Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            We’ve waited for this day for a long time.

            In his office, General Zachary Pepper looked over himself in the mirror, straightening the golden war medal pinned to his crimson uniform.  He corrected his posture, fiddled with his collar, and glanced down to his general’s hat sitting on his desk behind him and to his right.  It was almost show time.  The hound eyed his reflection once more, giving it that stern, commanding officer look he had practiced throughout the decades.  It was a real hit with the paparazzi.  He knew as soon as he stepped out of his office doors, a million lights and cameras would be on him.  Silently, he steeled himself for it—inhaling and exhaling a few breaths in mental preparation.  This life had never been easy for him, no matter what the media said.  He never understood why they had made him the leader.  It had all just… happened.

            He wandered to his desk, picking up his hat.  A few pictures caught his eye—pictures he looked at every day but never really contemplated.  Seeing them every time he was in the office dulled his appreciation for them except in those rare sentimental moments.  He felt himself slip into nostalgia, drowning in the bittersweet as he picked up the first picture frame.

            The first was a photo of himself, Peppy, and James.  They were each donned in the evergreen and cream of Corneria’s army uniform, their helmets tucked under their arms.  Younger, happier smiles existed in those photos.  That had been before their first war, when their duties had been confined to protecting the colonization process on Zoness.  They had only seen skirmishes back then, minor fights between the locals and the Cornerians.  Critics had called the army’s presence there a “bane upon the planet” but with its booming economy there, the critics had suspiciously gone silent.  Zachary would have liked to think he had helped with that.

            The next photo was a Pepper family portrait.  He had just entered the academy when the portrait had been taken, young with a dashing smile.  In his suit jacket, he looked like a mirror of his own father, who stood just slightly taller than him.  Zachary was squished between his two brothers—Gideon and Jeremiah.  Gideon had passed just a decade ago, found dead in his home next to his wife with a bullet in both of their heads.  Another act of senseless violence in a world that never made any sense.  They had left Faith, their daughter, in Zachary’s care—a decision for the best, he thought, as when Jeremiah’s anxiety from war flared up, there was little anyone could do to pacify him.

            His thoughts were broken by the sound of the door opening, letting in the roar of the media outside.  A few cameras snapped photos of the General glancing up at them, a solemn expression on his face.  His assistant, a crimson-eyed cheetah, managed to get into the office by squeezing his way past a few eager news reporters.  The door shut so abruptly that he almost caught his own tail in it. 

            “Sir, it’s time,” his assistant announced.  “They’ve just arrived.”

            The hound’s eyes went back to James McCloud’s picture and the carefree in his blue eyes.  He was remiss to not have a photo of Vixy on his desk.  It felt like a crime to forget what Andross had done to her.  Though the media would be flashing images of James on their channels for the unforeseeable future, Pepper silently promised her that he would not forget.

            “Sir?” his assistant asked.

            “Coming,” Pepper replied, stepping around his desk.  He did one last quick check in the mirror and then made for the door.  His assistant opened it for him, holding it open as he reeled under the pressure of countless cameras, lights, and microphones being thrust at him.  He kept his gaze forward and walked as the security guards kept the reporters at bay.  Their dazzling lights were blinding, creating speckles in the peripherals of his vision that danced like tiny stars. 

            They made it to the elevator at the end of the long, metallic hallway.  When the doors closed and the blissful quiet returned, the General gave a sigh.  He looked to his assistant.

            “Enthusiastic, aren’t they?” mused the hound.

            “Definitely!” the assistant remarked.

            “Well, I hope you’re ready.  This is going to be the new normal for a while,” General Pepper replied and the cheetah looked as though he was going to faint at the thought.

            The doors opened to another cacophony of voices, cameras, and lights.  After a path had been made for the General, the young cheetah assistant led him from the elevator, down the hall, and to the lobby of the Cornerian Defense Tower.  Banners strung from the ceiling added a flare to the otherwise quaint lobby.  Baby’s breath and sanguine roses decorated the stage, their aroma pleasant to his nose.  Guards stood at either sides of the red carpet leading up to the podium.  A few of them stayed to keep the media back and out of the middle of the room.

            General Pepper let his hands run over the surface of the mahogany podium when he took his position, maintaining his solemn expression as a thousand photos were taken.  A microphone was placed in front of him by one of the tech supports, who jostled it about and adjusted it to adequately fit the General’s height.  Zachary meant to thank him but his mouth was dry.  The hound gave a cough and nodded to the tech support, swallowing in a hasty attempt to lubricate his throat.  It would certainly have looked back if the General of the greatest empire known to the Lylat System stumbled over his words.

            “Brent,” Zachary said to the cheetah.  “Water, please.”

            “Right here, sir,” the cheetah offered him a bottle, which the hound accepted, sipping gratefully before returning it to him.  He was certain the tabloids would enjoy spinning his need for a drink in all sorts of insane ways.

            “Thank you,” the General whispered.

            “Not a problem, sir!” Brent replied, taking his position a few feet away off to the side of the stage. 

            The Star Fox team came in not a moment too soon, heralded by trumpets blaring over a speaker system that General Pepper personally thought was a notch too loud.  Clad in their mercenary attire, they stood out like sore thumbs against the sleek business garb of the reporters and the pristine uniforms of the Cornerian soldiers.  Pepper felt his heart soar when he saw Peppy, a smile cracking the stony demeanor he had cast upon himself.  The rabbit’s warm eyes fell upon him yards down the red carpet and the hound felt himself unable to contain a small tail wag.

             Fox walked slightly ahead of him, determination and exhaustion glazing over his emerald eyes.  When his eyes met General Pepper’s, he gave a small half-smile—the sort James would give him when they checked on each other after every battle.  “Guess we made it”—the smile said.  The joy Zachary felt for seeing his old war friend withered with numbing, sobering reflection.

            Slippy and Falco were enough to cheer the war hound’s soul.  As the sapphire-plumed avian waved at the media as though he were a beauty pageant winner being whisked down the avenue on a parade float, Slippy waved spastically with a grin that stretched across his wide face.  His arms flailed with such fervor that he nearly knocked Falco over, to which the bird gave the toad a sneer.  General Pepper felt himself chuckle softly, hoping dearly the microphone on the podium did not pick it up. 

            When the Star Fox team reached the steps leading to the stage, they gave pause and General Pepper confident lift of his chin to look down at them was enough to silence the clamor brought in by the news reporters.  The quiet that ensued felt alien, drawn in and taut with tension.  Drawing in a breath to speak out felt like invoking a cyclone, the silence broken and all eyes fell on him. 

            “Citizens of the Cornerian Empire,” General Pepper spoke.  No note cards in front of him—he had never needed them to sound like a leader, no matter his own secret self-doubts.  Perhaps that was why they had elected him.  “Today, we rejoice at the defeat of evil and the liberation of millions from the enslavement camps they were put in by the nefarious hand of Doctor Gestalt Andross.”

            A pause for dramatic, impactful effect—public speaking was an art that had come so naturally to him. 

            “We mark today as the end to the Lylat Wars, a devastating catastrophe brought by cowardice, evil, and fueled by long-lasting hatred towards the way we live our very lives.  No longer do we have to live in fear of attack from a nation built upon corruption and cruelty.  Peace and freedom have won.  Gestalt Andross, the self-proclaimed Emperor of Venom, is dead.”

            “As I speak now, thousands of soldiers work tirelessly to ensure our safety.  To them, I give the highest regards.  The day will be soon when all can return home to live out our lives without fear of attack.  The day will be soon when families can reunite.  When fathers can see their children and mothers come home for the first time in years since this conflict began.  I know that is a day many of us have longed to see… and many of us did not live to see.  To those who gave their lives to this bloody fight, I salute you!”

            General Pepper gave a salute and the soldiers in the room responded in kind, giving their own salute.

            “We salute you!” came the chorus of soldier voices.  Even with all the lights focused in on him, Zachary Pepper could see Peppy mouth the words.

            “To the remnants of the Venomian Army, I say to you now to renounce your bestial, malicious ways and submit yourself to the Cornerian Empire.  We are a people of peace and though this war has dug deep trenches between our people, we can find unity again.”

            His ear caught the concerned murmurs from the reporters.  Surely they did not think he was going to offer them full amnesty?  No matter, he did not want to mar the speech with backtracking and fumbling.  His intentions would be made clear soon.

            “And lastly, I want to personally thank the ones responsible for putting an end to the war we have fought for what seems like a lifetime.  I am privileged to stand here, in the presence of the Heroes of the Lylat System—Star Fox.  For their efforts, they will be presented each a golden medal – the Cornerian Freedom Wings, an honor gifted only to those who have accomplished great feats in the name of our beloved nation.  Please, step forward.”

            They obeyed and General Pepper turned to his left, receiving a polished wooden box from a nearby lieutenant.  Within the blue velvet of the interior sat four golden medals – graced with the emblem of the Cornerian Empire wrapped within a set of angelic wings.  The hound walked up to Fox, pinning the first one to his jacket.

            When he caught the vulpine’s eye, he hesitated for a moment.  One of Fox’s hands moved to touch the engraved symbol on his medal, his vivid eyes never leaving the General’s.  Up close, Zachary could see the life that had been stoked within him—and the life that had been extinguished.  It took a lot to not throw his arms around Fox’s shoulders, to whisper how sorry he was that everything had happened this way.

            He’s come a long way from the Academy.  That’s for certain.

            “General,” Fox said with a salute as the hound backed a step.  Zachary offered him a salute as well, smiling and becoming vaguely aware of the fact that tears had begun to blossom in the corners of his eyes. 

            “McCloud.”

            James, wherever you are… I’m not sure how you did it.  But you did a good job with him.  Vixy would be proud.

            Peppy was next and General Pepper truly feared his professional mien would shatter.  He clipped the medal onto Peppy’s jacket, hands lingering for a moment before returning to his sides.  He gave a salute.

            “Hare.”

            Former captain and forever someone I can rely on.

            “General!” Peppy said with a salute.

            Falco was third, awkwardly watching the General pin the medal onto him.

            “Lombardi,” the General saluted.

            “Cool,” Falco shrugged. 

            Once a ruffian always a ruffian, but at least he has a good heart.

            Slippy was last, bubbly tears leaking down the sides of his face.  His mirth was undeniable, trembling his stout form from head-to-toe.  When Pepper had finished pinning his medal, he looked down at it with a smile of pure glee.

            “Toad,” General Pepper saluted him.

            “General!” Slippy gave him a salute then went back to marveling at his medal.

            The General made it back to his podium, lifting his chin.  More snapshots were taken.  He could hear the cameras firing off.  This moment would be immortalized; this moment was history being forged.  These pictures would be in textbooks to come, museums to memorialize the end of an era. 

            “To the Star Fox team, we give our utmost gratitude for your bravery and dedication to maintaining peace in the Lylat System!” General Pepper declared.  “From the bottom of our hearts… Thank you!”

            Applause erupted from the media and the Star Fox team members gave a bow.  General Pepper stepped down from the stage, dimly aware of the media onslaught that pushed forward against his guards.  Brent the cheetah caught up with him as he dipped from the room and to the hallway behind the grand entryway of the Cornerian Defense Tower lobby.  He paused, glancing back at Brent as two bulldogs took up their post by the doors to make sure none of the reporters made it to the hallway.

            “We’ll want to pause for a moment.  The others will be along shortly,” the hound remarked.

            “If they can manage to get out of the room.  I’ve never seen so many people in there in my whole life!” Brent remarked.

            “Again, it’ll be the new normal for awhile.  Critics will find something to tear at.  The news will make a story out of what shoes I decide to wear for the day.  It’s the media,” General Zachary Pepper shrugged then looked out the window.   

            Outside, past the stain-free windows, General Pepper could see the public crowded around the tower.  A small army of Cornerian guards kept them at bay, struggling to hold back the eager fans.  He chuckled – their enthusiasm was beautiful and heartfelt. 

            Soon enough, the Star Fox team squeezed through the double doors leading back into the lobby.  Falco looked a little put out to be leaving the party, but Fox seemed quite relieved.  He walked up to General Pepper, offering his hand to him.  The hound gave it a shake then pulled the vulpine into a strong embrace.

            “It’s good to see you, Fox,” Pepper said as they let go of each other.  “I know you’re probably eager to get back to Papetoon but I thought you deserved a little more than a medal and some bravado in front of the press.”

            “Well, I hear we’re gettin’ paid for riskin’ our necks,” Falco remarked crassly. “I think that’ll make me feel loads better than a medal.”

            “Oh quiet, you!  The Cornerian Freedom Wings is an honor only given to a handful of people before us.  Show some respect!” Peppy chided the avian as he walked up.  When he looked to the General, Zachary Pepper felt his heart flutter with glee.  He pulled the hare into a big hug. 

            "I’m glad you’re here,” the hound said, letting go of Peppy.

            “Guess your lucky charm still works,” Peppy smiled at him.

            “You kept that?” General Pepper asked in surprise.

            “Yep!  It hasn’t let me down yet!” Peppy nodded.

            “This is cute an’ all, but what’re we standing around for?” Falco began.

            “Er… I guess we did kinda park the Great Fox in a bad spot, now that I think about it.  I can have ROB pull back into orbit, though,” Slippy chimed in.

            “Well, I was hoping you’d join me for some hors d’oeuvres, cake, and punch.  There was something I wanted to discuss with you four,” General Pepper replied.

            “What’s a… whore-derve…?” Falco asked hesitantly.

            “It means ‘food’!” Slippy exclaimed.

            “I can get behind that,” Falco said, perking up with interest.

            “Lead the way, General,” Fox said with a chuckle.

            An elevator ride to the seventh floor and a walk down the hall eventually got them to the small reception General Pepper had thrown together.  A florist had brought in exotic flowers harvested from Fortuna.  A giant tank of crystalline water housed a few passive sea creatures dug up from the reefs of Zoness.  Platters upon platters of antipasto, cheese, tartlets, and skewered crabmeat had been set out upon a silken pintuck linen of dark, navy blue.  A glass bowl with frothing carbonated punch sat to the side, next to a lovely Corneria Cake.  Looming in the bowl’s middle was a mountain of fruity sherbet.  Couches had been set aside next to the window, angled in on a pleasant, cherry wood coffee table.   

            “Wow!” Falco beamed.

            “All of this for us?  You didn’t have to do that,” Peppy remarked.

            “Without you, this planet would be in ruins.  It’s the least I could do,” General Pepper nodded.  “Dig in!”

             He did not need to tell them twice.  The team hurried to the food, Peppy included, their mouths watering with excitement.  General Pepper sat on one of the couches, looking out at the city as Lylat began its descent beyond the watery horizon.  It was not long before Fox joined him, head cocked to the side with curiosity.

            “Not grabbin’ anything?” Fox asked.

            “It’s yours,” General Zachary Pepper insisted.

            “Well, I’m saying you should grab something,” Fox replied.

            “If you insist,” the hound laughed and grabbed a meager fill of the food.  Public speaking stole his hunger away more often than not, but he told himself to do it, if only to appease the vulpine. 

            When they had all settled into the couches near the window, the General let them eat for a few minutes without interruption.  He stifled a laugh as Slippy dug into his piece of cake with such zeal that a few globs of icing clung to his cheeks.  Falco looked particularly thrilled by the antipasto and plopped a handful of oiled mozzarella spheres into his beak as he casually leaned against the back cushion of the couch.

            “This punch is so good,” Peppy beamed. “Reminds me of the kind my ma used to make back home when we came in from workin’ the farm.”

            “I’m glad,” the hound smiled. 

            Now onto business…

             “Fox,” began General Pepper, his brown eyes sweeping over to the ace pilot.  “I wanted to discuss something with you and the rest of your team—out of sight of the public.”

            "Sure,” Fox shrugged.

            “It’s become obvious to me that while the Cornerian Army harbors the strongest fleet in the Lylat System in numbers… we are lacking something.  Something that we desperately need to fend off forces as dangerous as the Venomian Army.  That something, I believe, lies in the Star Fox team,” General Pepper explained, looking back out at the sunset waters below.  “You have adaptability and cunning on your side.  You’re resourceful and it’s clear to me that you and your team are in a league of your own.”

            He hesitated, selecting his next words with precision.

            “I want you to lead a branch in the Cornerian military.  A new branch of elite fighters, dedicated to filling in where the Cornerian Army fails.  A group of special operatives.”

            Fox’s left ear flitted back and he looked to the General in a mixture of awe and surprise.  Zachary Pepper could see the vulpine weigh the pros and cons, his expression a shifting battlefield of thought.  Fox rubbed his chin. 

            "You want us to be special agents?” Slippy asked with stars shining in his baby blue eyes.

            “I suppose that’s one way to put it,” General Pepper replied with a nod.

            Fox inhaled, clearly trying his best to find the right words to say.  He could have said nothing and the hound would have known the answer immediately.  There was a reason Fox had pulled out of the Academy in the first place – his heart belonged in the stars, wandering the Lylat System and helping those who needed him.  He moved to his own beat and he would not have it any other way. 

            “I’m honored… but I think I speak for everyone when I say that I think we prefer doing things our own way,” Fox answered.  “I’m sorry, General.”

            Every bit of his father’s blood in him. 

            “Don’t apologize,” the hound shook his head. “That was the answer I expected.”

            “I… hope we didn’t ruin anything,” Fox began, glancing back at the décor and food.

            “Not at all!  That’s a gift from me to you for saving the Lylat System,” General Pepper chortled. “Enjoy the food.  I thought to ask because having you on hand would be convenient.  But I understand.  This life isn’t for everyone.”

            “Thanks for understanding,” Fox smiled at him.

            “Heh, besides, you wouldn’t want an old nag like me in your military, would you?” Peppy asked him.

            Peppy, you haven’t aged as much as you think you have.

            “You may be right,” General Pepper said with a small wink to his friend.  “I may be dodging a bullet by you saying no.”

            A buzz in his crimson coat pocket alerted him.  At first, the hound figured it was just a text message—something from Faith or perhaps Jeremiah or his parents.  The second buzz caused his mouth to curl into a frown.  He pulled out his phone and glanced down, noticing that he was getting an incoming call.  The caller ID was Cornerian, the call local within the planet’s limits.  He did not recognize the number right off the bat.

            If they have this number… they must be involved in the military somehow.  Ahhh but it’d be bad form for me to answer now in front of my guests.  If it were an emergency, they’d have messaged the security team or Brent.  I can take the message and call them back later.

            He opened his phone’s menu and forwarded the call to Brent’s phone without a second thought.  Personal assistants were there for a reason, right?  Zachary Pepper shrugged off his tension, telling himself to get up and grab another round of punch.  When he returned, Brent caught his attention, motioning him over.  The General’s brow furrowed and he walked over to the cheetah with a glass goblet in hand.

            “Sir, that call you forwarded me, it’s from the Corneria City Police Department,” Brent informed him in a low voice.  “Chief Lane wants to discuss something with you as soon as possible.  She says it’s urgent.”

            “Urgent?” the General’s left brow arched at the young feline.

            “Yes, sir, she says it… it has to do with…” Brent’s gaze shifted momentarily towards the mercenaries chatting and eating a few yards away.  The cheetah shuffled in closer to the General. “It has to do with Andross, sir.”

            But he’s dead.  And the dead can never come back.  Right?  Or does that damn monkey think he can fight us from beyond the grave?

            “I’ll call her once I’m done here.  We shouldn’t be much longer,” Zachary Pepper replied. 

            “I will let her know,” Brent replied but there was doubt that rang in his voice.  Doubt and uncertainty—and on a night they all should have been celebrating. 

            “Something wrong?” Fox asked as General Pepper returned to the couches.

            “If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” the hound replied, perhaps a little too gruffly.  He watched Fox’s expression shift into that of curiosity.  To alleviate the vulpine’s fears, the General shook his head. “Don’t worry.  I’m sure it’s nothing important.”

            “Well, I wouldn’t wanna keep you too long.  I’m sure you’ve got a lot to go over now that the war’s done,” Fox said, rising from the couch.  “C’mon boys, let’s get outta his fur for a bit.”

            “Don’t rush yourselves for my sake,” the General protested.

            “Nah, we’ve actually already got a call to do some transport security from the city to Area 3.  Shouldn’t be a long trip but we gotta head out tonight,” Fox replied.

            General Pepper nodded in understanding. “Do you want to-go boxes?  I had some provided.”

            “Yes!” Falco said between the three skewers jabbed into his beak. 

            “That’d be real kind of you,” Peppy said with one of his genuine, flashy smiles.

            As the team packed away the food, General Pepper sidled off to the side with the hare.  It was true that their careers had taken them down vastly different paths, but the fact that they could still see each other warmed the hound’s heart.  Even if their exchanges were brief and mostly work-related, being near his old war friend helped his nerves.  Some semblance of foundation kept him sane, even if it was in brief messages back and forth over text messages.

            “I didn’t get a chance to speak with you at Vivian’s funeral,” Zachary Pepper began and he could sense Peppy tense up.  Vivian had passed one year into the Lylat Wars, her illness taking a sharp turn for the worse.  It had been a gradual incline… then a plummet.

            A terrible twist of fate, especially after losing James.  It’s a miracle he hasn’t gone insane.

            General Pepper lowered his gaze.  “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am.  She truly was a great woman and a perfect role model for Lucy.”

            “Much better than I am,” Peppy remarked bitterly, the words seeming to spill from a well of pessimism that seemed unlike the usual upbeat hare.  “Thanks, Zach, it means a lot to me.  I was… I got to be there when… Well.  When she went.  Lucy and I… we’ll make it.”

            “She’s a strong girl.  She takes after you more than you think,” General Pepper replied with a soft smile. 

            “She’s much smarter than I am,” Peppy shook his head. “Definitely takes after her mother.”

            “Well, regardless, I hope that all is well.  I’ve been keeping you both in my thoughts.  Let me know if you…” the hound’s statement faltered as he looked into Peppy’s sanguine irises. “… If you need anything.”

            We’ve all lost so much over these past years.  Are we really victors in the end?  Or just survivors?

            “Will do,” Peppy said with a playful salute.

            By the time the team had departed the reception in the parlor, night had fallen upon Corneria City.  The moon glimmered a grinning crescent through the windows, its light occasionally stifled by wispy grey clouds.  General Pepper sat down in one of the couches, left in the privacy of two security guards.  Brent had gone home as per the hound’s request after the reception had ended and the dog was left to contemplate the cityscape scenery beneath him.

            Lost in thought over the war, he jerked upright when he realized what Brent had told him about Chief Lane’s phone call.  He pulled his phone from his pocket, glancing down at it with quiet intrigue.  His gut told him that he was about to learn something he mostly certainly did not want to.  The notion made his fingers drag reluctantly across the digital keys, pulling Chief Lane’s phone number back up. 

            Chief Lane… that’s a name and title combination that takes me back to when I was a rascally pup and her father used to chase me and my brothers down the street, waving his baton and threatening a night in jail if we didn’t stop pranking the old shop keeper on Greyhound Avenue.  Good times…

            He dialed in her number and put the phone to one of his floppy ears.  It rang... rang… rang… And then gave a beep.

            “Hi, you’ve reached the cell of Police Chief Samantha Lane.  I’m sorry but I’m unavailable right now.  Please leave your name, number, and a quick message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.  Thanks!”

            That’s odd.  Usually she picks up immediately.

            He killed the connection between their phones, dark musings in his mind.  The bad feeling in his stomach grew, swelling with intensity.  His dulled nails clicked against the back of his phone.  On one hand, he hated the idea of being pessimistic.  On the other hand, being optimistic was lethal.  Zachary inhaled a deep breath, trying to rationalize his feelings and what little he knew of the situation.

            She’ll call back.  She’s probably driving or something.  All of this parading about has made me tired, that’s all.  I need to get some rest.  And… perhaps a stiff drink.

            “I’m going to head home,” the General announced to the guards.  “Go out, enjoy yourselves tonight.  But not too much.”

            “Yes, sir!” one of them said as they saluted him.

            The General called for his chauffeur and began to make his way into the elevator down to the lobby level.  As the numbers for each floor flashed by, he tried his hardest to quell the unease racking his body.  Tonight was a night to party, to celebrate, and to cherish the peace that the Star Fox team had brought them.

            …

            So why did he feel so nervous?

Chapter Text

            The ride back from the celebration was filled with quiet, even as the citizens of Corneria City rejoiced in the streets.  Fireworks stained the night sky in an array of colors.  They were shaped like stars!  Then like circles!  Then like hearts!  Their glitter fell away, burning into nothing on their way down.  Song and cheers rang through the air in raucous tones.  In the taverns, the alcohol flowed.  Young lovers kissed outside the bars, their clothes drenched in the musk of cigarettes.  Drunken yells carried on into the night.  Their joy was limitless in their liberation from evil.

            Screens painted the pristine-white skyscrapers of Corneria City.  News reporters from all across the Lylat System were talking about the victory on Venom.  Images flashed by from Pepper’s speech in the lobby of the Cornerian Defense Tower.  Scene change.  It was an old clip of footage of the Great Fox drifting near Sector Z, the fiery nebula outlining the carrier’s iconic figure.  Another scene change.  An eager terrier reporter thrust a microphone into a military captain’s face, the headline below reading: “LYLAT WARS ENDED: VENOMIAN ARMY EXPECTED TO SURRENDER”.  In the background, Zoness’s polluted beaches could be seen, along with a few Venomian soldiers being escorted into the back of a prison carrier.  The screens flashed to two news reporters with a picture of the Star Fox team behind them.  Their smiles shone like stars in a midnight sky, lighting up a small smile amid the hound’s droopy jowls.

            As the limousine cruised then stopped then cruised again in the traffic, General Zachary Pepper gave a yawn. He leaned against the window, his wary almond eyes looking out at the festivities.  Two security escorts were in front of him and two were behind him.  Their flashing blue and red lights did nothing to dissuade the crowds from their wild celebration.  His driver, an old Schnauzer with a finely trimmed mustache, grumbled curses at the citizens, though his tone did not raise a notch.  It seemed as though he was trying to protect his general’s ears from the foul language, but Pepper’s keen ears could make out the vivid vocabulary being used. The wary bloodhound chuckled, feeling some of his pent-up emotions drain with the soft laugh. 

            It is over.  It is finished.  No matter what Chief Lane tells me, the Lylat Wars are done and we will see this new era of peace ushered in.  Even if Andross has crawled his way out of the grave.  Even if someone tries to take up where he left off.  We will see peace restored no matter the cost.

            His almond eyes dragged down towards the cellphone in his hand.  It had not buzzed a single time since the departure from the Cornerian Defense Tower, much to his dismay.  The hound gave a sigh, clicking on his messages just to make absolutely sure that he somehow had not missed a text message or voicemail.  Nothing.  No notifications.  The Chief had gone silent.

            “Quite the night,” Zachary Pepper commented to his chauffeur, encouraging himself to talk so his nerves would stop trying to run away from him.  Deftly, the hound pulled out a lollipop from his pocket, unfurled the wrapper around it, and popped it into his mouth.  His molars ran over the cherry-red surface of his lollipop, feeling the ridges.  The wrapper crunched between his fingers as he tucked it back into his pocket. 

Wistfully, the General continued, “When we get to the manor, I want you to go out and enjoy.”

            “Sir?” the old Schnauzer asked, perking his ears. “Nowhere else for the evening?”

            “Correct.  Tonight, I think I will stay in,” the General replied.  There was a glass bottle of whiskey with his name on it and a hearth that would warm away the doubts that still lurked in his mind. 

            As the fruity flavor of candy washed through his mouth, he contemplated his next few steps as he gazed out the midnight glass and at the people celebrating, faces lit up by the explosion of fireworks.  Quietly, he hoped that they would continue their festivities and that their reason for celebrating was true.  Corneria’s government had already slain the mad doctor once, when they had damned him to die on the toxic planet of Venom.  That Andross had survived his unorthodox execution was a miracle in itself—one that was strangely troubling to the bloodhound. 

            Is it possible he survived again?  No… No, I trust what Fox had to say.  He’s surely gone.

            A weathered sigh drifted from his droopy jowls, molars clacking against the lollipop as his thoughts piled onto his heavy conscience.  He hoped the Chief of Police would call him soon; he was not sure he could stand the notion of Andross somehow surviving again.  Nerves rattling his senses, he massaged his forehead.

            No… No, calm down.  Just wait, don’t assume.

            When the manor came into view, he felt a wave of relief.  The trials of the day wore on his hurting back and his tongue savored the idea of whiskey.  When the old Schnauzer let him out of his car, he dipped his head in gratitude before stepping inside.  The black obsidian night was uncomfortable to him, as uncomfortable as the memory of how the Lylat Wars had begun.  His hands sank into the silken depths of his pockets, dragging his tired eyes down the hallway and towards the dim-lit entryway.  Paintings passed him by on his sullen walk to the little parlor, where a fire had been lit in the hearth and a warm armchair sat waiting for him.

            General Pepper uneasily sat down, pulling the throw off of the chair’s back.  He wrapped it around his crimson uniform, trapping the heat in.  Usually, he would have gone immediately to his chambers to change clothes, but his feet felt heavy and his heart ached terribly.  Without a word, one of the maids appeared—a fragile whippet with kind eyes and a frilly white apron.  She was older than he was, her muzzle greyed and her back slightly hunched from time and labor. 

            “Sir,” the maid said, offering him a glass of that glorious amber whiskey he had fantasized of on his trip.

            “Thank you, Doris,” the General said earnestly, accepting the glass with an elegant swirl of his wrist.  “It’s like you read my mind.”

            “My pleasure, General.  Everyone in the manor knows you fancy a good whiskey at the end of a good day,” the elderly whippet said with a bow.  “Is there anything else I can get you this fine evening?”

            “Is Faith around somewhere?” Zachary asked.  His niece was preparing herself to enter the Flight Academy—a gesture that he thought most inappropriate of a woman of her stature and dainty physique.  Unfortunately, she had inherited his brother’s stubbornness and so he had long given up hope of talking her out of it.

            “She went into the city with a few friends.  Fear not, her escort went with her,” Doris said gently, her knowing eyes tracing over the way his forearm muscles tensed at the news. 

            “As long as they’re watching her…” the General grumbled into his first sip of whiskey.  It burned down his throat with fiery enthusiasm and he cherished it.  A slight curl emerged from his jowls and he sneered through the scorch of the alcohol. 

            Doris took her leave with a bow and slipped away into the corridor.  He checked his phone again with a sigh and then sat it down on the side table next to his armchair.  Snuggled into the blanket, he stared into the pleasant crackle of flames in the heart, letting their primal dance soften the focus of his tired eyes.  He thought to grab the book off the nearby coffee table but it was too far for him to reach without bending.  Effort was something his exhausted body did not want to expend.  Zachary Pepper took another drink. 

            He still remembered the day they had exiled Andross, sending him into that portal that took him to Venom’s inhospitable surface.  He had hoped the madman would have perished upon impact—after all, the General had made sure to slip a few extra coins to the scientist launching the pod into the portal.  A few notches faster than normal, the General reasoned, and Andross would have met a fiery end when the pod hit the surface.  If the crash did not kill him, the toxic air ought to have—but, as Zachary was finding out, sometimes things just did not happen as they were supposed to. 

            He raised an army in that hellhole.  By the damn stars, I should’ve realized we ought to have cleaned up after the last colonization effort failed there.  He used the technology we left there to arm himself.  To send distress signals to just the right people… He somehow managed the impossible. 

            He drank down the rest of the whiskey, its burn a lavishing, comforting sensation.  When the bottom of the empty glass tapped against the side table lightly, he cleared his throat.  A flash of light caught his attention outside for a moment.  Fur rising, he was on his feet in an instance, peering through the lacy curtains outside and into the dark—just in time to see the fireworks sprout into a lovely daisy shape. 

            Nerves.  

            The hound gave a sigh, returning to the comfort of his chair.  He cast a glance at a nearby shelf, lined with books.  Most were non-fictional—Zachary fancied himself a good read here and there about wars that predated him.  He searched for wisdom in the accounts of the veterans from ages before.  That they could carry on after such devastation inspired him.  But on that night, though the thought of distracting himself felt appealing, a certain restlessness overtook his legs and he passed the volumes by without a second gander.  His tongue craved more alcohol.

            “Doris?  Can I get another glass?” the General called out. 

            He thought of Chief Lane again.  Worry clung to his heart like a vice but he tried to shake it loose.  It felt like just yesterday when he had summoned her to that desolate suburban neighborhood.  She had been a fresh face on the police force at the time.  The only thing that any could have said about her was that she had a nice pedigree—a family full of cops with stout devotion to Corneria.  She had followed in their shadow quietly, never standing out much on her tests.  Never standing out much even to her peers.  But that had all changed that fateful morning when he had summoned her to the destroyed house of James and Vixy McCloud.  The General had needed someone to go undercover and unassuming, young Samantha Lane had been the perfect candidate. 

            Her outstanding performance to uncovering the culprit behind Vixy Reinard-McCloud’s murder had led her to finally taking off in her career.  Mediocre reports eventually became second to none and now she was the head of the police department. But more importantly, she was a friend.  And a powerful one at that. 

            “Doris?” Zachary called out again. “More whiskey, please?”

            His eyes fell upon the darkened screen of his phone.  The light from the fire swirled, its reflecting shining off of the obsidian screen.  Still no update.  His twitching fingers danced over the armrest of his chair.  He thought to call again… but perhaps that would be pestering?  His restless foot tapped.  Perhaps it would be better to spare himself the time worrying if he just tried…?

            “Doris?” the fretful hound asked.

            The moonlight seeped through the curtains in small fragments.  It did little to banish the shadows.  Old lights fashioned like lanterns flickered, hanging from the ceiling.  They were designed to look like candle flames.  At the moment, they looked less frightening than a dying ember.  Everything in the rustic manor had gone silent.  It was not the peaceful kind that reassured him that serenity did still exist in this chaotic, nonsensical world.  The quiet was suffocating.  Deafening.  Uncanny.  Zachary felt his heart flutter.  Something was not right. 

            “Doris?” his voice fell into a whisper—tone falling as he rose.  Wrist colliding with his empty glass, he was too late to stop it from falling to the ground.  It shattered, the noise resounding in the quiet so loudly that it sent pinpricks up his spine.  He shrugged off the mess, vowing to deal with it later. 

            Down the hall, he walked with long strides, making a beeline for the kitchen.  Ears lifted, he listened for the familiar hum of the elderly maid as she worked.  Usually, there would have been more servants about, but he had given orders the day before that they were to only work a half day in preparation for the celebrations in the city.  He had wanted them to enjoy the moment… Sweet Doris had said she would stay, that celebrating was a bit “too much for her old bones”.  His security escort had decided to stay as well—stationed at the four corners of the manor on constant patrol outside.  The General reminded himself that they were just a call away.  The manor had an intercom system.  All he would have to do would be to get to one of the intercom stations in one of the rooms and hit the button. 

            “Doris, can you hear me?” he asked, opening the door at the end of the hallway—the one that fed into the kitchen.

            The lights were on, shining above the marbled countertops.  Next to the sink, the radio played so softly he could barely discern what was being said.  It sounded like a news report—likely something about the ending of the Lylat Wars.  Zachary felt his own pulse as he looked about.  No sign of Doris.  Maybe she had slipped out?  Into the bathroom?  He could only hope.

            He rounded the counter, keeping his ears perked.  One step.  He felt that perhaps something was nudging the toe of his boot.  The second step came.  Where friction ought to have caught the underside of the sole of his boot, there was nothing.  His vision was swallowed by the ceiling.  The ridges across its textured surface seemed more prominent than normal… and then they blurred.  His back hit the tile floor—hard, enough to knock the breath from his lungs.  A groan made its way from his maw.  Zachary hoped he had not broken his tail.

            The hound rolled over, feeling the warmth of what he was laying in.  It stuck to the fur of his fingers.  His almond eyes glanced down at it, watching the deep sanguine ooze between his middle and forefinger.  It took a second before the realization hit him.  A gasp tore from his muzzle and he looked up to see Doris, laying just a foot away.  Her eyes, stretched in horror, gazed at the ceiling—lifeless.  Blood seeped from her abdomen.  Zachary dared a look, his jaw set firmly clenched.  A deep wound had been cut just beneath the rib cage.  From what he could tell, it had been angled upwards, into the maid’s lungs. 

            I have to alert the guards.  Someone is in the manor.  Stars above… poor Doris.

            Fear claimed him but muscle memory took over.  Grabbing a steak knife from a nearby knife display, he crouched low to the ground.  It had been years since he had been in a fight, but there were things the old dog still remembered.  His free hand wandered to Doris’s nape, feeling her white fur.  Her body was still warm but her pulse was gone.  He spared a moment to close her eyes, keeping the knife close to his chest and at the ready in his other hand.  In a quiet, regretful moment, he wished he had been carrying his handgun on him.

            Keeping his breaths shallow and muffled, the hound began to strategize his next move.  Zachary knew the manor’s layout like the back of his hand.  He knew the intercom system had a small station in the kitchen—on the other side of the room, near the fridge.  Stepping around Doris, he kept low to the ground, hugging the side of the counter for cover.  His ears listened for the soft footsteps of Doris’s murderer.  Fur bristling, he crept forth, eyes darting every which way, keen on spotting even the slightest movement. 

            But nothing came. 

            He reached the far side of the kitchen, reaching up to press on the intercom button.  Zachary opened his mouth to speak, finding his throat clogged with vaguely bottled emotion.  His forefinger mashed down on the button.  The hound waited for the intercom’s channel to come to life with static.  Nothing.  Complete and utter silence.  Horror tightened around his heart.  They had cut his communications.

            The guards are outside.  I’ll have to go out to find them… But the thought bothered him.  It felt too much like he was being guided somewhere and by someone who evidently was out for blood.  Zachary shook his head bitterly.  It was a gamble he was not sure he was willing to take.  What if the guards were not even there?  What if they…

            No.  He couldn’t bear that thought.

            Chief Lane… did you know this was going to happen?  He pondered woefully. Were you trying to warn me?

            There was a gun vault in the closet on the first floor.  Muscle memory and his senses had seen him through countless battles.  It seemed once again he had only himself to rely on.  Zachary slipped from the kitchen to the hallway once more, rubbing his feet into the gaudy red and gold rug his parents had bought him from one of their trips to Zoness.  Blood smeared from the bottoms of his feet and onto the complex design.  He did not bother to check if it was all off of his boots but trusted enough was gone to not leave as obvious of a trail.

            The hound stole his way down the hall on silent feet.  Gaze darting to the windows, he silently implored one of the guards to look through, to take notice of him.  But outside, the world was as dark as the void and Zachary Pepper had never felt so alone. 

            At the first bend in the hall (an abrupt 90 degree angle to his right), the hound slowed his pace.  He peered around the corner carefully, his back pressed to the wall.  Down the next hall was a guest room—old and forgotten.  He could not remember the last time they had guests.  For some reason, the builders had seen it fit to store a vault built into the wall in that room.  Zachary remembered once he had asked his parents why that was the case.  They had told him it was because the room had been a weapons storage at some point.  Somewhere in his lineage had existed an avid arms collector.  But later on, a less enthused descendant had turned the room of displays into a place where a guest could stay the night, leaving the vault there as it would have been too much of a hassle to tear out of the wall.  Pepper had always kept it in mind and his fears of that very situation had bade him to leave a gun there.  It was one of his least favorite models but it would suffice.

            Once he had determined it was safe to continue, he hurried down the last stretch of hallway.  Stepping into the dark guest room, he struggled to keep his breath calm.  A properly made bed sat in the room’s middle, its headboard against the far wall.  There were elaborate grape designs engraved into its dark mahogany wood.  To the far side was a massive glass window—a window that, upon closer inspection, looked more feasible as an escape route than stumbling about the darkened manor until he found Doris’s murderer.  He thought to grab the nearby metallic, ornate lamp and toss it through the glass but resolved on at least arming himself first—on the off chance there were other enemies outside in the gardens.  Zachary made for the far end of the bed, passing around it to get to the other side.

            The vault was behind a golden vase, situated in a small alcove and filled to the brim with fake flowers.  Wine red carnations sat in a cluster, their petals lightly frayed at the edges.  Zachary did not spare him his impatience, tossing both the flowers and the vase onto the bed with great haste.  He felt behind the trim surrounding the alcove, his finger brushing away a few specks of dust.  The tip of his middle finger found the button and he clicked it, the back of the alcove’s wall swinging back to reveal the small vault.  He reached in with a hand, grabbing the blaster and pulling it out.  It was a small handgun, black in color.  On a normal day, he would have grimaced at it, remembering who had given it to him all those years ago, but on that noir night, his thoughts were focused on survival and survival alone.

            A quick check to its core and Zachary could see the gun was still fully functional.  He turned in time to see a shadow moving towards him, its silhouette swallowing the dim light coming in from the hallway. At once, he crouched behind the bed.  The steak knife was in his left hand.  The handgun was in his right.  The intruder’s footsteps were soft on the hard floor—soft but not inaudible.  His body eclipsed the hall lights, devouring the guest room in total darkness. 

            “I know you’re in here,” came words on quiet breaths in an unfamiliar voice.  Zachary felt his blood run cold.  Outside, he heard fireworks erupt.  They sounded more like gunshots. Their lights were red—red like the imported carpets of his lonely mansion.  Red like Doris’s blood. 

            The footsteps grew closer.  Zachary told himself he had one shot to catch the intruder off guard and everything else would be up to the roll of fate’s dice and to whose battle instincts prevailed.  The hound waited, listening to the intruder walk further in until the hound was certain he was on the far side of the bed. 

            “You don’t have to hide, you know.  I’ll make it a fair fight.  Promise…” the intruder’s voice was a notch above a whisper.  It radiated with malice that knew no end.

            The intruder’s footsteps began to grow quieter—Pepper realized he had moved towards the bathroom just a few feet away.  He could not remember the last time the bathroom had been used, but it was impressively large, equipped with a shower and porcelain tub. But most importantly, it was big enough to hide in or at least give the impression that it was big enough to hide in.

            Still crouched, Pepper crept towards the foot of the bed, peering around it cautiously.  He could see the man’s back to him—a perfect opportunity.  It had been years since the hound had seen combat but some things one never forgot.  There was expertise in his movements as he pointed the gun.  Perhaps there was a layer of rust too but it was quickly being shaken off.  If there was mercy in the hound’s heart, it had died when Doris had.  Zachary Pepper fired, emerald green light exploding from the gun’s barrel.

            The laser illuminated the room like a brilliant star in the dead of night.  It blinded him momentarily, but not long enough to obscure the intruder’s face as he spun around in surprise.  Pepper did not see his attacker’s gun but he heard it fire.  The light from his blaster was red—just like the fireworks outside.  It grazed the hound’s cheek, searing his golden-brown fur.  Pepper threw himself back behind the bed, the side of his face burning.  He gritted his teeth, scrambling back.  Steak knife still in one hand, he tried to use the bed for cover but knew time was running out.  He had to think of his next move quickly.

            “Damn cur!” snarled the intruder and Pepper could hear the intruder’s feet shuffle, as though he was trying to regain his balance.  The hound knew this was his chance.  He popped up from the side of the bed, firing into the darkness.  His shots hit the wall, their impacts bursting with vibrant green life.  Zachary expected to hear a yell—a death cry… something… He crept further from safety, fingers fixated tightly upon the gun and the knife.

            Nothing…?

            Crimson light came from his right—towards the bathroom door.  The realization that the intruder had backed into the next room struck Pepper a split second before the first laser burned his hand, piercing through it.  His handgun fell to the ground and a pained scream tore from his mouth.  Desperation drove him to throw the knife.  Where it landed, he could not see. 

            Rough hands seized him by the collar, throwing him into the wall.  The back of his head hit the wall, sending dazzling lights before his eyes for an agonizing moment.  When his vision returned, he could see the intruder—could see the terrifying solid white mask he had donned to conceal his features.  Eye slots had been cut out.  In the dim light, Pepper could see amber irises gleam at him.

            “Heh you got me pretty good,” the intruder said.  Pepper reached out to grab the hefty coat the stranger wore.  Something on it was wet.  The hound tried to grapple with the intruder, but the stranger’s hand found its way around the General’s neck.  He pulled Zachary in close, breath hot on the dog’s face.  “But you’re not so tough are you?”

            “Who… are… you…?” Pepper struggled to breathe in the stranger’s grip.  He sent a knee into the man’s stomach.  Something hard collided into the side of the hound’s head.  In the span of a blink, he felt himself hit the hardwood ground.  Nausea and dizziness rocked him.  Was this it?  Was this how he was going to die?  Alone in his own home, a victim of murder, all the while everyone celebrated outside?  Completely unaware?

            “I’m the man who’s about to free the entire Lylat System!” declared the intruder.  Pepper felt a foot plant itself onto his back, pinning him down.  He struggled against it but the weight of the intruder held him.

            Something shone in the window.  A clear light danced back and forth, rocked by something unseen.  Zachary’s eyes followed it.  Up and down… up and down… up and down… in jagged, rough spurts.  It grew bigger with every passing moment. 

            “This is Cygnus.  I have the target now,” the intruder spoke.  Pepper could hear the faint noise of static—a walkie talkie?  Cygnus continued.  The light outside was getting brighter.  “I’m going to avenge them.  I’m going to avenge them all.  Down with Corneria!  Long live the—”

            A headlight.  It’s a headlight.

Realization hit him the moment the motorcycle hit the window.  The sound was deafening.  Shards sprayed the air.  The hound shut his eyes, the roar of the motorcycle’s engines screeching in his ears.  He felt the pressure on his back lift suddenly.  Over the sound of the engine was a scream.  A loud, painful scream.  And then it went quiet.  And then the engine went quiet.  And Pepper spent the next few moments wondering if he was still even alive. 

            When it became evident he had survived whatever chaos had just occurred, the hound shakily pushed himself upright.  Hand still throbbing with pain, he sucked in a deep breath, trying to get his bearings.  The window was open, the curtains blowing in the nighttime breeze.  His almond eyes adjusted to the new lighting, winding their way to where the wall was—to where the fallen motorcycle had landed, its front half embedded into the wall.  Underneath its tires lay an arm—an arm presumably attached to a torso, but he could not tell for sure due to the dim light.

            “Well, that wasn’t entirely my best entrance,” a familiar voice remarked.  The General stiffly turned to look at its origins, feeling a wave of relief.  He could feel his eyes burn with emotions breaking through the realization that he was, indeed, alive. 

            His savior was a woman, a collie that stood just a few inches shorter than him.  Clad in a protective chest plate over a long-sleeved navy blue shirt, she looked ill-fit to have the golden star emblazoned upon her right side.  One of her ears stuck upright and the other flopped at the tip, bouncing with each movement.  Despite this, she held a rather somber expression, eyeing the wreckage she had created with a thought-provoked frown. 

            “Chief Lane…” the hound stammered, then cleared his throat.  Dusting off debris from his crimson uniform, he straightened his posture despite the ache in his body. “You’re… ahem… you’re late.”

            “From where I’m standing, it looks like I was right on time,” remarked the collie as she grabbed the handles of her bike.  She heaved back, trying to dislodge it from the wall. “Are you hurt?  I tried to come as quick as I could but…” Her hazel eyes wandered to the General cradling his bloodied hand. 

            “I’ll live,” Zachary replied with the shake of his head.  “But I think I’m owed a few answers.”

            “You’ll get your answers.  But I think most of them are under my bike right now,” the Chief of Police replied with a small regretful wince. “I barely know more than you do at the moment.”  The motorcycle wiggled some before it began to roll back out of the wall.  Zachary did not dare look at what had become of the intruder under it. 

            “Well,” he said, studying Chief Lane’s face. “What do you know?’

            “They’re called the Sons of Cornerus,” she replied. “They’re a bunch of Venomian sympathizers with a headquarters somewhere in Corneria City.” She paused, golden-flecked eyes moving from the bloodied intruder on the ground to the General. “And they really want you dead.”