Time.

Inevitable, horrifying and yet, so wonderfully majestic. The magic carpet that carries all those who live forward. A titan living deep in the veil of existence, its presence felt everywhere. In visual form, time is the bird you see flying through the air, landing on the branch of a dead tree outside your school window. Life and death, polar opposites, but co-existing like brother and sister. In audio form, time is the sound of your frantic heartbeat, while you're feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins when you stare down the less appealing end of a Takaya F93 Blaster held up to the bridge of your nose by your worst enemy. Time, life and death. The secret ingredients for the recipe that creates existence.

At some point in the past, I blinked a little too long and suddenly, nineteen years of my life flew by like The Great Fox cruising through the stars of the Lylat System. Life is short when you spend a good chunk of it in the dark, your eyes squeezed shut, only following the voices of those who tell you what to do and what to feel. At some point, however, the voices fade and you get stuck, alone, in the void. You only have one thing left to do when that happens.

Hello. My name is Chase.

I'd like to tell you the story of how my eyes were opened.

CORNERIAN WILD CARD

ACT I

Left My Heart In Corneria

It all starts a couple of weeks ago. Or...was it months? Years? It all blurs together when I think back to it. To make sense of it all, I have to put myself back in the shoes of a young man fresh out of high school, sitting in the living room of a tight, poor family home.

That strapping young jackal right there, resting on a ragged leather armchair, messy black hair and tired blue eyes, fur almost as brown as the coffee he had that morning.

"...Grandpa." Words leave his-or should I say, my mouth, "...Would you like to have anything? Some soup, maybe?" I say as I look up to the older jackal sitting before me.

Grandfather Jones. Oh, I do hate seeing him in such a state. Sitting there, catatonically looking toward me, or rather, past me, just to watch the grandfather clock that sits behind me.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

That clock had been passed down from generation to generation for decades. A true family relic from before my time. It just sits right there, counting down every second. And grandpa sits right over here , looking at that clock through his slightly blurred spectacles.

His hands barely moved, the old bones in this eighty-seven year old man struggling to keep up with the old flesh that surrounds it. And yet, he still puffed and dragged on that cigar in his mouth. When his hands did move, they made the repetitive, robotic motions of taking that cigar out, flicking some ash on the ashtray and then putting it right back between his lips. Like clockwork.

Why would someone in such bad health smoke so much? The question bothered me back then, but, eventually, I'd learn the answer. I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

"Would you like to have anything to eat, grandpa? Some soup, maybe?" I'd ask him.

Grandpa did not respond. His eyes remained focus on that clock, watching those pointers move, watching that pendulum swing. In five minutes, mom and sis should be back.

I stood up, walked past my grandfather and went upstairs, to my bedroom. Home inside of a home. Home, sweeter home.

Papers scattered all over my bed, a nine year old computer with a screensaver of 3D pipes forming about in the screen, posters of bands, movies and games plastered across my wall. What a dork.

I sat on my plastic chair, in front of the screen. Flicking the mouse, the screensaver is gone and I'm back on my home screen, the CRT lines dancing over a simple blank aqua-blue background with many, many text documents sitting over it . One of them catches my attention. Its titled "The Enigma of The Blue Gardens". My very own futile attempt at writing a thriller after being inspired by some books I last read in the school library a couple of years ago. Last edited six months ago.

I drag it to the trash bin. And just like that, it's gone. Out of sight, out of mind, out of my hard drive. Maybe this writing thing isn't really for me after all.

Some noise outside my open window catches my attention, the sound of the front door's lock being messed with. Peering outside, I see two figures fiddling with the front door...I'm making it sound more exciting than it really is. It's just mom and sis, finally home.

"Tara, sweetie, c'mere," Mom says, "Take all these bags, put them on the counter. Put the beverages in the fridge, cans in the cupboards..."

"GEEZ, mom, we just got home, chill for a second!" Tara, my sister, responds with a soft laugh.

"There ain't no time to chill, hun! I gotta get to work in ten! Now hurry up!"

Oh, dear mom. A very systematic lady. The woman of the house. Barking orders at us and hurrying us with everything task we had to perform. If we weren't doing something productive, we weren't being useful. Harsh, brash and definitely a pain in the butt sometimes, but, man, I love her. And of course, like a good mother, her intentions were always good. She knew better than to let the TV raise us.

Poor mom...dad was such a drag. When he left, skipped town, mom brought in our grandfather. Jones was everything I wished dad was. Helped out a lot in the house for years, played with us, showed us how things work in Corneria. It all changed when his heart issues spiked. Don't know how to explain it. After an emergency open heart surgery, he...well, he were never the same. Became bound to a wheelchair, stopped talking, stopped showing emotion. No one could explain it. Didn't help that we had to work our hides off to pay off that surgery. I could see the look in his eyes every single day I came home from work exhausted. He wouldn't talk to us anymore, but his expression said everything; guilt. The guilt of a man who felt like he had become a liability.

By fourteen, I was already working at a family friend's local convenience store. Meanwhile, my sister worked as a kitchen assistant in a restaurant. For someone only four years older than me, she really seemed like she knew what she were doing with her life, as far as we could see, at least. She wanted to become a cook, had grand plans to even introduce some of mom's own dishes to the big Corneria chefs, put our family's name out there. Can't blame her for dreaming big.

Things, however, went south fast for her. The restaurant chain she worked at eventually closed down, putting her out of a job. It was a rough time for her, with how much she struggled to finding work. She wasn't the type to stay at home. Eventually, she did manage to find something new for herself. Thing is, she'd never tell any of us what her new career was. Naturally, mom began thinking she was up to no good, but considering how desperate we were for credits at the time, she eventually learned to just stop worrying about it and accept it, especially when she began bringing in the most amount of credits we had seen yet. All we hoped for is that she wouldn't bring home any trouble.

And as for me? I was still working at the exact same convenience store, as a clerk, manning the register like a champ. The good thing about having your boss as one of your best friends is that he'll always have your back whenever some douchebag enters the store and tries to start trouble. His name's Jim. Veteran of the Aparoid War, lost his hand during it and had it replaced with the coolest hook prosthesis in Corneria, though, I am admittedly biased. He was known as 'Captain Hook' in the area as a result.

Corneria, Corneria City. What a planet. What a city. Colorful days and colorful nights. Big, pretty and getting more dangerous every day. I live in the so-called 'Suburb District', the designation that the Cornerian officials gave to what is essentially the ghetto. I've lived here my whole life. Born and raised in the streets, by the streets. It's a real battle for survival out here, ever since General Pepper's government dissolved and Corneria adopted its new democratic system several years ago, but that is a whole story of its own.

What was once a somewhat stable neighborhood with Cornerian soldiers and robot drones patrolling the streets day and night for trouble quickly fell apart fast when the military regime vanished and the soldiers got replaced with the Cornerian PD. We used to fear disrespecting Cornerian authority, but now, we just fear disrespecting the wrong guy in the wrong part of the neighborhood. My neighborhood in particular became infamous for being a real meat grinder, the kind of place that you wouldn't want to be caught alone by yourself in the dead of night. Tara likes to joke that the suburbs never got worse since Pepper's government ended, it just went 'under new management'. I was too young to know what it was like to live under the Cornerian Army's regime. Mom says good things, but, sis disagrees.

Truth was, this entire city was going through a tough time. The ones in charge failed to properly adapt quick enough to the new system. Corneria City was experiencing a pretty serious economic collapse. The line between poor and rich had just gotten a lot wider. But, if there was one thing about this city that I couldn't deny...was how beautiful it looked in the distance.

Gazing out my window, I could see downtown from here. Skyscrapers touching the clouds, buildings of all quirky shapes making up the Cornerian skyline. And at night? The prettiest neon show one could see on this planet. I've been to downtown several times in my time and something about that urban jungle never got old. I was always a sucker for a pretty looking city.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

A series of knocks on my door got the jump on me. Nobody knocked on my door like my mom did, she was always great at getting me to jump out of my fur. I got up and got it open for her.

"Hey mom." I smiled to her. I could see the exhaustion in her hazel eyes already, her hair tied back in a bun, wearing her work uniform; a yellow polo shirt with a green vest over it, the logo for Green Alley on it.

"Hey, Chase...so, you're heading downtown tomorrow, aren't you?" She asked,"What was it you were doing again?"

"I am." I nodded, "I'm heading down to see Star Fox."

Star Fox.

Oh, Star Fox.

What was there to say about them that one didn't know already? Heroes of Lylat. Defenders of Corneria. All of their feats in keeping Lylat free from Andross' forces and the Aparoids had made them a household name. Every kid I knew in high school wanted to be a merc because of them, and hey, I was no different at all.

When I was younger, everywhere you'd look you'd see them. Their faces on every big media screen in Corneria. Their logo on every discount shirt you'd see at the thrift shop. And stars above, I was obsessed. Every military parade I'd go to with my dad, I'd see four Arwings cruising through the Cornerian skies and I would jump with glee, shouting that it had to be them, it had to be Star Fox! When I'd come home, I'd pick up my toy Blaster and run through the house pretending I was Fox McCloud, shooting at imaginary Aparoids, before hopping into a cardboard box and pretending to fly my very own Arwing. I'd have these hour-long space battles in my head, communicating with my fellow wingmen, pulling off kulbits, u-turns, flips and barrel rolls, until dinner time was up.

The magic never ended. Way into my teenage years, I still looked up to Fox McCloud, Falco Lombardi, Peppy Hare, Slippy Toad and Krystal. I constantly dreamed of them returning to Corneria City, just one more time so I could at least, at the very least, get an autograph from one of them. There was no real way to state just how much they meant to me, as they did to many other Cornerians who had lived through the Aparoid War. Grandpa even used to say he knew James himself. As much of a fan I was, though, I never believed him on that one.

But, at that time, the day after that one? I had a chance. Finally, I had a chance to see them by myself, right in front of me, after a decade of them not touching down on Corneria City. Star Fox had organized a little get-together for fans; a QnA panel. A chance to finally see them again.

There was no way I was going to miss it. Not a chance...and hey, look, I know what you're thinking and here, I'll just say it out loud for you; yes, I was a massive, massive, fanboy.

"...Hmph." Mom didn't look pleased. She looked over some of the memorabilia in my bedroom, then, stuck her hand in her back pocket. She pulls out several blue bills; Cornerian credits, "Here, for the bus."

"Credits? Mom, I'm going to bike there. I've already spent a lot of credits on this. I can't afford to spend more-"

"Biking there?" She exclaimed, "Chase! What if you get hit by a car? What if you get robbed? Just take the bus, honey, please."

"Mom..." I'd sigh, holding the credits in my hand, "...You're being paranoid. Please, just..." I handed them back to her, "Keep these. We need it."

"We need it? Boy, we needed all those credits you spent on this...what was it again? This QnA panel?"

Ah, there we go. That things mom do to strike you deep in your soul to make you regret your decisions for a second, no matter how sure you were of them.

"Mom..." I sighed, closing my eyes, "...This means a lot to me. You...you know how much they mean to us."

"Ah, ah, ah," She'd lift a finger to correct me, "How much they meant to you and your dad, Chase."

"Yeah, yeah, I...ugh, look, I promise you. I promise you, okay? This is the last time I spend this many credits on one thing."

Two hundred credits for one solo ticket of admission to the QnA panel. Not cheap at all. Very expensive, actually.

Mom would tilt her head, her ears falling to the side as well, looking into my eyes with those ones of her own that were just begging for sleep. She'd take a deep breath, "...You promise, Chase?"

"Promise...I just...I love them. I really do. I want to see them."

She'd give me a slow nod, "...Better keep your word, young man." She'd put a hand on my shoulder, lean in, putting a kiss on my forehead, "I love you. I'll see you tomorrow, hun."

With her walking down the hall, I'd shut my door, close my eyes and take a deep breath. I sat on my bed. Mom meant well. Me blowing a stupid amount of credits on something only for myself was selfish. I felt a tinge of guilt in me, but at the same time, I knew I had my reasons to do what I did.

Star Fox was currently in an awkward situation between themselves and the Cornerian people. Updates on their whereabouts had gotten scarce since the government change. The official web page had gone dormant while fan sites flourished with speculations and intrigue. Years of silence. Then, a couple of months ago, they announce their return...to a mostly mixed reception.

Something about the media that I learned was that its ran by leeches who feed on the outrage of organized groups of people. Star Fox's vanishing was criticized, but their return somehow was criticized even more. So-called journalists loved putting on thinking hats, questioning whether or not the return of the team was even something to celebrate by this point. Some even went as far as to say that Star Fox should've disappeared with Pepper's government, calling them a 'relic of a bygone Corneria'.

Knock knock knock knock...

Casual knocks on my door this time. It was my sister, for sure. I'd stand up and get it open for her.

"Hey, bro." She greeted me, extending me a hand. As I shook it, I couldn't help but notice how much it felt cold, probably because of all the beverages she had to stack in the fridge, "What's up?"

"Not much...just...sitting here. Failed another story again. Third one this month."

"Aw...you'll get it sometime, yeah?" She'd reassuringly pat my shoulder.

Tara, my big sister. Warm soul, kind and friendly personality. People love to say that older siblings are usually the worst, when in reality Tara had always defied that stereotype. Mom would tell stories about how excited she were as a kid to learn she was getting a little brother; that being me. Always supportive of me and my passions, including writing. She'd always read every draft of every dumb goofy story I'd write up in a couple of weeks, no matter how corny the premise would be. In return, I'd always try to help her with her drawings. We were both destined to be artists in different ways.

Still couldn't quite put my hand on what exactly she had started doing ever since the restaurant she'd work at went down the drain. Every time I'd meet her, she'd always have this exhausted look in her eyes - the same ones that mom would have. Couldn't figure out for the life of me what she could be doing that was stressing her out so much. Sometimes she'd come home and lock herself in the bathroom for minutes and all I could hear was her crying and murmuring to herself, before coming out with a big smile on her face. Whatever she were doing, though, it was pulling in the credits. Mom and I had agreed that she had probably begun slinging dope. It took mom a while to just accept that might be the truth. It was harder for her than it was for me. Tara and I were never afraid of dabbling in riskier business to help the family.

"I'll get it right some day." I'd tell her, chuckling, "Just need to get the juices flowing and...well, probably not write something about steampunk goblins with machine guns."

Tara'd roll her eyes, "Been playing too many video games, dude. Write up a best-seller quick so we can finally move out of this crappy neighborhood, huh?" She'd chuckle, then, dismissively wave her hand at me, "Kidding, kidding...what's going on, then? Why aren't you comfortable with your work?"

I threw up my arms, "Hell if I know. Nothing I write makes me comfortable. The idea may sound amazing at first and then I just hit a wall and can't keep going for the life of me."

"Just like me and my art, huh?" She'd sigh, "Good ol' fashioned artist's block! Our worst enemy."

"Damn right." I'd cross my arms, lean on the doorway as I scratched an itch off my furred cheek, "Years of colonizing planets, star systems and galaxies and yet, we still can't come up with a way for artists to not hit a creative dead-end. The mind boggles."

"It's a real mystery, little bro." She'd agree, "You'll put out something one day if you keep trying, though. You'll like it and hey, I'm sure other people will too! Just gotta keep trying!" She put a hand on my shoulder, "...You can do it."

"Thanks, Tara." I smiled to her,"...So glad to have you as my sister."

"Heh," She'd laugh softly, rubbing my shoulder, then giving it a soft little punch, "Dork. Don't make me hug ya again." Tara would say, stepping back, brushing some of her long hair off her face.

"Come on." I'd cock an eyebrow, "You know you wanna say it."

"Nuh uh."

"Say it."

"Urgh, Chase..."

"Say it!"

"Dude-"

I grinned, staring right into her green eyes.

"..." She'd sigh and let out a little frustrated groan, "Fiiiiine. I'm really glad to have someone as creative, intelligent and clever like you as my little brother." She'd state, then pop finger guns at me, "Happy?" She'd ask, barely hiding the little smile on her face.

"...Just like how you said it back at graduation." I wasn't bothering to hide the smile on my own, "Now do it again with more stuttering and bite your tongue in the middle of it!"

"Screw you, bro!" She'd push me back into my room, laughing, "I'll see you tomorrow!" Laughing back at her, I'd just close the door and finally lock it.

Peace and quiet.

I'd shut off the lights in my room, bathing me in the dark, leaving only the reds and blues from my computer to illuminate the room along with the yellow hue of the street lights outside coming softly through the binds of my window. I'd sit at my computer, placing my elbows on the desk, staring at the screen...

Come on, Chase, use your head. Think up another story to write. Something awesome. Something intense. A romance? Drama? Thriller? Action and adventure? Oh, I like that one.

I looked at my posters. Even in the dark, I could still see them there with the dim light coming from my screen. Old games for the most part, things I grew up playing on this old machine.

Distant Cries, FearZ, Gorezone, Surface Tension...

Oooh, Surface Tension.

A game about a scientist trapped in a research facility that had begun experimenting with portal. A catastrophic scientific accident opens a portal to another dimension of Corneria, where a nuclear war that had given life to radioactive mutants quickly enter the facility and pour into our dimension. This scientist must survive and escape using a combination of quick thinking, portal puzzles and combat.

Hm...interesting. Now I'm thinking with portals.

I booted up Jarvosoft Papers and cracked my knuckles. And there, I'd spend the remainder of my evening until bedtime.

The sound of my fingers click clacking on the keyboard became the melody for that night up until the clock hit midnight.

Time to hit the hay. And tomorrow...

Star Fox.