I make a decision. But in the meantime…" A thought still nagged at the back of his head. "Did you end up taking those meds I gave you? The ones from Fox?"

She yawned but did her best to hold it in. "I didn't; I wanted to stay up to study the krystal lysergic acid. But I didn't have to take them to know what was in them."

"Why? What were they?"

Now struggling to keep her eyes open, Pukes sat back up.

"About that…"

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Early the next morning, while sun rays still coaxed the mist from the grass, Fox walked up the trail leading out of the valley. In contrast to the linens he was growing accustomed to, he now wore his flight suit and backpack. The village leaders had returned everything: weapons, rations, tools—though he'd left a sugar-loaded nature bar behind with instructions to give it to Krystal, since he knew she liked them so much.

His footfalls were heavy as he trudged along the forest path, scraping piles of dried purple leaves. By now he'd left the village well behind him and was coming up on the mountains bordering the valley—but the distance he'd put between himself and the village didn't make it any easier. If anything, it made it harder to continue with each step, knowing the point of no return was getting closer and closer up ahead.

Finally he reached the foot of the western mountains; the trees thinned out before their gray roots, while the worn dirt path led on, winding between twin walls of cliffs. This was the pass that would take him out of Altaira Valley, back to the river…

Fox paused before the mouth of the narrow canyon, a lump forming in his throat. He was doing the right thing, he told himself—but he had to tell himself that every few steps, and each time it lost some of its potency.

He didn't belong here; he wasn't Cerinian; he wasn't wanted. He'd accomplished all his goals in the valley, so it was Mission Complete: time to leave and… do what exactly, he didn't know. Either escape back to Lylat and live on the run, or turn himself in to Corneria and pay for his crimes.

Hoisting his heavy pack on his shoulders, Fox bowed his head and set off for the pass—but the wind seemed to carry a faint voice to him. Fox's ears flicked up, and he halted in place. Was it just his imagination playing tricks on him?

"Fox…!" the voice called again, and he was finally able to make out his name.

Turning, he spied a blue-and-teal figure rushing up the forest path towards him, kicking up clouds of leaves in every direction.

"Fox, wait!"

Krystal emerged from between the trees, dressed in her teal robe and carrying a basket in her arms. Her hair was disheveled and mussed, her clothes out of place, and scraps of forest debris clung to her fur. She sprinted up to him, pausing a few yards away and doubling over to gasp for breath. From all appearances, it looked like she'd run a good distance carrying that basket.

"Krystal! What are you doing here?!"

While panting outwardly, she was able to mentally speak to him. 'I went to the old man's house looking for you, but he said you'd left. He mentioned you were wearing your strange Lylatian clothes again, so I thought I might find you here…'

When she regained enough of her breath, the young vixen straightened up to look at him. Fox tried to hide the backpack on his shoulders, keeping his front facing her and taking his hands off the straps—but there was no way he could conceal his old clothes from her.

Already Krystal looked heartbroken and confused. 'What are you doing here?' she asked.

Fox clenched his teeth, knowing he was caught. He had hoped to slip out of the village unnoticed so he could spare both of them a painful goodbye. It was moments like this that made him fear getting attached to anyone. "I'm just… taking a walk," he lied. "I prefer wearing my old clothes—that's all."

Her face betrayed disappointment and hurt at his answer. He cringed, waiting for the inevitable moment he'd feel the tickling of her mind inside his head, reading the truth he concealed, but it never came.

She didn't have to.

Her fingers tightly wrung the handle they clutched. "Oh. Well…" She hesitantly lifted the basket for him to see, doing her best to speak Cornerian for him. "I-I cooked some food for you. Do you want to eat it? If you're going on a long walk, you'll need a full stomach."

Fox's brow lifted in surprise. "You… cooked a meal for me?"

She nodded. "I wanted to do something to return all the times you cooked for me. I wanted to give something back to you…"

He swallowed, feeling trapped and not knowing what to do. He didn't want to stay and break her heart when he finally revealed he had to leave… but he could see that was unavoidable. Looking at her now, it was easy to see the vixen had gone to so much trouble for him today, preparing a meal and running with it the entire length of the village to find him. He couldn't spoil this for her; not when she was so looking forward to it.

"…Alright. I guess I should eat something first."

Krystal betrayed a quick sigh of relief and a pleased smile, but quickly regained her composure. "Um, would you come back to the forest? The ground is softer for sitting on there."

Fox glanced over his shoulder at the beckoning pass; if he disappeared between the cliffs, Krystal likely knew she would never see him again, and his proximity to the point of no return made her visibly nervous.

"Sure, let's… let's sit together."

Fox followed Krystal back towards the woods, but rather than enter the forest again, he sat down on the very edge, leaving her no choice but to do so as well. In this way, they sat on the valley's border; Krystal inside, Fox without.

The vixen opened her basket and began taking out her food, though she was so anxious she awkwardly fumbled each dish. While carefully laying out his meal before him, she spoke. "I was worried about you, Fox. The old man said you'd been acting strange ever since you followed Namah to the garden."

The todd looked away, a vision of his mother in stone flashing in his mind.

"He said you rarely talked anymore; you just did your chores and went to sleep. When you weren't working, you were always going off by yourself to be alone. He said you skipped your meals, too; like I used to. You know if you keep doing that, you'll end up looking as thin as me—and that would be terrible!" she laughed awkwardly.

When Fox didn't even crack a smile, her unease worsened. She continued in silence, too paralyzed to say anything and risk making things worse.

Fox didn't need telepathy to know what she was doing; Krystal saw this as her last chance to make him stay. He noticed how she painstakingly arranged the food on the grass between them, pushing her best items forward while keeping the dishes she was least proud of at the back. He saw her eyes worriedly begin glancing over the food, noticing new imperfections now that she looked at the meal through Fox's critical lens: the vegetables were cut roughly, the fruits were peeled sloppily, and the fish was unevenly cooked; burned in some places, yet undercooked in others.

He could see tears welling in her eyes once she finished laying the meal out. It was her last chance, but this was the best she could come up with. It was so imperfect, so meager and insufficient. She knew he could see every mistake she'd made. Fox could tell from the despairing, anguished expression she was trying to mask on her face that she was sure she was failing…

Before he could even reach for a utensil, the first drops of tears escaped. "I'm sorry—it's horrible, isn't it?!"

"Krystal…"

She slapped her paws over her face, unable to look at her work. "I tried, I really did! I did my best. Māra helped me, but it was so hard to get right. I try and try, but I can't do anything right! Just go; just leave me like everyone—MMMFF!"

Fox dove over the food, snatching Krystal up and locking his lips against hers. She struggled, flailing her arms and trying to pull away in shock, but he wouldn't let her. He pinned her to his torso, holding her tight—fearing she too might turn to stone if he let go. He couldn't bear to see her cry even one more time, and this was the only way he knew how to show her it was alright—but at the same time, there was an undeniable hunger he felt in his arms and lips; a selfish longing for someone else's warmth that he couldn't restrain himself from acting on. He was just too desperate for this.

Eventually, Krystal quit fighting him, letting her arms fall to her sides. She didn't know how to react, nor what to do in this situation. She held still at first, letting him have his way with her lips as she stared at his face with wide eyes. Timidly she peeked into his mind, finding a raging hunger there—not for the food, but for her.

If this will make him stay…

Remembering their dance, and what Fox had instructed her to do, she snaked her arms around his neck and likewise closed her eyes. She held tightly onto his shoulders, afraid he'd leave if she let go.

'Fox… why? Why are you going? Why are you leaving me?'

He felt her warm tears smearing from her cheeks to his, but he didn't break their kiss. 'I only came here to return you to your people, and to see that you were safe. Now that you can live free with your new family, I've completed my mission; there's no point in me staying.'

She readjusted her lips against his, not understanding why she enjoyed the contact so much. 'But this is supposed to be your new home, too.' He felt her desperately tightening her arms around him.

'I don't belong on Cerinia, or in this village. No one here is anything like me. This is your world; not mine. You don't fit in my world, and I don't fit in yours. We're just… different.'

Their lips parted, but neither broke off the hug, instead burying their heads in each other's necks.

'Fox, I don't want to force you to stay; I know what it's like to be kept somewhere terrible against your will, and I don't want to put you through the same thing. It's selfish of me to want you to stay when it hurts you so much, but… I can't help it! I just know that I want you here.' She shook her head, at a loss. 'I don't understand any of this, or these feelings I have, but when I knew you were leaving, it hurt worse than anything I've ever suffered before—because it hurt here,' she finished, clutching her heart. 'You don't even lay a finger on me; you don't try to hurt me, yet you can make me feel pain in places they've never reached before. Why… why does your leaving hurt me so much more?'

'I'm sorry Krystal, I knew it would hurt; that's why I tried to leave without saying goodbye. This… this hurts me too. But I have to.'

She sniffed into his shoulder. 'But… what about Vixy?'

'She's dead, Krystal. She died here, years before we arrived. I paid my respects at her real resting place like I've always wanted to. I have all the answers I came for. There's nothing else I need; I can leave now.'

'But she's not dead!'

Suddenly Krystal pushed off him, sitting up straight and revealing her tear-soaked face. She tapped her head. 'She's still alive—in here. What about all those memories I have of her? I haven't had the time to show them to you yet; don't you want to see them?! There's so much more you could learn about her!'

Fox froze for a second, remembering the few glimpses of his mother Krystal had given him aboard the Great Fox. She was right; when she let him into her memories, it was like seeing his mother alive again, realer than any photograph, video, or holographic reconstruction. He thought finally paying his respects would allow him to move on and forget about his mother, but knowing there were still moments he could experience with her…

Krystal's hands found their way into his, wringing his paws in her fingers. 'Why, Fox? Why do the only people I love always leave me? Why won't they just stay?'

'Krystal—'

"Please don't leave!" she blurted aloud.

He blinked, surprised to hear her voice again.

Krystal closed her eyes and bowed her head, repeatedly begging those same words. "Please don't leave me. Please, please don't leave me. Please don't leave…"

Fox couldn't believe it; he was shocked that anyone could care about him this much—or that he could care about someone to this extent, too. He didn't think he had it in him: the power to love, nor the worth to be loved. She wasn't using him for herself. If all she wanted out of him was a tool to bring her home, she would have no further use for him now: no reason to make him stay. Yet here she was, trying her damnedest to, as if she really, truly…

Making up his mind, Fox reached out and gingerly cupped her wet cheek in his hand. Gently, he raised her face till she could see him. "Krystal… how could anyone ever leave you?"

She choked out a sob, touched by his words. "You… you mean you're… you're not going to—?!"

He smiled and nodded, brushing her cheek with his finger. "I'll stay."

"Do you mean that? You'll never leave?!"

"Not unless it's with you."

As if his words weren't enough, Krystal leaned forward, verifying for herself when he caught her in his arms and hugged her again. 'Thank you, Fox. I'll-I'll try my best to make Altaira feel like home to you, too.'

They shared the embrace for some time, both physically and mentally—long enough for Krystal to reassure herself he truly didn't want to leave. Then they separated, with the vixen picking up the food Fox spilled when he first dove for her and scooping it back onto the plates. Still sniffling from the ordeal, she began putting the dishes back into their basket—only for Fox to catch her wrist.

"Wait, I… I want to eat that."

Her eyes widened. "But… it's all horrible! It's blackened and raw and-and—"

He took the plate from her hands and set it in his lap. "Hey, how bad can it be? I think it looks alright."

"Well, okay… but please, don't force yourself to eat it if you don't want to."

He met her eyes, spearing a forkful of vegetables. "I want to."

She glanced down at his belly. "But, your stomach doesn't want to. It feels sick, and anxious. It's stuffed full of… emptiness."

"Well, my stomach might not want it—but I do."

Without another word, Fox raised the forkful to his mouth. Krystal scooted away, giving Fox space to eat his meal. She hugged her knees and anxiously watched his face for his reaction to the food, already flinching at the outcome she suspected. But when Fox plopped the vegetable into his mouth and chewed a bit, he smiled—even through the hard crunch and the remains of the peeling.

"Not bad! I've never cooked squash by hand like this—or, whatever it is. For your first time cooking ever, I'd say this is pretty solid."

Krystal's eyebrows lifted, and her tail began to wag as he ate more, sampling each of the dishes she'd prepared and washing them down with juicy fruit. "Th-thanks. I'm glad you like it, but I wouldn't have been able to make it without Māra. She's teaching me how to cook; it's one of the ways I plan to help out in the village, so I can do my part."

Fox frowned, taking another charred—but flavorful—bite of her fish. "I'm not sure what they expect me to do. I want to stay and help, but… I'm not sure they'll have anything for me. I don't think I fit in."

Suddenly Krystal's ears perked, hearing rustling behind her. She craned her neck around, and Fox peered over her shoulder as well, identifying a pair of cloaked Kaitaki sprinting up the forest path. When they noticed the two foxes sitting on the edge of the forest, they slowed to a stop, chests heaving from exertion, but appearing relieved.

Fox popped a yellow grape into his mouth. 'I see we're still being watched.'

'Those are the Kaitaki; they insisted on following me when I brought you the food. But when I realized you'd left the old man's hut, I sprinted all the way here.' She giggled quietly. 'I guess they couldn't keep up with me…'

But as she continued to hear Fox's chewing noises behind her, Krystal's gaze lingered on the cloaked Cerinians, getting an idea. 'Fox… you're a warrior, aren't you?'

'You could say that.'

'Well, they need warriors like you to protect the village. If this is to be our home, could you keep it safe for us? Like you always kept me safe?'

Fox stopped chewing, thinking over her suggestion. He didn't know what use he'd be to a race of psychic foxes, but he could certainly try. At once he resumed eating, stuffing his face with the rest of Krystal's food regardless of his stomach aching in protest.

The vixen looked surprised once again by his ravenousness. 'Um, what are you doing?'

Fox grinned, throwing himself at the last of the food. 'Finishing my meal. If I'm going to protect this village for us, I better grow stronger…' He looked up at her. 'And I'm going to need your food to do it!'

ㅤ⦼ㅤ

Once Pukes finished catching them up-to-date on her findings, Falco stepped out into a back alley for a smoke—and to make a call. He tapped Peppy's icon on his PDU and waited a few moments for the hare to answer. It took a few buzzes, but eventually he picked up.

"Falco! Good to hear from you. How're things on Zoness?"

He blew out a puff of smoke. "As good as could be expected. But I don't really wanna talk about this shithole right now…"

Falco filled Peppy in on Pukes' findings, and the rabbit mhmm-ed along.

"Well, that confirms my suspicions. Krystal lysergic acid is the chemical Andross used to awaken Cerinians' psychic abilities. I suggest you get rid of the stuff—and fast!There's no telling what effects it might have on normal Lylatians, so best stay away from it."

Falco considered telling him about the experience he'd with the drug, but thought better of it. Of course an old-timer like Peppy wouldn't understand…

"Don't worry Pep, I'm planning on it. Anything else I can do for ya, gramps?"

"Hmm… Not at the moment. Just lie low and keep yourself safe—but thanks for looking into this for me. I'm still investigatin' some other matters with Slippy. He managed to secure a job at Dawson McLean, which means he'll be contracted out to the Cornerian Security Agency."

"Ha, I knew Slippy could land the job."

"I'm sorry there's not much you can do for me right now, Falco, but I'll keep you posted."

"Sure thing."

"Again, thanks for filling me in. I'll be sure to call you every week to check in."

Falco caught him before he hung up. "Hey wait; there's one more thing, gramps."

"Yeah?"

Falco lowered his voice. "That friend of mine who analyzed the drug? I had her check Fox's meds as well."

"He needed those wherever he's going," Peppy sighed, sounding worried. "Well? Anything noteworthy?"

"Yeah. They had the usual components you'd expect for treating migraines and PTSD, except for one unusual ingredient:

"They had KLA, Peppy."