StarFox Fan Fiction ❯ The Shards of a Broken Krystal ❯ Sacrifice ( Chapter 10 )

Disclaimer: Surprise. I don't own the Star Fox series or any of its characters. I do, however, own the story. Keep that in mind before you steal it.

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The Shards of a Broken Krystal - by Staindgrey

Chapter X - Sacrifice

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The stars were an absolutely beautiful sight; he wondered why he didn't gaze upon them more often. Here in the silence of space, with nothing but the constant hum of his ship's oxygen-producing unit to distract him, he could, for once, lie back and just enjoy the wonderful view of outer space from the safety of his cockpit. No dogfighting. No work. No mammal drama. Nothing. Just him and the vast, gorgeous reaches of space. It was like an enormous black background with flickering snowflakes everywhere, suspended in time in some paranormal sequence. To his ship's portside was the all-too-familiar Sector Z, a peculiar nebula that formed a rather vague form of the letter “Z”. It showed a bright array of yellows and oranges from as far as Corneria on the other side of the system, a feat that the darker Sector X couldn't match. But now, with the cloud of star dust so close again, the pilot couldn't help but get caught up in memories made in this place...

 

His ephemeral muse ended abruptly, however, at the sound of the comm. link beeping, nagging at him to answer. The navy bird shook his head and wiped some weariness from his eyes from waiting out here for so long; perhaps this was who he'd been waiting for. “Better be...” he muttered to himself as he hit the button to start communications with an aggravated pound.

 

“Starfox mercenary aircraft, do you read?” The man had a professional tone to his voice, something that brought a quick grimace to the pilot's face. Damn, I don't think it's them...

 

“Yeah, loud and clear.”

 

“Identify yourself.”

 

“Name's Falco Lombardi.”

 

Then there was a silence. Falco waited for some sort of response, but apparently whoever was on the other line was processing his information; he couldn't really think of anything else he could be doing at the moment. Falco couldn't see any ships nearby, so either it was cloaked or they had a better radar system than he did. It was safe to say the latter was the case, since the Arwings themselves didn't have too great of systems on them; the Great Fox made up for that.

 

“So, you came after all.” Falco's features went from sullen to shocked at the sound of that voice. That sultry, challenging purr...

 

“Katt.” He stated her name with a grin tugging at the side of his beak as her face popped up on the video transmission screen.

 

“Good to see you're as crazy about me as ever,” she said with that same seductive feline voice.

 

“Or so you'd like to think,” Falco shot back, just as coolly as she had sounded. “I'm here to get away from Starfox for awhile. Drama's never been my thing.”

 

“So you came to me?” she pointed out with an arched eyebrow, more than subtly reminding the bird of the drama they'd always started themselves. Falco merely scoffed.

 

“Just let me in the port. I wanna know what this job of yours is.”

 

“Will do. We'll set off a beacon. Follow that into the ship's port and dock there in any open section you wish.”

 

“You guys have your own ship now?”

 

“Mhmm,” she purred, her smile widening some. “Money isn't as tight as before. I'll tell you more once you get your bony ass in here.”

 

---

 

Fox made his way through the makeshift path of mud and fallen tree branches with all the elegance of a drunk finding his way to the bathroom before hurling. The storm the night before must have been an incredible one, he mused as he beheld the dicot trees' bare arms and the mix of mud and formerly brightly colored leaves at his feet. With every step he took, he picked up another sloppy squish sound like someone smacking their lips all too loudly whilst eating. His uniform boots had changed from a shiny platinum to the dullest of browns in this short trek- he'd only traveled, by his estimate, less than a third of a kilometer from his downed ship by now. He was packed for a long haul, however, with his pack bulging past its standard size strapped to his back, and it didn't even hold his trusty blaster, which was latched to the side of his thigh as usual. Inside the pack he'd managed to fit the same canteen, food rations, grenades, spare communicator, steel cord rope and distress beacon from before, plus his first aid supply and a spare fuel cell left undamaged from his Arwing, just in case. The bag was heavy and its weight only seemed to exponentiate the more it yanked on the vulpine's bad left shoulder, but he showed nothing of it besides the occasional unavoidable grunt of discomfort. It's not that there was anyone around to impress; that was simply him.

 

“Krystal...” The name came out as no more than a breath. Why he said it, he wasn't completely sure, nor was he even completely aware he had even said it. But she was on his mind. The image of her in trouble, reaching and crying out for him when he wasn't there, remained constant in his throbbing head, only making his progressive migraine all the worse to handle. Luckily the now bright afternoon sun came down on the fox as no more than random drops of light through the dense amount of branches havering above him, so at least he could see without squinting to the point of not being able to make out anything a meter in front of him. He'd taken pain medication from his first aid kit earlier, but so far, he didn't feel a bit of relief. It probably came from his constant use of the drugs, but such was the life of a mercenary fighter, the life he didn't want Krystal to lead...

 

Damn it, Fox cursed himself. Again, he couldn't shake the thought of himself turning her away, blatantly ignoring her pleas to stay, to just be with him. He stared at the ground now, not bothering to mind his surroundings or even gaze upon the wonderful, natural sight that he hardly ever took the time to notice in the first place. His ears drooped like a saddened puppy, but his eyes were locked to his own feet as if he were trying to shoot beams right through them. He was blind to the world, to where he was heading, to everything but her.

 

“...then I don't want you to be a part of my life.”

 

Suddenly Fox's attention returned, his features jolting into a puzzled expression before his mind could even comprehend why. His mind processed what just happened as if it had been shut down during his daydreaming: he kicked something. That something was abnormal, and it caught his attention. What was it? Now he concentrated... that staff?!

 

That was it, alright, half submerged in the muddy ground and growing pile of dead leaves; he wouldn't have noticed it unless he'd nearly tripped over it. As he beheld and confirmed it to be Krystal's staff, Fox's facial features twisted between shock and gratification, resulting in something that resembled bad acting in a black and white horror film. Stunned for a moment, his body at last did what his mind was screaming for it to do and reached down to pick up the shortened blue stick, yanking it out from its muddy confines with the sucking sound of a plunger. He slowly, almost unbelievingly, wiped the sheet of brown from it with a gloved paw, then held the staff up to see the metal shine for all it was worth in a small beam of light that had made its way through the immense army of tree branches above.

 

It was just the way he remembered it, with the elaborate engraved pattern of a bronze-gold color covering the shaft and a beetle-like golden head with a bright, cerulean gem glowing in its center. The bottom end resembled the top, but was much smaller and less elaborate, like an overshadowed kid brother. He found the extending switch on the shaft's side and flipped it, feeling the familiar sensation of the staff stretching out to its full length and reminding him of his first trip to this planet. He flipped the switch back, letting it collapse to the size he'd found it, then flipped it again to repeat the process, as if to prove to himself this was indeed the very same object.

 

“Krystal!” he blurted out, “She must be close!” His head jerked to either side in a frantic motion, as if expecting her to be hiding behind a bush nearby. Fox's whole body turned full 360 as he surveyed every surrounding element and, regrettably, failed to find a single clue as to where she went. Without further hesitation, he lunged forward into an instant sprint in the same direction he had been heading, his mind seemingly forgetting the painful state the rest of his body was in. He had to find her. He had to. There was no telling where she was now, or who she was with- who had her. Fox knew that on this planet, there was no way she would have carelessly left her staff lying in the mud, and that simple thought set off like a bomb at the end of its fuse as he carelessly ran without a direction. Logic was now out the window. She was his mission. She was all that mattered.

 

“Krystal!!” He yelled her name again, begging for a call back... but received none.

 

---

 

“Krystal!!”

 

The blue vixen's eyes shot open like she had just been sucker punched in the stomach. She gasped for air as if she'd broken the water's surface while her heart stopped for the whole eternity her mind was stuck in. She heard it. She heard that epitomized thought of sheer desperation, that cry of love for an agonizing loss. It was deafening, a scream on the side of a canyon that echoed inside her mind again and again and again. It broke her heart just to hear it, to feel the indescribable sensation of complete loss of one's love. She wondered, could it be...

 

“...Fox...?”

 

“Vep aj unubo!” Her ears were barely adjusted; they felt like they were still ringing from her telepathically rendered scream. She closed her eyes and gently shook her head, trying to regain full consciousness, though it was harder than she figured. Everything was spinning ever so slowly. Where was she? Who just yelled? The voice was unclear, but raspy and shrill. She couldn't concentrate hard enough to sense his emotions at all- that one distant but fervent one was still clogging her head, which, as she knew right away, was throbbing at the moment. She attempted to reach a paw up to uselessly rub her forehead, only to have her arm met with heavy resistance. She tried again, but still, it wouldn't budge. She tried the other arm- no go. At last, she opened her glazed eyes once more, now able to make out much more of her surroundings.

 

“Unubo! Unubo!” The annoying one-word repetition was coming from a Lightfoot before her, his back turned to her as he signaled others with the simple word, “awake”. Though still somewhat dazed, she could tell he was referring to her. Now would be a good time to fully wake up.

 

She gave her arms another try, but they refused to move. They were tied down against her sides rather uncomfortably. In fact, she now realized her entire body was tied up, save her midsection, ankles down and neck up, to some sort of pole sticking straight towards the sky. At this realization, she instinctively writhed around weakly, obviously unable to break her bonds. It was useless to persist, but she continued anyway.

 

“Ugh! Cok mo we!” she grunted helplessly in the Lightfoot's language, her voice gaining strength along with the rest of her body. The vixen's sense of urgency kept her attention, not allowing her to even try and remember any reasons for why she was here in the first place. “Cok... mo... we!!”

 

She watched as the Lightfoot villager cocked his elongated head back to eye her, giving her a glare that spoke for itself: “Shut up, prisoner.” The gallimimus dinosaur looked almost like a raptor, only with a much longer body frame and much more powerful legs, which made his glare all the more gripping. He was clad, like the rest of his brethren, in a mess of homemade bead necklaces and colorful war paint from mixtures of crushed berries, most likely indicating his rank or clan in some way. Krystal knew of the dated tribal style of Lightfoot Village, and how, no matter the reason for them actually tying her up like this, there was to be no negotiation. Out of a growing desperation, she continued anyway.

 

“Idkao mo hawxk den!” In an instant, she was struck in the stomach with the dull end of the Lightfoot's spear, successfully shutting the blue fox up as well as emanating a choking gasp for air from her. Her body clenched and braced for more, but that was all that was to come for now. She took the hint.

 

“Chief Lightfoot!” one of the tribesmen hollered in his weaselly voice. That ridiculous voice made it hard to take most of this tribe seriously at times, Krystal mused with a smirk. But at the sound of their leader's name, two rows of apparent elites stood upright at attention with their spears just as erect as they were at their sides. Within moments, the burgundy, well clad Lightfoot leader waltzed through, nodding at a few of the onlookers with a belittling smirk painted on his snout. Despite walking much lower than the straight standing warriors on either side of him, he seemed so big simply by the associated veneration of the crowd. Everyone waited on his word, on his movement. Krystal was sure that wouldn't bode well for her.

 

Finally, after taking his time escalating the steps leading to the top of the plateau where Krystal resided, he stopped a couple meters ahead of her pole, turned to his audience and, like the soldiers already had, stood back on his hind legs to gain a good half meter in height. He scanned the crowd for a moment, flared his nostrils with a loud sniff, then cocked his head upwards, trying to open his throat for a less scratchy voice as he shouted, “Lightfoot!”

 

“Veholoh!” the mass responded in almost perfect unison, pumping their tiny fists to replicate their chief's motion.

 

“Udt veholoh!”

 

“Lightfoot!”

 

“Weet. Den...” He fell slightly, letting his body fall to a much more comfortable position for his skeletal type. The guards, however, weren't so lucky. “Oei bden nxuk xuffodadw.” Krystal, in any other situation that didn't involve her tied up and fearing for her safety, would have giggled at this tribe's broken language. But, she still got the point. “Kxoho u Krazoa Spirit adjato kxaj vep. Jxo jkeco Krazoa vhem Shrine veh olac!”

 

“What?!” Krystal blurted out in her now instinctive Cornerian. His speech may have been broken, but she understood the message perfectly. She had a Krazoa within her, and he accused her of stealing it for... evil? “A tat de jisx kxadw! A nuj khoadw ke julo ak vhem kxo Sharpclaw-” Her plea was cut short by another, harder, jab to her stomach by the butt of the same Lightfoot's spear as before. The chief didn't even seem to notice. He continued without missing a beat, reminding everyone of what they must do with a carrier of a Krazoa Spirit, something Krystal wasn't excited to hear in the least: a burning sacrifice. “De!!”

 

As the chief continued his monotonous speech, detailing how the Krazoa was trapped within this mammal's putrid body and why it wanted to be set free to travel to the heavens, only to bless their tribe for doing so later, Krystal hardly paid attention. She was now furiously wiggling around in whatever amount of leeway her binding ropes provided, which was close to none. She kept her oncoming grunts to a minimum so she didn't attract enough attention to get thumped in the stomach again, but plenty could hear her whimpers as she tried desperately to get away.

 

Thwack! This strike was much harder than the others and chased the vixens breath out of her like birds through an opened cage door. Her head jutted forward as she coughed loudly, her eyes shooting open at first only to clench tightly as she began coughing up a lung. In this short moment without the strength to continue her useless animation, she closed her eyes and thanked the gods that the chief felt the need for an elongated speech and tried to focus her energy on something more valuable. As her coughing eased, she kept her eyes closed, concentrating her telepathy on the surrounding individuals. She was hoping for someone, anyone to have a negative thought about this ceremony, a worry for her safety, anything. The feelings were almost all identical, not a single free-roaming thought in the pack. They were like sheep being herded by their shepherd. It was so sad, really, but Krystal hardly had the heart to feel sympathy at the moment.

 

That's when she felt it, the plea for help. The cry for justice from one of the silent lambs. Her deep navy eyes shot open again, a newfound eagerness shining brightly in them as she scanned the crowd towards the back right corner, trying to find the straggler behind them all that was being so cautious to step up-

 

“...Fox?!”

 

---

 

Fox read her lips as she nearly yelped his name and instantly pressed a furry digit to his own lips to signal for her to keep quiet. The two remained in a deep, fixated stare for what seemed much longer than it was, each one just too happy to finally be seeing the other again to look away. Their last words spoken to one another were nothing more than a distant memory. Fox became lost in those beautiful blue eyes he had taken for granted before, feasting upon their beauty with his gaze like a starving beggar on a t-bone steak.

 

Though this moment could have lasted forever, Fox at last broke the stare as he fell lower behind his wall of shrubs. He kept his eyes attentive and above the greenery, however, as he scanned the mass of dinosaurs, wondering what the best strategy would be to get Krystal out of here. He had been proclaimed a member of the tribe by the chief himself as a humble gesture after he had defeated Musclefoot, their most physically gifted member who happened to be standing next to Krystal at the moment, in strength and speed contests. How official that proclamation was, though, he had no idea, and he was positive that it didn't give him the authority to stop this ritual by any means. But should he charge in with his laser blasting or try and work it out diplomatically first? If the whole tribe ganged up on him, he was sure to get tied up to the same pole Krystal was, and that wasn't going to help the situation at all.

 

Krystal tried not to look in his direction too much; she didn't want to give away his position in case one of the tribesmen got suspicious. But she couldn't help but continually glance towards the brush where he was, wondering what was taking him so long. His thoughts were much calmer and logical now- no doubt he was formulating some sort of plot. That was when her subconscious brought her back to the chief's speech as her ear caught something that caused a jolt of fear to run through her entire body: “...Den! No jok kxo Krazoa vhoo! Rihd kxo jushavaso!” Burn the sacrifice!

 

Fox was, at this point, trying to turn his translator on, the same one that Slippy had developed for him nearly a decade ago. The clunky wristband was, so far, unresponsive, something he should have expected after such a long time of disuse. “Damn it...” he grumbled, cursing himself for not testing it before he left as he continued to fiddle with his device, pressing any button available to try and spark it on miraculously. His head shot back to attention, however, as a roar of close to one hundred gallimimus dinosaurs echoed within the small clearing of the huge surrounding wood. His jaw gaped slightly at the sight of Musclefoot reaching for an inflamed slab of wood that another, smaller, Lightfoot handed him. No time for a translator.

 

“No!!” Everything stopped. The crowd's enormous cheer died down to a near-silent grumble, then to a dead silence comparable to the vast reaches of space. All heads were turned and all eyes were locked on him; Chief Lightfoot's were the most noticeable with their cold glare, save Krystal's look of utter relief. Fox was now standing in the same stance he'd landed when jumping out from the bushes, looking tall and proud in his classic Starfox uniform, which had a mystic shine to it with the high afternoon sun beating against it, like the armor of a knight on a mission to save his fair maiden. His emerald eyes glimmered even more in the sun's glow; they were two emerald gems set afire, burning with a white hot intensity that mocked the sun's sheer existence. His dramatic, storybook entrance wasn't followed by a graceful one-liner, however.

 

“Let her go!”

 

Most of the dinosaurs' heads jerked back slightly in a confused look. Some of them looked at each other, shrugging slightly and murmuring. Fox looked around hesitantly, then realized, Duh. No translator. Moron...

 

“Nxuk rhadwj oei xoho, Fox McCloud?” the chief asked from atop his plateau, his head cocked to the side with a sly grin on his elongated face. “Uho oei nakx xoh?” His head jutted to the opposite side with the last word he said, pointing towards Krystal, still strapped to her pole. Fox had no idea what he'd just said, but at the mention of Krystal, he instinctively nodded, not sure what else to do. The Lightfoot leader's lighthearted grin was then replaced by a completely opposite solemn frown while he stared down at the fox. “Loho nocc.” He raised a tiny arm and swept it through the air to point it at Fox with a frightening forcefulness to it, all the while his leer turned into a downright evil glare. “Rihd xom uj nocc!”

 

“No! Fox!!” Krystal's outcry was more than Fox needed to realize how sour the situation had turned. Survival instincts kicked in as he felt the weight of a hundred or so stares from the entire tribe and he reached down for his blaster, whipping it out and aiming it forward with both paws gripping it tightly, one uncovered digit latching onto the trigger, ready to fire at the first notice of attack.

 

“So much for diplomacy...” he muttered while he stayed at his position, not budging an inch to prove he wasn't backing down from the odds. As for the dinosaurs themselves, most of them couldn't hide the apprehension this new object brought; none of them knew what in the world it was. Fox was hoping that alone would scare them away so he wouldn't have to use it. So far, that hope was alive and well. “Krystal!”

 

It took her a moment to respond, whether she was dazed or just caught off guard by his calling her, he wasn't sure. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes for a moment before focusing his attention on the crowd of Lightfoot tribesmen once more. “Yes, Fox?” Her voice was timid, as she was most likely trying to avoid another strike to her abdomen.

 

“Translate for me,” Fox demanded, still constantly glancing between her and the horde of dinosaurs before him. The ones with spears were ready with them, but stationary, while the rest of the tribe merely stood in apprehension, ready to leap either towards Fox or away from him; their eyes showed much more fear now than belligerence. “I mean no harm, just let the girl go and I-”

 

“But Fox,” she interrupted, “they want my Krazoa Spirit!”

 

That comment drew Fox's attention almost too much, as his entire head flew in the vixen's direction, as if to prove to himself that what she said was true. It was; her eyes were flooded with a light shade of violet, indicating the binding of souls within her with the Krazoa. How he'd missed that before, he would never know. His eyes darted back towards the sound of a moving guard, willing him to halt with frightening glare. “Why the hell did you steal a Krazoa?”

 

“The Sharpclaw tricked me into it!There's a new lead- ack!” Her sentence was abruptly cut off by another jab to her exposed stomach, which drew Fox's full attention once more. This time, however, he pointed his blaster at the abuser atop the plateau. The guard lowered his spear quickly, not wanting to see whatever magic Fox's pistol possessed, but the vulpine's attention was once again thrust in another direction as he heard some guards inching closer again. This tennis match continued for a few more moments, as he tried to show both the ground level and top of the plateau equal heed. Fox began to slowly, carefully back up, placing one foot behind the other at the pace of molasses.

 

“Krystal, you alright?” he asked before again pointing his weapon at the smaller guard beside her, assuring that she wouldn't be hit again. She nodded.

 

“Yes, I'm... fine.” She coughed again to prove just the opposite. The answer was good enough for Fox.

 

“Alright. Tell the chief...” His arms jerked towards the slowly approaching spear-wielding guards before continuing. “...what you were trying to tell me, only, you know, in dino-language.”

 

“I tried! He wouldn't listen before.”

 

“Make him listen.”

 

“Fox!” she scolded, making him heed her. “These tribal types won't listen to reason. You know that better than I do!” For a girl that had just been punched in the stomach, she sure had a boom to her voice, Fox noted. However, what she said was true. Considering the current circumstances, there was no way that Chief Lightfoot would swallow his pride and simply say, “Oh, my bad. Sorry,” in front of his entire village. The only tactics now were, one, to scare him into letting them go, or two, drive the entire tribe into extinction. Fox chose the former.

 

“'Kay. Tell him...” He pondered for a moment, his adrenaline overridden mind trying to formulate some sort of plan while it spent almost all of its time focusing on not dying at the hand of one of those ready and willing spears. The tenseness not only kept Fox on his toes, but also made it nearly impossible to think outside the box. “Hmm... Tell him that the Krazoa is angry, and if he does not release you, then... I don't know, it'll burn down his whole village or something.”

 

“Do you honestly think he'll buy that?” she questioned. Unlike most every other mind in the area, the chief's was strangely calm and not stuck in overdrive. That couldn't bode well for her or Fox.

 

“We won't know 'til we try. Tell him.”

 

She did just that, translating Fox's rough outline with some edited details, in particular, that she was a sacred vessel chosen to return the Krazoa to its palace, and if he destroyed her, then his entire tribe's fate would be sealed. She thought it was rather convincing, but the Lightfoot leader merely laughed. His shrill guffaw caught both mammals off guard, drawing both their sets of eyes, which each looked quite confused.

 

“Nxo Krazoa de tojkheo!” he belted, “Edco rcojj! Oei aj cauh! Bacc nxom rekx!”

 

“Uh... Fox?” Fox didn't need a translation on that one; the crowd's quick demeanor switch from hesitant to virulent was more than enough to prove that the chief had just shot down their story. The armed tribesmen now scooted closer at a quicker pace, making Fox back away quicker as well, beginning to make a lap around the plateau beside him.

 

“Krystal,” he called, waiting as he tried to think of something comforting or inspiring to tell her. Alas, nothing that cool came to mind. “...get ready.”

 

His plan was simple: fire a shot or two, scare the hell out of them, then jump and grab the ledge of the plateau, climb up, dodge or hit whoever's trying to get in his way, then slice through Krystal's ropes before carrying her off to safety. There were only a few problems with the plan, such as how the hell he'd scale that wall with his taped shoulder, or if he would have even close to the amount of time needed to cut her free before at least one Lightfoot was leaping on him. Oh, then there was that walking abnormality, Musclefoot. In short, he was screwed.

 

“HAH!!!” Fox shouted as he pulled the trigger at last, setting off a tidal wave of an assault towards him. He hit the front dinosaur right on target, directly in the chest, and sent him backward into the one behind him before falling to the ground screaming and yelping with his last few breaths. To the Starfox leader's dismay, however, this didn't scare off the others in the least bit. They now bull-rushed him, all screaming and holding either their weapons of clawed hands at his throat level. It was a sight horrifying enough to make Fox decide to fall back, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly he felt a spear graze his side despite his leaping backward; that sharp sensation was then followed by a razor stabbing into his opposite leg as a set of claws dug into his heavy cargo pants and attempted to rip the flesh right off of him. He yelped in pain before firing more, much more misguided, shots, but it didn't do much to slow the fervent offensive.

 

Krystal watched in horror as Fox's body was swallowed up in the crowd, hardly anything of him visible to her now but his randomly fired laser sparks that flew into the air like a light show. Her heart dropped and shattered in her hanging feet as was caught in time, unable to believe that this was really happening. It was a dream; it was all a horrible, terrible dream, one that she would be waking up from any moment. Any moment...

 

“FOX!!!” Her scream was one that surpassed her vocal cords' limits, the sort of scream that couldn't be faked or acted out or rehearsed. It was something that she had never experienced before, even when fearing her own death. Its force could not only shatter mirrors, but move mountains with its sheer emotion; it was the cry of a heart for her loved one before impending death, begging the gods to save him despite all odds. She continued to scream, lashing out at her binding ropes with all the might her smaller body could muster. Her head flew in every direction like a seizure as she tried to will the ropes off of her, slamming her head against the pole behind her without a care. Tears flooded her clenched eyes as blood began to seep from the newly opened skin from her desperate and futile attempt to break the ropes that kept her sidelined, away from Fox. She didn't feel a thing. “NOO!!! FOOOOX!!!!”

 

That was when she was stopped. It wasn't from another pound to the stomach, or even any contact from a Lightfoot at all. Her teary eyes shot open as she felt her body collapsing to the side- in fact, the entire pole she was tied to was falling. An eternity passed in the short time it took her to hit the ground, and she watched every detail of every second as it passed before she was brought back to reality with a hard slam against the ground on her side. With her limbs still bound to the log against her, she couldn't do much to brace herself. She grunted and clenched her eyes shut again, nearly losing her breath for the fifth time in the short time she'd been awake. Snapped back to consciousness from her temporary departure from reality, she felt her whole body scream with pain, begging for release in some way. There was none, however, and her log was suddenly lifted by one of the strands of rope, tightening its grip on her fragile frame and making her all the more miserable. With a weak yelp, she began to lose consciousness, just barely able to make out the Lightfoot leader hollering She escapes! After them! before drifting off into stasis again, her body simply unable to take the stress any longer...

 

Fox, meanwhile, was fighting for his life before those blessed words were hollered. He was using his whole bag and the butt of his gun to break jaws and kneecaps, trying desperately just to stay alive. At the sound of the chief's mangled voice, however, the attacking claws and spears slowed to a stop, and he was eventually left alone. He didn't stop, continuing to strike anything close with a loud yell of superficial might, cracking bones and dismantling faces of whatever he could reach. Only a few Lightfoot were still there, but they backed away from the mad fox as he swung his makeshift weapons without reserve or even calculated motions- he was now nothing more than a killing machine fighting for its own survival. Their leader shouted something else before they reluctantly pulled back, eying the maddened vulpine before at last fleeing and following the rest of the pack out of the village.

 

Fox, however, was still in survival mode, throwing his pack around by its strap like a mace at nonexistent enemies shouting in a rough, weakened growl, “Yeah, you want more?! Huh!! Run, you damn cowards!!” As they ran, however, their tails hiked up in his direction, Fox gradually fell back into the realm of sanity, aided by the flood of pain his nerves forced upon his mind. He didn't even notice it yet, but his fur was soaked in patches of crimson. His suit, bullet-proof vest and all, was torn and mangled. He shouldn't have even been standing, a fact that soon enough took over as he reluctantly fell to his knees, gasping for air like there was none left to breathe. Finally, his whole body collapsed against the cold, sodden earth, still soaked by last night's rain. His eyelids lowered, but he refused to drift into unconsciousness; Krystal was still in trouble.

 

“Krystal...?” He tried to yell, but it came out as nothing but a whisper, if that. He was so weak, but his mind stayed strong. He couldn't let himself go down. “Krystal?” He repeated her name with whatever force he could garner, though it still never surpassed a rough breath. The silence was killing him. He couldn't hear anything. No screaming, hellbent Lightfoot, no chief barking orders, no Krystal, no fire, no motion... nothing but a very gentle breeze blowing right into his erect ear.

 

“Un...ugh! Krystal!” He managed to push his upper body upward, much like a push-up position with his knees still grounded. His voice had also elevated to that of a loud grunt, but still, he received no answer. “Krystal!!” He closed his eyes as he fought the pain, making his body stand to its feet against its will. His head rolled back as he almost fell backwards completely, but somehow managed to keep his balance. “Krystal!!” He could find nothing to say but her name, the name of the woman he needed now. She was his mission... had he failed his mission?

 

His legs walked like his shoes were made of lead, while his paw weakly remained attached to the strap of his pack. He took a moment to reach down for his blaster on the ground, fighting the urge to just lie back down and rest, then locked it back in its holster on his thigh- the two large gashes in the material luckily didn't hinder its use. Still dazed and feeling like his world was spinning, Fox continued his search, Krystal's name echoing like a broken record through the empty village while his own blood ran over his eyes from a small gash in his forehead, causing him to continue his search blind. “Kryyyystal!!!” He had to find her. She was his mission, his goal, his lifelong dream. He couldn't fail.

 

He just couldn't fail.

 

---

 

Falco followed his former (public) love interest as she swayed her hips seductively in front of him, a walk that exemplified her personality the way Falco knew it so well. He tried his hardest to not constantly glance at her butt while she shook it, knowing that that's just what she wanted. It was a game they played every time they reunited; both were quite used to it by now. This time, however, Falco was determined not to fall first.

 

The ship itself seemed brand new as the bird's eyes remained on every surrounding besides the feline ahead of him. Every corner was spotless. The floor was waxed and shiny as if it were covered in a clear plastic coating. The paint was as fresh as possible without being wet and even the signs and the doors they were attached to seemed unaged in every aspect. It was safe to say that whatever the gang's money acquisition that Katt mentioned was, it was recent.

 

“Here,” Katt purred, motioning towards a small table with a brand new leather sofa on one side, a comfortable recliner on the other. Falco returned his attention from the random sign he'd made himself focus on before to the pink-furred cat, nodding and moving around the circular table to find his spot on the black sofa. He didn't bother to take off his leather coat, which was standard apparel in this rambunctious gang of roughneck mercenaries, as he sank into the new smelling leather, spreading his wings over the back of the couch in a perfect relaxing position. He heaved a small sigh as he watched Katt slide into her seat on the opposite side of the table, something that somewhat surprised him with plenty of room on either side of him remaining free.

 

“Nice place,” he said nonchalantly, once again looking around at the interior of the ship and avoiding direct contact with Katt's succulent form perfectly outlined in an overly tight black uniform. “You know, I've got plenty of room over here...”

 

“I thought this was strictly business?” she teased, her voice once again purring in a sultry tone. Falco merely shrugged. “Well, before you try too hard to get in my pants, let's actually discuss business.”

 

“Fine by me.” It was sad, really, what their relationship was. But being so close to her, Falco could hardly deem it the painful experience logic called it any other time.

 

“Alright.” She lifted a paw above the table now, flipping the bird the file she'd been carrying down the hallway. It slid and twirled a short distance across the table, landing right at Falco's edge perfectly. Falco's sly expression stayed etched in stone as he almost scoffed, even though Katt was one of the few individuals in the galaxy that could see through his tough guy persona without much effort. With a feathered digit he flipped the file open, finding inside a short stack of maybe four or five papers, the front one in letter format and only half filled with any kind of wording.

 

As he read the opening lines, Falco's grin gradually faded into a diminished frown, then into a full-on grimace. His eyes grew at a steady pace, seeming like they would bulge right out of their sockets if he continued reading. “This... no, you can't... be serious?” He flipped past the first page, looking at the others quickly before locking eyes with the feline again, begging for some sort of indication that this was, indeed, all a joke. There was none.

 

“C'mon, Falco, don't look so shocked. It pays very well. You can live here, with us-”

 

“No, I can't do this.” Falco immediately, decisively, closed the folder and pushed it back across the table like a whining child that didn't want to eat his peas. Katt's smile never faded.

 

“Falco, Falco, Falco... You can do this. You'll be with us, your friends.” She leaned forward against the tabletop, resting her chin on her palm as her elbow jabbed down into the hardwood. Falco's eyes stayed locked with hers for a few moments, still filled with a questioning look that she was so unaccustomed to seeing from him. He then looked away, his mind obviously waging a war inside his head. She giggled in a low purr before reaching a hand out to rub the bird's jacket arm, grasping his attention again. “Sleep on it. You'll make the right decision.”

 

Falco once again looked away, scoffing at her comment and jerking his arm away in apparent disgust. But all the while, Katt never showed an ounce of surprise or worry. She knew he'd give in. For now, however, he showed no signs of it.

 

As he rose to his feet, he kept his eyes off of her, choosing instead to stare blankly at the ground while he fought himself over the issue, he said in a quiet, simmered voice that didn't fit him in the least, “...I'll think about it.” With that, he walked back down the hall where they'd come, not once looking back at Katt or in any direction but ahead. Katt merely smiled, uncrossed her legs and grabbed the forlorn file, then followed after him with the confident knowledge that she had him. The payday wasn't going anywhere.

 

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