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WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
Red lights flashing. Sirens blaring. Error messages flying across screens. Shields down. Wing gone. Power dwindling. And yet still so many Venomian units on his tail. So much for making a break for Sector Z and finding the rumored warp hole that just might save his hide at this point. Things were bleak. They had been since that traitorous swine Pigma betrayed them all. The only bright side to this entire mess was that his best friend had managed to sneak past Venom's armada while James had the enemy's attention. Peppy knew what lied in wait on Venom now. Pepper's suspicions had been correct. So long as the warning reached Corneria, the CDF could then prepare their forces to handle the devastating war on the horizon.
Lasers grazed the intact wing, the Arwing shuddering from the blast. He grit his teeth, forcing the thrusters to their absolute limits. Look at him, ace pilot James McCloud, with his ship barely hanging on by a thread. It was a miracle he was still alive, but who knew how long that miracle would last? The trap Pigma led them into nearly trashed his Arwing from bomb blasts. Then the mercenary team Star Wolf had been sent to recapture him, led by none other than one of his former students from his days as an instructor at the Cornerian Flight Academy. Seeing that face again, hardened by life throwing the worst at him and still moving on despite it all, had been a shock. Going by the name Wolf now, the youngster had been nearly impossible to escape from. Wolf had always been a promising pilot—could have and should have been one of the best Corneria had ever seen had his dream and future not been ripped away from him due to financial struggles and getting involved with the wrong crowd to make ends meet. One heist gone wrong and being labeled a criminal was enough to ruin everything. Andross had promised him something greater than life as a lowly thief—more than Corneria could ever provide—and Wolf was determined to prove to Andross and himself that he was James’s superior when it came to flying. What better way to do that than by shooting down your old mentor on the field of battle? Somehow James managed to outmaneuver Wolf’s team with his Arwing mostly intact. But now the rest of Andross's forces were intent on finishing the job. One more hit and he'd be joining the debris scattered across Sector Z.
More shots. Barrel roll to deflect what he could with his shield's power waning. Once again pushing the thrusters as much as possible to put any semblance of distance between him and his foes. Stubbornness and desire were the only things keeping him from giving up. If Andross thought James would go down without a fight, he was sorely mistaken. Better yet, James refused to go down. Not when he had someone to return to. His boy just turned thirteen not long ago—old enough to attend the flight academy yet still far too young to take care of himself. He wanted to return home alive for Fox’s sake. And James would. He sincerely believed the words he left with Peppy to pass on to Fox would not be James's last.
Another blast shook the ship and James down to his core. The Arwing began to nosedive, thrusters damaged and unable to keep itself level. James swore as red lights streaked by in his peripheral vision. He couldn't accelerate anymore. Those dastards had him in their grasp now. The moment those lasers tore through the Arwing, it would explode and make Sector Z James’s grave. He slammed his fist into the dashboard, cursing Andross to the deepest, darkest pits of hell. James hoped the ape's mad desires for universal conquest would rot. He hadn't given up hope despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him. Trusting his skills and instincts had brought him this far, but it hadn't been enough. Losing Vixy had been hard enough on Fox. Now he'd be losing his father as well.
“Fox, forgive me…”
A shot pierced through the intact wing, the warning sirens shrieking in his ears as he went down. The Arwing began to spiral. His grip on the steering was tight, trying to keep himself steady as the momentum began to strain his G-Diffuser system. As the stars sped by in the distance, something shimmered before him amid the asteroids and parts strewn across Sector Z. Hope dared to rise within his heart at the sight. Could it be? Faster his ship spun, down towards his intended target. Distorted space—the rumored warp point. Would his miracle last long enough for him to utilize it? He didn't have time to ponder it. It was do or die. He thrust the controls forward, forcing the Arwing toward that rip in the very fabric of space-time. Many brave souls had ventured into suspected warp points. Most never returned. Those who did make it back had their very sense of time shattered, minutes turning into years in an instant once they exited the warp. James could only hope his skills would be enough to navigate through whatever was on the other side of that light back to Corneria or any other allied planet in Lylat.
All too soon the Arwing passed through the rift. What awaited him was something out of a dream. Swirling colors. Twisting monuments. Psychedelic meteors. Some sort of creatures native to the world between worlds. His very existence stretched thin as his Arwing fell into what seemed like an endless void, unable to pull itself up due to its damaged systems. Time became incomprehensible. Distance didn't exist. Reality warped before his eyes. How long had he been here? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? The colors never seemed to end. Was it a mistake to seek this place as a possible haven? Would this world see him die?
And just as suddenly—or perhaps after far too long—the world shattered. Black speckled with white dots returned to him. Upon the horizon, a planet of blue and green, coated by streaks of white clouds. The G-Diffuser warning was blaring as his Arwing steadily fell towards the planet, pulled in by its strong gravitational field. Blistering heat burned around him as his ship hurtled through the planet's atmosphere towards the ocean below. Sweaty paws gripped the steering, pulling it as far back as it could go without breaking it. This would be a rough landing, if he lived through it at all.
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
Those were the last words he heard the moment he crashed into the sea and everything went black.
“Ugh! Words, why won’t you come to me!?”
Rosemary Prower glared at the sheet before her. Why was it when it came to writing an actual novel it was so much harder to put pencil to paper? She had written short stories, poetry, and articles of all sorts before. Her work was well-received. Her closest friend Vanilla and Rosemary's coworkers had all encouraged her to push her skills further. Becoming an author had been a distant dream in the past, but making a living off of it never seemed feasible to her. It all depended on whether your work was a hit with the masses or not and Rosemary was well acquainted with critics already. Them and those who simply had nothing better to do with their lives other than to leave nasty comments about her “non-existent talent” and choice of topics.
Now, novels were a beast of their own. Finding an original plot when so much had already been done was a challenge. Sure, everyone loved their vampire-falls-in-love-with-a-mortal stories, but how many times could one take a creative spin on that idea? She certainly got bored after the first dozen she had read out of curiosity or from Vanilla’s suggestions. Every thought that came to her was quickly snuffed out. Magical adventures? Too broad to cover and mulling over details on how the magic worked would take way too much time to develop. Coffee shop love stories? Too cheesy and too simple when no one ever left the café. Tragic drama? Tempting, but she hadn't had too many terrible experiences to draw inspiration from.
Rosemary growled, throwing the pencil across her desk and watching it clatter and roll off onto the floor. With a frustrated sigh, she decided that her muse just wasn't going to work with her tonight. The chair screeched loudly as the legs dragged across the wooden floor. She grabbed a sweater off her nearby couch, wrapping it around her summer dress and slipping on some sandals. A nice walk around the beach would clear her head. After that, a good night's rest ought to help her find a starting point. West Side Island had some of the most gorgeous sunsets in the world, but the light of the moon reflecting off the ocean's waves had its own ethereal beauty that couldn't be replicated anywhere else. The walk down to the beach didn't take long, but she already felt better now that she wasn't squinting at the source of her troubles. She breathed in the salty sea air, the gentle breeze brushing her brown bangs against her forehead. The sand glowed white beneath the moon's rays, silky and cool even as the grains slipped between her toes.
“Oh, wait! Moonlit beach. A nice little stroll. That's so normal. That'd be a good start, I suppose?” She hummed to herself. “But thinking aloud? Bemoaning life's recent troubles? Nah, that's too cliché. I'd get stuck after the first paragraph.” She sighed. “I can see it now. Something exciting happens within the next few moments that will change the heroine's destiny forever. Who hasn't read that intro a million times already?”
She gazed out at the sea, listening to the lapping of waves against the shore. The soft noises of the night echoed in her ears. Crickets composing their songs for the world. Leaves rustling in the wind. And sweet chirps of Flickies…strangely absent? Normally they'd be calling for potential mates every night at this time of year. Why were they silent now?
She got her answer with the sharp shrill heard in the distance. Her ears flicked towards the sound, eyes following soon after. Blue irises dilated at the sight of some sort of object falling from the sky at an insane speed. Was that a meteorite? The closer it came she could make out more details. A ship was hurtling towards the island, leaving a twirling trail of smoke behind it as it spun out of control. A wing was missing, the remaining one too damaged to sustain any lift. It skid across the water, hitting it roughly multiple times and flipping the vehicle each time until it crashed into a nearby cliff. The sound of the impact echoed across the area, the vibrations reverberating in her entire body. Orange and red sparked to life from the crater and she felt her heart drop into her stomach. That crash looked deadly. If the ship exploded, it could take out the cliff entirely and bring down any houses or civilians into the sea when it collapsed. Not only that, if there was a pilot in that ship they could be counted among the casualties if they weren't already dead.
Rosemary rushed towards the impact site, pushing herself to run as fast as she could. Trees flew by, sticks digging into her legs as she scrambled through foliage. In her haste she tripped over a hidden rock and landed roughly against the ground, scraping her knees and staining her sundress with dirt. She quickly launched to her feet again, still focused on her destination. So far so good in terms of innocent bystanders being harmed. This spot was thankfully unpopulated from the looks of things, but that made a potential rescue that much more difficult. Only Rosemary was nearby. If she needed help in this rescue, it might be too late for the pilot by the time assistance arrived. She quickly shoved those thoughts away. Focus on the now. One foot in front of the other. The heat increased and she could smell some sort of odor in the air. Burning fuel? It wasn't gas or oil from what she could tell. But the scent led her right to the crash site.
Rosemary's eyes bugged out seeing the size of the crater and the aircraft lodged into the rocks. The nose was jammed deep into the cliff, the intact wing literally hanging on by only a few wires that remained connected to the main body. The reinforced glass over the cockpit was cracked so bad she could barely see through it. She could hear the material of the ship groaning and creaking as gravity pulled its flaming backside downwards toward the sea below. The fire seemed to be contained to the back of the craft where the thruster was. Whatever engines or parts that remained intact were weighing down the now-unevenly shaped aircraft, making it bottom-heavy. She swallowed, her throat dry from the run and from nervousness. Sure, there were enough outcrops to maneuver down to the cockpit. But from this distance, if she fell she'd break more than a few bones when she hit the water.
She inhaled sharply, holding it and letting go. She steeled her nerves, determination blazing. She could barely see an outline beyond the glass, but there was a pilot in there. Nothing to do now but act. Her hands trembled as she maneuvered over to the edge. Heart pounding, she slid off and landed on the nearest outcrop. Then once more to the next. The closer she got, the creaking of the ship grew louder. She wasn't sure how much time she had left before the machine plummeted into the sea, drowning its occupant in the process.
“Move it, Prower!” She hissed to herself, forcing herself to move faster despite her fears. “You can't wuss out! Have your panic after you save a life!”
Finally, after far too long for her tastes—and one too many jumps she almost didn't make—she made it to the ledge closest to the ship. The cockpit was within arms reach, but the aircraft was tilting dangerously now. Too much force on it and it'd come loose from the rocks and all of her effort would have amounted to nothing. Squinting, she peered beyond the glass at the person sitting inside. Slumped over. Not a good sign. She bit her lip. What would she do now? She made it this far, but how was she going to get them out of there? Her eyes scanned her surroundings. There were some sizable rocks around. Would they be strong enough to shatter the already-damaged glass? Only one way to find out! Rosemary grabbed a rock and, with as much strength as her arms could muster, smashed it into the glass. The protective material shattered, the sharp sound making her ears fold back. She watched with her heart in her throat as the ship wobbled from the force, but thankfully didn't fall. Letting out a relieved breath, she set her sights on the pilot.
She dropped the rock, feeling her jaw drop. She wasn't familiar with aviation technology, but even she could tell this was far too advanced for modern day planes and airships. This was something…otherworldly. Even with everything in the cockpit half-broken, the console was sleek and the layout sophisticated. Maybe in the next fifty years humans or Mobians would reach this level of technological advancement. That begged the question of who designed this craft and the person it belonged to. She glanced at the pilot, wincing at the state they were in. Muscular build suggested a male. Judging by the ears, some sort of canid. A Mobian? He sure was buckled in, which likely saved his life from the devastating crash. She carefully maneuvered over the edge of the cockpit, reaching for the buckle. Messing with it revealed it was jammed. Understandable if those impacts on the sea were anything to go by. She bit the tip of her glove, pulling the covering off as she flexed her fingers. Sharp claws extended from them, working their way into the belt to saw him free. Even the belt's material was sturdier than anything she was familiar with from the insides of cars from the mainland. With the vehicle's creaking serving as her motivation, she quickly filed down each one of the belts keeping the pilot in place. She was not looking forward to the damage her claws sustained, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
After several tense minutes, the pilot was freed. She bent over, hooking her arms underneath his and yanking upwards with as much strength as she had. She nearly hurt something in her back from doing that because WHY was this guy built so well!? He was all muscle! And way too heavy! As if to spite her, the aircraft was beginning to lose its balance and the nose was starting to fall out of the cliff. She needed to get the pilot out within the next thirty seconds or she'd be joining him and his ship on the bottom of the ocean.
“Argh! No! You are not dying today!” She growled at the unconscious, but likely-dead jerkwad who got her into this situation. Curse her good heart! “You owe me a manicure for this, buster!”
She lifted him up far enough to get a better grip and then pulled. She flew back, one very heavy pilot on top of her, and heard the screeching of metal as it dislodged from the cliff. An almighty splash made sea water rain on her for a few seconds. She peeked over the edge of the outcrop, watching in morbid fascination as the ship sank beneath the waves. Its initial buoyancy was surprising, but with all its internal systems exposed it didn't take long for the aircraft to disappear underwater. Her heart was racing, her chest hurting as she tried to find out how to breathe again. That disaster was way too close for comfort. But at least she saved the pilot. Maybe.
She looked down at the guy, finally maneuvering him onto his side to get a better look at his condition as she sat up. The fluffy tail finally gave her the answer of what he was: a fox, like her. He looked okay at first glance. There'd be bruises and maybe some broken bones under his fur, most likely. The worst she could see was the decently sized gash in his head, bleeding profusely even now. Probably caused by shrapnel from inside his ship or from the glass she shattered to get to him. With a sad sigh, she took off her sweater and began to shred it to make makeshift gauze. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing before a professional medical team could see to his injuries. Pressing down on the wound, her eyes scanned the rest of him. Flight suit with the name “James” stitched on the front. Red scarf. Distinguishing metal boots. Aviators—cracked aviators at that.
“Who are you, James?” She couldn't help but wonder aloud. “And that ship… What were you doing to end up like this?”