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Mission No. 41
Zoness
District 13
"Free Birds"
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Falco lay across the backseat of the raised car in Katt's garage, still using it as his makeshift bed. He lay flat on his back, legs dangling out the door and arms folded under his head as he stared up through the moonroof. From here he had a good view through the skylight at the heavens above, sometimes able to spot the stars and refugee ships twinkling between the thick clouds.
Shit… what do you do now, Falco?
Fox was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Slippy was infiltrating Cornerian security, and Peppy was tight-lipped about what he was doing. They'd all gone off in different directions. Star Fox was simply no more; he had to accept that.
It felt like there was nothing left for him here, either. He'd found out what he needed to; he'd completed his mission for Peppy. What was left for him in 13? Grimmer had taken over; there was no fighting him. All his old friends had split up and gone their separate ways as well. Worst of all, even Katt had moved on and ran to Grimmer when he left.
He usually liked having the freedom to do whatever he wanted. He enjoyed not being weighed down and obligated to do things. But now that freedom felt overwhelming. He didn't know what to do, or where to go, or who to help.
Absently, he lifted up the vial Pukes had returned to him. What remained of the milky, iridescent liquid inside caught the glimmering light of the stars as it sloshed around. In a way, it was all he had left of Star Fox—and all he had left of Katt, now that he couldn't even work up the courage to talk to her.
After taking a few purposeful breaths, he popped off the cap and downed the rest of the vial. It was sickly sweet and rather briny like he remembered, but not too unpleasant on the way down.
Closing his eyes and lying back, he waited for the unique blend of chemicals to take effect.
It didn't take long till he felt lightheaded, coming untethered from his body like a balloon that had been cut free. His stomach felt like the raised car had fallen out from under him. But after that initial, awkward transition, the lightness felt soothing.
It was funny, he realized as he pocketed the vial; maybe he shouldn't judge Katt for how she sought escape. They were both just finding ways to cope. Were they really that different?
He concentrated, trying to snuff out his own voice in his head to make room for those of others. He heard quiet whispers at the edges of his reach; people up for late night snacks and smokes, and a myriad of conflicting emotions coming from their dreams. But the most powerful of all originated from right here in Katt's shop, and they were only halfway between dream and reality. There was something comforting about those thoughts: familiar and heartwarming, like they were reliving old memories. But it didn't make them any less fake.
Curious, Falco sat up. He could hear whispers in the corners of his mind and feel ripples of emotions coming from elsewhere in the garage. He lowered himself from the car and dropped to the ground, taking great pains to be quiet.
Eventually, as he crept through the shop, he found himself drawn to Katt's room. The comforting thoughts that emanated from within were oppressive and suffocating: a sickly, sweet sedative to his mind.
He knew he shouldn't be doing this. She'd warned him not to. He'd only gotten burned the last time he gave in and peeked. But he couldn't turn away.
"…Katt?"
He walked into her room, flipping the light on. The covers were turned down from her bed, and she wasn't anywhere to be found—but the door to her bathroom was cracked open.
Swallowing ice down his throat, Falco padded to the bathroom and pushed the door the rest of the way open. His heart sank when he saw her.
The pink-furred feline lay in her empty bathtub, for once wearing a t-shirt rather than something with long sleeves. Her eyes were closed; her head tilted back as her mouth lolled open in faint bliss. Somehow, rose-tinted images of Zoness before its defiling drifted to him: orphanage classrooms, playgrounds filled with friends, clean streets; but everything was murky and viewed from Katt's eyes. An empty syringe lay at her feet, but a box of many more sat outside the tub: the gift from Grimmer.
"Katt!"
Her ear twitched, and she slowly let her head slump down to face him. Her eyes opened, looking red and bloodshot as they flinched at the light. "…F-Falco?" she rasped, struggling to focus on him. "You… look… older now."
He flew into the bathroom and dropped to his knees next to the tub. "Hey, hey, you okay?"
She smiled dopily, but the skin beneath her cheeks burned. "You… shouldn't… be here…"
Falco checked over her; her breathing was slow and faint, and when he took her limp wrist in hand, her pulse beat slowly.
"Shit… you're gonna be alright, but don't ever take this much again. You promise?!"
Katt slurred a response, but Falco couldn't hear it. He helped her stand with some difficulty; her limbs felt like jello. She stumbled over the side of the tub when she stepped over it, and Falco had to catch her.
She swayed in place for a second, clutching her head. "D-dizzy…" She lay another hand on her stomach and bent over slowly. "Urgh…"
"Katt, you feel alright?" he asked. "Katt?"
The feline fell on her knees in front of the toilet, vomiting. Falco knelt beside her, holding her up as she clung to the rim. Eventually she groaned and curled up on the floor, lying on the soft rug as the world must've spun around her. She clutched her stomach and continued to groan.
Now that he could see her "scales" under the bright bathroom light, the area of skin seemed much larger; or maybe it really had spread. Well, she was definitely lying about the scales being old; she just used that as a cover story after he caught her about to shoot up in the junkyard.
Falco knelt over her for a moment, watching rather coldly as she lay in a pathetic heap. Well, she'd gotten herself into this mess; her efforts to cling to the past were destroying her. She had no one to blame but herself—yet a guilty part of him screamed that this was all his fault.
"Falco?" she moaned. "Are you still there?"
He swallowed. "Yeah Katt, I am—"
"Then you should… you should go. I… I didn't want you… to see me… like this. D-don't look at me…"
A lump started to form in his throat. He shut the lights off over the mirror and replaced them with a dull nightlight instead, letting Katt rest her eyes and… hide from him in the darkness. He poured a cup of water and knelt beside her again, helping her drink it. "Here."
When she swallowed the first cup, she sighed. "Please… go…"
He snorted and began to brush his fingers through her hair. "What, you gonna make me in that condition?"
Her feline eyes descended to the rug, too ashamed to meet his. "Heh… guess not."
Falco pulled her head onto his lap, continuing to stroke her hair as she came down from her high. She'd nearly overdosed, but there wasn't much he could do besides keeping her hydrated and comforting her.
He wet his beak. "Katt, I want you to kick Allusion. You can't keep relying on it like this. And… I think you should stop seeing Grimmer, too."
Her eyes slowly widened. "You… know?"
"Yeah."
She sniffed. "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to find out; I didn't want to hurt you! You must hate me now, for what I've done. But, but I warned you! You promised not to look into my business. You promised not to pry or get into trouble—"
"I know, but have you ever known me to keep a promise? I was worried about you. I don't like how he's controlling you like this. I don't like how he… makes you do things for him!"
Katt grimaced and shook her head on his lap. "No… no, I need him! He's always there for me. And I'm protecting the shop this way… and our friends… and you, Falco! I'm… protecting you. We have peace this way. He just wants me."
"This isn't any way to live! I didn't mean to leave you here, all alone with him. I promise, I'll help you kick Allusion—and Grimmer!"
She snorted a little, regaining more of her faculties. "Like that'll ever happen…"
He licked his beak. "Look, we can, we can…" He remembered seeing Fox and Krystal together for the first time. "We can run away! I still have my Arwing. I'll get you out of here—and Kitt, too!"
"You're so silly… Even if we escaped Grimmer, I can't live without Allusion; I'd break and go crazy. I'll die without the past, Falco."
Falco's mind raced for a minute, his hand pausing its strokes. Eventually, he grabbed her shoulder. "Then, what if I could bring the past back?"
Katt blinked, struggling to push herself up on her elbows. "Huh?"
"I mean it. I'll bring the Free Birds back: Mouser and Bowser and Shani and every last one of them. We'll ride against Grimmer like old times, until we've driven him out! And if that's not enough, I'll put the North End back the way it was for you. I'll fix District 13, Zoness… hell, I'll fix the whole fucking system till it's back the way you remember. And then you won't have to take Allusion to remember the past; I'll bring it right to you. I'll just make it the present again!"
Katt fell into his arms, laughing weakly. "You always promised me the moon when we were young. I know I shouldn't believe you, after all the times you disappointed me, but… I can't stop wanting to believe. But how? How can you fix 13, or even just Grimmer?"
He held her tight. "I think I know the way…"
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Bill stooped over the sink in his cabin's bathroom, thoroughly washing his hands. His paws were sopping wet, the fur soaked through and matted down. He squeezed out a dollop of pink soap, lathering it up and spreading it across his hands till they were covered in foam. Once they were saturated, he painstakingly washed the suds back out and soaked them again. Rinse and repeat—literally—again-and-again. It was something Fox and his other classmates teased him for at the Academy. There was no such thing as being too clean, he told himself—but no matter how hard he scrubbed today, he still felt… dirty.
As he stared down at his paws beneath the running stream of water, they reminded him of all his shortcomings:
These were the hands that hesitated to pull the trigger and shoot Fox when he escaped Venom.
These hands failed to catch Falco's Arwing when he effortlessly flew loops around him.
These hands let Fox slip through his fingers and into the great unknown, perhaps never to be seen again.
Now adding to that growing pile was the embarrassment he suffered while storming the (very-much empty) Great Fox. But the simple act of washing felt like cleansing himself of all those failures: of making things right. It became his ritual in recent days—but when he judged he'd used more than his fair share of water, he finally turned the faucet off and dried his hands.
Next he went about his cabin obsessively making sure everything was perfect. He straightened the framed photographs on his shelves, as well as the displays of medals and other memorabilia he'd accrued over the years. He still couldn't shake the feeling that decoupling from the gate and traveling through the portal had caused every item to shift slightly out of place, no matter how imperceptible—which was why he rearranged each and every one till their configuration seemed just right.
It was the second time he'd done so that day alone.
Act like your officers are always watching you, he believed, and you'll always be up to standard. He could practically feel the general's paternal gaze on the back of his neck, and he took pride in the fact that, if Pepper surprised him with an inspection at any moment, he would be ready for it.
…Even though Pepper was ten light years away, and he was the highest ranking officer on the ship…
Just when he stepped back to admire his handiwork, the cabin door buzzed. Strange, he thought, that no one's voice came over the intercom. He walked over to the door and slid it open, revealing his Cerinian prisoner and Dr. Makepeace. The presence of the two vixens surprised him.
"Oh… Dr. Makepeace. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Makepeace nodded to the girl in front of her. "Cerinian 19 intimated to me that she wanted to see you again."
Bill cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing at 19. Her long, silver hair covered one of her eyes, while the other couldn't meet his; it kept flicking around, never looking up. As far as he knew, she couldn't understand the words of their conversation, though her ears twitched at the sound of her name—well, her number.
"I'm sorry, it's against regulations for a…" Prisoner? No. "…a research subject to visit an officer in his private quarters. Shouldn't she be safely in her…?" But he trailed off again because he didn't like the word "cell" either.
"I assure you she is quite harmless. Her cell's purpose is strictly for observation—and her own protection. It is important that we analyze 19's social interactions as well, so this chance presents us with quite the opportunity."
"Regardless, it is still in violation of—"
"The general permitted it," Makepeace interrupted. Bill searched her expression, but her face remained blank, betraying nothing of her honesty or intent. "He has pre-approved contact between you, as detailed in my orders—or would you like me to pull them up for you?"
Bill quickly shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I guess if it's alright with him…" He stepped to the side, allowing 19 to enter his room.
"Please take good care of her. Summon me or one of my associates on the off-chance that trouble does arise—however unlikely. I will escort her back to her holding cell when she is ready to leave."
"…You're not coming in too?"
The scientist smiled but remained outside. "But of course not; my presence would influence the outcome. Please report any of your findings after the termination of her visit."
"Yes ma'am," Bill sighed.
Makepeace took one last look at 19 before pivoting on her heel and marching off down the hall. Bill closed the door, unsure of what to make of the situation. When he turned, he found Number 19 standing in the center of the room, head bowed so that her hair remained draped over her face—though her lone visible eye glanced about his humble abode curiously.
For a moment Bill studied her, chewing on the fact that Pepper directly specified she was to be allowed to visit him. Then he thought back to the moment he inquired about 19's fate after the mission concluded. Pepper had offered to transfer 19 into his charge if he was successful in finding 28. He also remembered the general's last words to him in the orbital gate's docking bay, after he'd tossed him the keys to the Justice.
"She's all yours…"
She…
Bill shook his head. Maybe this was all some cruel twist of fate; that 19, the defective Cerinian, had ended up in his charge instead of 28. When he stumbled upon the Cerinians on the day of Venom's fall, he felt like he'd found Lylat's savior. After seeing firsthand the horrible state the system was in, he dedicated himself to the Cerinia Project and the Venomian Containment and Reclamation Program—but from a stroke of dramatic irony, he'd been left with a near-lobotomized version of their promised savior: an impotent, barren messiah. It felt like a joke played on him by whatever god lived out there in the void, who by now was laughing at him.
Secretly, he despised being burdened with 19… yet, he pitied her.
Why had Pepper given her to him? As a sick reminder of his own failures? As a prize for at least keeping her safe? As a promise of future rewards to come if he finished the mission?
Then he blinked and realized several seconds had passed since they'd been left alone together, and neither had said anything. Remembering to activate the translator app on his wrist unit, Bill worked up the courage to speak.
"So, do you… like my room?"
"Mhm," she affirmed, still looking around. "It is quite nice." Then to Bill's chagrin, she began touring his dressers and shelves, examining and touching all of the items displayed there—anything to avoid meeting his gaze. Bill made a mental note to reorganize and clean everything again once she was gone.
19 was especially intrigued by the array of combat gear he'd organized on one of the shelves; she unsheathed his tactical knife and studied it, running her finger curiously against the blade. Bill worried she might nick herself on it—but the other part of him tensed and wondered if she might use it against him.
"It's a lot more interesting than mine," she continued, placing the knife down and moving on. "You have a lot more… things to play with, in your cage."
Bill shifted on his feet. "Well, it's not a cage. These are my quarters, you see."
19 picked up a framed photograph from his dresser. He bristled; it was his only photo of Lieutenant Russet Casse.
"It's not a cage?" she asked. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. What makes them different?"
"Well, for starters, I can come and go as I please."
"But this is still the box they gave to you and told you to stay in. These four walls keep you in. This room is your entire world."
"I… guess so, but I agreed to stay in here. I want to stay in here."
She set the photo down carelessly. "So, if I wanted to stay in my cage, it would be called my quarters instead?"
"Yes, I think so," Bill said, trying to follow her logic. "But you don't like your room, I take it?"
"No, which is why I asked to come to your cage."
Bill felt exasperated that they had come full circle again. "I see…" Then, as she studied more of his possessions, Bill's focus alighted on the restraining collar around her neck. She really wasn't free at all, even if she were permitted to walk about the ship as she pleased; they still had her on a leash. She was still his prisoner—but the more he thought about it…
Suddenly the four walls boxing him in eerily reminded Bill of 19's own cell.
As the bulldog silently brooded, the curious Cerinian wandered into his bathroom. She turned on the sink faucet and shower knob sequentially, running water from each. Her actions irritated Bill like tiny paper cuts; he couldn't help but imagine her leaving invisible, contaminated paw prints across the stainless steel surfaces she touched.
"Um, was there any reason in particular you asked to see me?"
For a few seconds 19 ignored him. She held her hand under the shower's stream, entranced by the clear liquid that fell in crystalline rivulets and splashed off her palm. She turned the knob as hot as it would go, only slightly recoiling her hand when it reached maximum heat and steam began to rise. Then she twisted the faucets off and wiped her paw on her clothes, returning to Bill.
"Thank you," she began for the first time in halting, accented Cornerian, "for sparing me and making me clean again.
"I'll do anything I can to help you find 28."
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The next morning was a bright, clear day in District 13 when Falco arrived at the Free Birds' old haunt. The concrete bridge spanned a canal running across the North End—at least, it used to. It had been demolished sometime during the war, whether intentionally or not. Now the majority of it lay in giant chunks across the canal, but part of the remaining bridge still created an overhang on the near side, under which the Free Birds used to meet. The area surrounding it wasn't much better; while the streets had been mostly cleared, all the buildings still lay in ruins, if there were any two bricks left stacked at all.
Falco had to climb over a sea of cement rubble to even reach the bridge. When he arrived at the ditch beneath the overhang, however, his toil proved worth it. He stood on the edge, surveying everyone who'd shown up with a sense of pride. Of course there were Kitt and Pukes there, but three of his other friends had turned up as well.
Sitting on a steel girder was Mouser: a scraggly-looking rat who appeared to have seen more than his fair share of explosive mishaps. The hair on the top of his head was shriveled and singed black, resembling a forest destroyed in a carpet bombing. His gray-furred face was covered in black soot save for a clean patch around his eyes where his red goggles normally rested. The rat also wore a matching bright red shirt and oversized leather jacket that made him look bigger than he really was.
Sharing the girder—but taking up much more of it—was Bowser: a beast of a crocodile who could grind nearly anyone that crossed him to a pulp. He needed muscles of that caliber to handle the weapons he and his friend sold (and on very-very rare occasions, operated). Of course a street gang wasn't the place for such weapons, and he mostly traded them on the black market, but his toys were still fun to have around and proved useful as a deterrent. Long brown dreadlocks hung like willow leaves from beneath his cap and goggles, and a weathered aviator jacket made his shoulders look even bulkier. He and Mouser were best of friends, with the croc often looking out for the little guy during operations.
Their third and latest member was Shani, the Titanian wild dog sitting on a fallen concrete pillar beside them. Her fur was a mix of black, brown, and white patches, and half her head was shaved, leaving only one side covered in a mop of spiky orange hair. She always looked like she'd come from a war zone on some far-off desert planet, dressed lightly in a crop top with a bare midriff, as well as combat boots, an empty gun belt, and a bandolier that bristled with sparkling (but no less useless) bullets. A silver nose ring completed her fierce look—a look she immediately betrayed while guffawing and slapping her hand on her knee at the stories Mouser and Bowser were telling.
It brought a smile to Falco's face to see the five of them together again. It sent him back three years earlier to when everything was going well for their little band of marauders—but their numbers still weren't complete. Katt was still absent. And why wouldn't she be? Considering how close she was to Grimmer now, she couldn't afford to be a part of this.
When the others noticed his presence, they shot to their feet.
"Falco!" Bowser bellowed. "Is really you!" The Venomian croc lumbered over to him and gripped him in a tight bear hug, which the avian returned warmly.
He stepped aside to reveal Mouser, who was maybe a third of his height. The rat shook Falco's hand emphatically. When he spoke, it sounded like his voice was filtered through a carbon-coated diaphragm—and then a cheese grater. "So da war hero came back, huh? Got tired of makin' speeches and wearin' fancy laurels?"
"You know I never gave a speech in my life, Mouser."
The rat shrugged. "Eh, I wouldn't know. Ain't got a holovision."
Shani clapped Falco heartily on the back, nearly knocking the wind out of him. "The crowds would only get a load of hot-air anyway!" Then she smiled and hugged him. "I thought you were gone forever, Falco. Then when I heard your name on a broadcast about Star Fox, and that you were leading the Cornerian offensive, I couldn't believe my ears!"
"Is right!" Bowser crossed his arms and nodded his head. "Our very own Falco Lombardi, saving world. Does not get crazier than that!"
At first Falco laughed along with them, but he still couldn't overcome that lingering feeling of guilt he had. It was time to address the elephant in the room.
He paused to ruffle the back of his head feathers. "Say guys, I wanted to apologize for ditching you all like that. It wasn't my proudest of moments—'fact it was probably the worst thing I've done in my life. Now, I'm not looking for your forgiveness or anything, and I'm not asking you to forget; I just want you to hear me out."
As he spoke, the former members of the Free Birds sat back down, their expressions turning serious.
Bowser scratched his chin, thinking over Falco's words. "Look, Falco, I am understanding your choice was tough. Grimmer got best of us. He smashed you and bike like puny fleas. Our future as gang was… up in air. We had fractures. Disagreements. You thought you failed us, so… you left." He shrugged. "As I said, was no easy choice."
Falco smirked at the crocodile. "Thanks, but that doesn't excuse it. Instead of sticking with the team, I jumped ship and ran. No leader should do that. I should've stuck it out with you no matter what happened. I… learned a little something from a friend of mine: one I truly admire. I just wanted to say… I'm sorry."
Shani grinned, revealing a missing tooth. "You know with you being back and all, I thought this day couldn't possibly get any more bizarre. But now the great Falco Lombardi is apologizing for the first time in his life? Who are you, and what have you done with Falco?!"
"You on da level?" Mouser asked.
"Honest," the avian said with a straight face. "After being with Star Fox for two years, and then watching from the sidelines as my new team fell apart, I know how you guys must've felt. I let you all down as a leader, and I failed you as a friend. So I wanted to come back and make things right."
Bowser, Mouser, and Shani all glanced at each other, but Pukes and Kitt knew exactly what he was up to. Falco made eye contact with each of them, drawing out the pause for dramatic effect.
"I want to reform the Free Birds."
For a moment he was met with stunned silence. Kitt looked like he could barely contain his excitement, while it was much harder to read the other members.
"I… I'd love ta get the gang back together like old times," Mouser said, "but, well…"
Shani scratched her neck awkwardly. "What Mouser's trying to say is, we all have jobs now. We can't just drop everything to follow you again."
Bowser leaned forward in his seat. "Falco… you are being serious about decision? You won't fly off to be mercenary again?"
Falco crossed his wings, nodding. "Look, I know it might be hard to trust me again, but I've fully committed to this. To prove how serious I am, I've already found a buyer for my Arwing. That should give us enough cash to restart operations, and you can take it as a sign I won't be flying the coop again any time soon. I'm convinced there's a war going on, but right now fighters and guns won't be of any help. At least, not for a while."
Kitt's eyes widened. "You're… you're really selling your Arwing?"
"Yep. I mean business, kid. I'm willing to hang up my wings for you." He looked around. "So, who's with me? I know you all got jobs since I've been gone, and I understand if you don't want to risk them for this."
Bowser shrugged. "Well… who says we must give up jobs?" He threw a friendly arm around Mouser. "You need someone with black market connections. Now might have use for weapons we sell."
Shani stared at Falco blankly when he turned to her. "What? You think I'd rather be a wharf guard than tearing up the streets with you all? Lame."
"You can count me in too, Falco!" Kitt exclaimed.
Pukes nodded as well, giving her best sleepy smile. "As long as you bring me supplies, I'll cook for you—but you'll still never get me on one of those motorized contraptions of doom."
"Even if it's a puke-green bike?" Shani prodded.
"Even if it's a pretty-green bike!"
"But Falco," Bowser cut in, "where is pretty-furred cat friend?"
Falco exchanged glances with Pukes. "She… won't be joining us. She has the shop to think about, and… she doesn't want to stir up shit with Grimmer. She's gone straight, and we need to respect that."
The others sighed or mumbled in displeasure.
"That… just leaves us with six," Shani said.
"Yeah uh, Falco Boss, I don't mean to be a downer, but while you were gone prancin' about da universe, Grimmer and his crew got busy. Without us to check 'em, da North End fell completely under their control—and there are rumors they have da blessin' of da Black Dragonfish! If wese went up against them now, they'd trounce us!"
"You're right—which is why we have to lie low for as long as we can. Grimmer knows I'm back, so his goons will be keeping an eye on us. Best not to meet up in our full numbers too often."
"Then how are we ever gonna reclaim our turf?" Mouser asked.
"Simple. Grimmer's built his little empire on Allusion. But we have a better product."
He nodded to Pukes, who reached beneath her seat and pulled out a single tube of pale, purple liquid. She set it upright on the table, allowing Kitt, Shani, Bowser, and Mouser to all get a good look at it.
"Hey, Falco," Shani exclaimed, eyes wide as she studied the vial, "you got some rare-looking stuff on your hands. But… what is it?"
"Corruption," Falco proudly stated. "At least, that's what we're gonna call it."
The others looked back at Pukes while Mouser asked, "You made this?"
She nodded. "This is just a sample of my homebrew. Falco has fifteen liters of krystal lysergic acid already, but I managed to analyze and synthesize it myself. Once our initial supply runs out, I can indefinitely create more."
"By selling this," Falco continued, "we can reestablish our hold over much of the North End. It's like nothing else you'll find on the streets or in the underground. The money we make from running it will be put towards our own resources: hired hands, weapons, machine parts, bribes for the local Bureau, and a new bike for yours truly! I ain't gonna have you face Grimmer alone when the time comes."
"But Falco," Shani warned him, "if we're going up against Grimmer, we have to go all-in. There is no half way. They're not just kids with bikes and baseball bats anymore; they've started packing heat. Once we make our intentions known, it'll be an all-out war in the North End."
"Right. We are going all-in. And by the time he realizes what's going on, it'll be too late to stop our momentum. They might carry weapons around, but unlike some of us, I bet those punks haven't even used 'em. They're just kids, Shani—we're mercenaries. Besides, if there's any shooting, the Bureau won't stand for it. Grimmer may be in charge of the North End, but he knows better than to get the police involved."
"Alright," Shani said, "sounds like you have a plan this time." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "What do you need us to do?"
Falco and the others likewise leaned in, huddling over the table. The avian glanced at each of them in turn as he spoke.
"Like I said, Grimmer will be watching us. The most important thing to do is lie low and keep contact to a minimum. Mouser, Bowser: you two can sell the stuff in the underground while running your weapons business as a front."
Mouser cackled and slapped his knee. "Now there's a first for ya: using gun-runnin' as a cover!"
"I'll sell some too, under the guise that I'm just visiting old friends. Shani: you can rep us down at the docks. Kitt, since you make deliveries from the wharf, you can easily smuggle messages for us or even product. If we get enough people interested, they can spread the word and widen our reach. Then at night while we're off work, we'll each take shifts buying ingredients and gathering 'shrooms."
Bowser went to clean his ear. "Sorry Falco, I don't think I am hearing you correctly. Did you say, 'shrooms?'"
It was Pukes' turn to speak, spreading out some documents on the rubble-strewn ground. "Psilocybe crystallinus: the new fungus used to clean toxins from the seaside and sewers. It's the central ingredient in Corruption. Harvesting them won't be pleasant; they're only deployed in the filthiest of places, so we'll have to scrounge around in sewers and tide pools to gather them. Then I'll clean them and coax out the active chemicals."
Shani nodded in agreement. "You know, this could finally be our ticket up in the world. And once we get you a new bike, some extra hands, and enough influence in the North End, we'll take back to the streets, right?"
Falco smirked. "Oh believe me, I ain't staying under a rock for the rest of my life. This bird was born to fly." He ground a fist into his palm while staring out over the sky—as if he could see through the buildings. "And I've got some getting-even to do with a slimy iguana…"
"You'll need a place to meet, of course," a familiar voice said from behind Falco.
The avian spun around, and everyone turned to look; there was Katt, standing at the top of the ditch.
"Katt! You came!"
The feline looked down sheepishly, hands in her pockets as she nimbly slid into the ditch with them. "I… overheard a lot. If you're going to start up the Free Birds again, you'll need some suitable headquarters, and a place to fix your bikes. Well, the doors to Pietro's shop are open."
The underside of the bridge erupted in cheers and whoops: Mouser applauded, Bowser thumped his chest, and Shani raised her fist in the air. "Now you're talking!" she said.
"But Katt," Falco said, lowering his voice. "You don't have to do that. What about Grimmer?"
"What about him?" She folded her arms, though her sleeve obscured the crook of her elbow. "Of course I'd… rather stay on his good side. But as long as you keep my involvement a secret, and are careful when you hang out at the shop, he won't bother me." She looked up at Falco. "Besides, how could I turn away my friends?"
Falco smiled back at her, a tear forming in his eye. "Gee, Katt…"
She took his hands in hers. "But… you're sure about this, Falco? Is this what you want? If you sell this stuff, you'll have both the Bureau and all your old enemies gunning for you. Above all else I… I want you to stay safe. I'd hate to lose you again so soon after you came back to me…"
Falco squeezed her hands. "I know, but I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this for everyone. I know something's coming, Katt. It's bigger than you, or me, or the Free Birds, or Grimmer. It may even be as big as the Lylat Wars. I don't know what it is…" He clenched his fist. "But I know for damn sure I won't be wallowing in the muck, scrapping for machine parts when it hits—nor will I be some self-obsessed flyboy. Star Fox was an easy way out for me; an easy way to make my mark on history. But now I'll have to make a change on my own, without them.
"And it all starts here…"
ㅤ⦼ㅤ
In an underground docking bay, an array of figures stood overlooking the rippling water: a dozen crewmen, half a dozen suited guards, a self-important boar in a white tuxedo, and a snow-furred cat too pretty to be stuck in a filthy chamber such as this. At least, that's what she thought to herself.
The only light in the bay came from the water in the lock, which painted the grimy walls and ceiling in rippling auroras of blues and greens. It was a better light than they deserved, for they festered with rust, algae, and overgrown barnacles.
While the entourage waited at the edge of the dock, the feline felt the boar's hand creep into the fluffy neckline of her expensive, cream-colored coat. But rather than bristle, she relaxed and forced a smile for him, tolerating his touch. After all, he'd bought her coat…
Thankfully, they didn't have to wait much longer. Warning lights flashed on all throughout the chamber, bathing the walls in red, while alarms blared in their ears. The figures watched as the waters below rippled and frothed, then erupted to reveal a black submarine tower rising from the sea. The beast's full hull broke the surface, and water spilled off her topside deck as mechanical arms locked her in place. A walkway extended to the submarine deck, and soon the sirens and warning lights ceased, returning the room to its usual cool blue.
The door in the sail tower opened, and out stepped a number of armed men, unaffiliated with any military in Lylat. A tall, gray-furred canid was last to duck out, though his face was covered in a hood. He lit a cigar and drew a long puff before blowing it out, adding the pungent stench of tobacco to the salt and must in the air.
"Ahhh… Oh how I missed being able to do that."
The boar standing next to the cat withdrew his hand from her neck and cleared his throat. "Welcome to District 13, my friend!"
Their guest nodded and flicked his cigar into the water, having taken no more than a few draughts. He set off down the gangplank, hobbling with some difficulty; the feline spied a glint of metal between the folds of his cloak, and each of his limping steps echoed throughout the silent chamber. Still, he brushed off any assistance from his crew, making the way down on his own.
Immediately behind him, a black, cloaked shadow slithered down in his wake—though unlike him, it was stooped and made completely inaudible footsteps. The chill seeping from him made the cat tighten her coat around her bare shoulders.
Once their guest reached the deck, the boar extended his hand, inadvertently revealing the inky head of a dragonfish tattooed on his wrist when the sleeve pulled back. The canid extended his own hand to accept the gesture, though the boar jumped when the appendage he shook turned out to be completely metal. He blinked, then recovered with a chuckle; as if he'd fallen for a party trick.
"Thank you, Satori, for letting me recuperate here. Nowhere in Lylat have I felt safer."
When he spoke, the feline thought his voice strong and aristocratic, yet weathered. He had a way of proudly carrying himself—even with his game leg—and his cloak seemed to hide a secret, imposing frame.
"Space Dynamics and Phoenix Corp united; why not people like us?" the boar said. "I have high hopes for the cooperation between the Black Dragonfish and the budding Syndicate."
"Likewise. And it's nice to finally meet the head of such an infamous organization in person." He jerked his head slightly towards the spectating feline, surprising her. "But I must ask, who is this… lovely woman in your company?" His voice suddenly dripped as smooth as black honey, revealing a surprising tenderness amidst all the gravel.
"Oh, I can introduce you to many fine entertainers like her at the club, but she's not just any consort; Nestra is my favorite—aren't you?"
Nestra peered beneath the hood, struck by his handsome features and beautiful, amethyst eye—but when he turned his head to face her, chills ran down her spine, for his other eye was missing just as his hand and leg.
"Nestra… a pretty name."
He extended his robotic hand again, and she offered her paw in return—though this time he bent down to kiss it, expelling any coldness from his metallic digits with the warmth of his lips. And, unlike her boss, she didn't flinch at his touch.
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance…" she purred, fearlessly staring into his glowing eye, "…Mr. O'Donnell."