Revised "Six" chapter one, part one--final draft

This is probably the last major revision to the beginning of "Six." Smaller changes may still come, but large chunks of the text will no longer be cut out or added.

This time, I've uploaded the full chapter, as it's getting closer to the time when I'll start uploading all this to FFN.

Note: formatting was mostly lost in the transfer, except for the italics that I fixed right at the top of the story.

--

When the time comes, don't hesitate. Just act.

When he’d first went to bed, he’d been exhausted from countless hours of fighting, but now sleep wouldn’t come. He’d force his eyes shut and his mind blank, but each time, it was only a minute before he was staring at the ceiling again, replaying the fights, reliving how he’d missed that one shot while on foot, how he could’ve saved Slippy’s wing if he’d got his sights down sooner, how one of his laser shots had almost hit Leon’s ship. How he probably wouldn’t have been able to take the last shot without remembering his rival’s words, which were still ringing in his ears.

It didn’t help that everything in the room was foreign: the sheets, the scents, and even the air composition. Military beds weren’t nearly as comfortable as his own, now incinerated along with the rest of his ship, but that alone wouldn’t keep him from sleep. Maybe it was the excitement, knowing that when he woke, they’d be docked in a Zoness tourist magnet. Maybe it was the guilt, knowing that hundreds of military operatives, the Great Fox, and Star Wolf had all gone down with the Queen. Or maybe it was the uncertainty, knowing that somehow Wolf’s team had probably survived.

Whatever it was, it kept him up through most of the night. He wasn’t sure if the replays ever morphed into dreams; the only thing he knew for certain in the morning was that the alarm came far too soon.



He found the others in the carrier’s lounge the next day, crowded around the windows opposite its entrance. Peppy’s head cocked over towards him when he entered. “Sure is something, eh?” the hare said.

He didn’t mean the lounge—it was the same as the one on any other military vessel, lacking the holovisions or billiard tables that the team had put in their own lounge, making due with only a few couches and seats clustered around the room. He could see the light coming in from the windows, and when he got closer, he could see the beautiful blue oceans typical of Zoness—a sharp contrast to the toxic waste he’d seen not too many years past. “Wow. Too bad we can’t stay.”

“Maybe we can,” Falco said, arms crossed, “once we get our paycheck.”

“I still can't believe we did it,” Krystal said. When Fox met her eyes, their minds touched, and Fox felt a bit of her elation.

Fox wasn't the only one who smiled a bit at her eagerness, but he couldn't bring himself to say that the truth, that the aftermath of the Lylat Wars was the worst few years of his life.

Slippy huffed. “I'm not trying to be greedy, but I hope they pay us more than last time.”

“Unlikely,” Peppy said, his voice cold. “I'm sure the government will focus on rebuilding the city, and most of our reward will be fame. Again.”

“Totally unfair,” Falco said.

Fox laughed. “If you want money, look into prostitution.” He took another look out the window. If he were looking from the other side of the ship, he knew he would see the small yet metropolitan city of Kana, one of the larger port cities of Zoness. Of course, by Corneria's standards, that was still fairly small, but after being trapped onboard ships for a month, his only land-time always accompanied by an arsenal of explosives, the thought of prowling just about any size city made his tail wag. “I think I'm gonna hit the streets, now.”

“Uh-huh.” Falco eyed Fox with mock suspicion. “So how much are you going to pay the whores tonight?”

“Silly Falco,” Fox said. “I don't need to pay for sex.”

Slippy seemed to be studying Fox. “You look too tired for that, anyway,” he said with an admirably straight face. “Pull an all-nighter?”

Fox shook his head. “Just... was thinking about some things.”

“That's dangerous,” Falco said.

Fox rolled his eyes. “For you, maybe.”

“Is it Star Wolf?” Peppy asked.

Fox shrugged. “I mean, that’s part of it, I guess. I don’t think they’re gone.”

“Don't worry about it,” Peppy said. “Even if they're still alive, I don't think they want us dead anymore.”

Falco's eyes flashed with annoyance. “Oh, really? They only helped us so they could kill us later, you know. And there's no way they could've lived.”

“I dunno.” Fox was quiet for a while, before looking at Slippy. “What's your opinion, Slips?”

He could see the toad's face light up a little. “Star Wolf didn't want the aparoids to win, but I bet they wouldn't have minded if we'd died on the way out... you think?”

“I don't know what to think,” Fox said. Star Wolf, especially his rival, had been on and off his mind for most of the war, and he was beginning to tire of dwelling on them so much and still making no progress in figuring them out. “I don’t think we should bother.”

“I think,” Krystal said, “that we should stop talking about the war and try to relax ourselves.”

“Yeah.” Fox tapped his knuckles against the neoglass of the windows, as if the motion would help him concentrate. “There's nothing we can do about them, anyway.”

“Well,” Peppy said, already starting towards the door to the hall with the closest elevator, “Let's go see the city.”

The others trailed after him, talking amongst themselves. Fox followed, and soon Krystal was at his side. “Do you have any plans for tonight, Fox?”

Fox thought for a minute, then shrugged. “Really, I've had enough plans for a year or three. I'll improvise.”



The Zonessian seaside was one of those places you saw in travel brochures scattered throughout the system, the kind of place that everyone knows, of but far fewer have been to. Fox, sprawled on his team-logoed blanket and comfortably full from the bowl of Kani soup he'd consumed half an hour ago, couldn't help noticing that, despite Andross's invasion nearly ten years ago, the shores were still the same as the last time he'd been here: beautiful blue oceans, tropical weather, and sandy beaches, host to citizens from all demographics.

He couldn't prevent his eyes from following the bystanders, drawing him to a lapine couple, a young female cheetah, a middle-aged male wolf... unlike Fox, who was dressed in his normal casual attire, marred only by the addition of sunglasses, the vast majority of them wore only swimsuits. To him, who was used to the flight jumpsuits and full uniforms Star Fox wore in space, it looked almost absurd. And most of the civilians were grinning, talking amongst themselves while their cubs chased each other across the beach, Andross and the Aparoids far from their minds. That was something Fox's life was always lacking—the carefree gaiety of living. Maybe he'd have something similar one day, as he knew he'd eventually have to take up some kind of steady job, such as teaching young pilots at the academy.

When the young couple drifted closer, Fox couldn't help noticing that the male looked to be little more than eighteen, yet already a golden band adorned his finger. Fox could almost feel Krystal hovering over him now, telling him once more that he needed to be looking for someone to spend his life with, that he couldn't let blasters and Arwings be his sole companions. She'd been on him steadily about that ever since they'd split, but he'd always deflected her admonishments by pointing out more pressing problems, such as Andross or the aparoids—all of which, he noted, are gone now. But there was still Star Wolf, he reminded himself; he refused to believe they were dead, and he knew he hadn't seen the last of them. He just couldn’t decide what to make of them.

He'd been lounging for half an hour before he felt a shadow fall across him. He looked up, seeing a female fennec standing beside him. She gave him a friendly smile, and said, “You here alone?”

She wore only a bikini, and she was alone, giving him what seemed like a solicitous eye, so he figured he knew why she was here. “Yeah.”

Her muzzle tensed in concentration, and her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Do I know you?”

“You know me, but I don't know you.” He removed his sunglasses and looked at her anew, and her face lit up in recognition.

“McCloud?”

Seeing the cant of her ears that implied a complete loss of confidence, he didn't know if he should be flattered or annoyed. “Yeah, but keep it quiet.”

“I knew you were here, but... I didn't think you'd be, well, here.” She gestured with her hands as she spoke, and her voice came out as if it were almost panicked.

He slipped the sunglasses back on. “I don't come here often.”

“Couldn't recognize you. Do you normally dress like this?”

“Well,” he said, shifting under her scrutiny, “I'm trying to avoid attracting attention.” Which, he supposed, was true; he didn't have to mention that he normally just threw clothes on and looked however he looked, but hey, what reason had to shatter her dreams of grandeur?

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?”

He stared at her for a few seconds before saying, “I was actually about to leave.”

“Oh?” She'd managed to pull her ears back up, but now they flickered from disappointment, though not surprise. “Where to?”

“Dinner with the team,” he lied. “After, we might go get a drink. Know of any good places?”

“There's a Swarthy Stein, the Kana Flagon, a Fichina Café... you can find those on a map—the Flagon's really good—and there's also—”
Fox held up a paw, saying, “Thanks. That's all I need to know.”

“A pleasure.” She took a small bow, out of respect, but it ended up only looking embarrassing. “Nice meeting you, McCloud.”

“And you.”

She left him, and minutes later, Fox was in the city again, carrying his towel along with the rest of his scant personal items in the Phoenix bag slung on his back. Unlike in Corneria, carrying a blaster out in Kana would call too much attention to him, but having one in the bag made him feel secure, with the stipulation that the familiar weight usually on his side was now on his back. And as always after big missions, he couldn't stop his automatic scanning of the area, even if he knew there were no threats.

Kana lacked the excessively-tall buildings and excessively-huge throngs of people that were so prevalent in Corneria, and to Fox, that made it appear much more homely. He somewhat wished they had a city park that wasn't a beach, though; he'd been wandering the city for most of the day, and he missed the style of solemn beauty found in the greenery of Corneria Park. But part of the reason he so liked the park was because Corneria was just so noisy, and though Kana was no small-town village, it certainly was nowhere near as annoyingly boisterous. A perfect place for a vacation, a date, or—thinking back to Krystal's words—a tryst.

That made him think back to the fennec at the beach. She'd been fairly attractive (though not worth mentioning to Falco), but he'd known as soon as he'd seen her that he wasn't interested. He deliberated a bit before deciding that probably the only people he would consider dating were pilots, as any other profession just wouldn't seem to mesh with him. Or worse, be reduced to a sputtering mess like the fennec.

The problem was that he only knew four females that fit the description, and all four of them were out. He'd broken up with both Krystal and Fara in the past, and he had no desire to date felines, so there went Katt and Miyu. And the males... he felt his ears fall in shame, and decided that he didn't want to think about that. Maybe he was doomed to be single forever, and Krystal would just have to get over it. He couldn't deny that he missed curling up next to someone at night, but a mate was more than just a warm body, which you could get from a heated blanket or pillow at the local supermarket. Fox had a hard enough time just satisfying himself, let alone another person.

He lost track of how long he wandered the streets, sometimes stopping in little stores to window-shop, sometimes smiling at a passing civilian whose eyes flicked over him, trying to discern if he was really Fox McCloud. Something clicked in Fox's memory when he saw an argon sign for what he assumed was a bar: The Kana Flagon. Terrible name, he thought, but he recognized it because it was one of the places the fennec had mentioned to him earlier. In the past, booze had always been a good distraction whenever he'd finished a mission. Why the hell not?

The bar was dark and noisy, a battleground to a war of scents from which alcohol had emerged victorious. The mixture tickled his nostrils, warning of a familiar scent, but it was near impossible to trace a single one in the mesh of hundreds that had accumulated over the day. He headed for the bar and ordered a beer, then migrated to one of the tables closer to the entrance, dropping his bag by his seat and making sure to sit so that he could see the door.

The scent was stronger here, wafting across his nostrils, and the soldier in him couldn't stop ruining his drinking-time by trying to place what it was. It took him several minutes before he figured it out; the scent was jet fuel. There was a pilot in here, but not one that he knew, as none of the people inside smelled familiar. Their scents were fresher and sharper, and he would've picked out an old friend immediately. The realization sent a creeping tingle up his spine, his instincts alerting him that someone was watching him. He kept sneaking glances around the room to see if he recognized anyone, or if he could catch someone staring at him. When he saw just one eye watching him, he knew he'd found both.

He kept alternatively staring into his drink and casting glances over in that direction, and once he could've sworn he saw the glint of purple staring back at him. He looked away and took a swig from his drink, mulling over his choices. Instinct was telling him to leave the bar, but curiosity overpowered it, as he might never have this opportunity again. He summoned up what courage he had, picked up his drink and bag, and walked over to where the other person sat. A purple eye traced him on the way there, until Fox sat down beside the other, looking away.

"How'd I know you'd come over here?" The voice, deep and rough, was one Fox had heard countless times before over the comm—oft while gritting his teeth, banging the controls, and hoping to emerge alive from whatever scuffle had brought them together.

Bereft of his ship, the sound of it was enough to pick up his pulse, and stir the beginnings of regret. Coming here had been much easier than thinking of what to say once he'd done it. "Wolf..."

Wolf's glass met the table, a little harder than necessary. "Look, just because I helped you out twice doesn't mean we're best buddies now, alright?"

Fox turned to face the older canine. Wolf was leaning back in the chair, staring at him, chest puffed out as if trying to scare him. It wasn’t necessary; if anything, Wolf was more impressive out of the cockpit than in it: he was tall, even sitting down, and his shoulders were broad; his arms bulged with muscle, but he lacked the overly-bulky physique of a bodybuilder. And though Wolf had few scattered scars, his posture bent with a certain tension that belied a deeper wound than could come from battle.

"What?"

Wolf's voice snapped Fox out of his reverie. He made himself look away, muttering, "You're straight to the point."

"I don't want you to go around thinking we're pals, okay?"

Fox frowned. The condemning words of his teammates echoed in his head, telling him that the other probably still wanted him dead. This was the wolf he'd dueled in the skies, the one pilot that always made him edgy—but at the same time, he thought, the only reason he was still alive, and that made him worth at least an attempt at decent conversation. “We don't have to be enemies, you know.”

“I wish that were true,” Wolf muttered, his voice nearly inaudible.

“Why isn't it?”

“You don't understand these things, pup.”

Fox felt his ears flick in annoyance. He couldn't quite read Wolf's expression. “Must you call me that?”

“I think you owe me enough that I can call you whatever I damn well please.”

Fox sighed, throwing up his paws in frustration. “Honestly, why do you hate me?”

“I don't hate you.” Strangely, Wolf wouldn't meet his eye. “We're just on the wrong sides.”

“Could've fooled me.”

Wolf winced. “That was different.”

“You saved my ass.”

Wolf’s muzzle jerked closer to his, and Fox instinctively moved his own away. “Your ass needed saving.”

“But you didn't have to help, and I didn't even call you. You just came flying in like you were on our side.”

“I didn't have a choice.” Wolf stared at him with a single eye, daring him to say otherwise.

Fox broke the contact first. “Well, even if you didn't—thanks.”

There; he’d said it. Fox wasn’t surprised when Wolf just looked back at his drink and muttered, “Don't think it'll happen again.”

They fell into silence, Fox absently rubbing his forehead with a paw. It seemed as if Wolf was deliberately establishing a barrier between them—as if his rival was afraid of talking to him. He sipped from his drink, waiting for the other to speak, but when he looked back over, he saw that Wolf had been staring at him. “What?”

Wolf just shook his head. He looked as if he were calculating something, and it made Fox uneasy. “Thinking.”

When Fox brought up his drink for another sip, he found that it was empty. He considered going to get another, but figured that since it was obvious that Wolf wasn't open to discussion, maybe it was time for him to go. “I'll leave you to it,” he said. He stood and slung his bag over his shoulders. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach us. If there's no good reason for us to kill each other, I don't see why we should try.”

If Wolf had heard, he made no indication of it. Fox sighed and started towards the exit of the bar. Maybe he'd been wrong about the other; maybe Wolf was irrevocably his enemy after all. By the time he got to the door, though, he was sure that he was being followed.

“Keep walking,” Wolf said from behind him.

Fox tried to keep his fear from showing. “Why?” he said without turning.

Wolf leaned closer, so that his breath was hot on Fox's ears. His words came in a whisper. “I have a blaster.” Cold metal pressed against Fox's leg, and he had to wonder how Wolf was concealing it. “Walk five feet ahead of me, and if you so much as look back at me, you're gone.”

Fox gritted his teeth, but obeyed, walking outwards into the streets. “You're bluffing.”

“Am I?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Mmm. Think I'll mind blowing off your head?”

Fox had no idea. Part of him wouldn't put it beyond Wolf. “Fine.” He followed Wolf's directions, walking through the city towards the coast. They passed civilians, but Wolf must have kept the blaster concealed, because none of them looked afraid.

He barely heard when Wolf said, “Turn,” at the entrance to an alley. He angled into the alley, and as soon as he was around the corner, he opened his bag and retrieved his blaster. Gripping it firmly in a paw, he spun and aimed it at the alley's entrance.

Wolf came around the corner, blaster pointing at Fox. “No blasters,” he said. He waited for Fox to nod before throwing his blaster to the side. He could’ve easily taken the opportunity to gun Wolf down, but he found himself casting his blaster away anyway, despite knowing that he had no chance of winning this. And as soon as the metal was out of Fox’s paws, Wolf lunged and locked him into a grapple.

Fox cursed, tendrils of fear creeping up his spine. Wolf was strong. The older canine had both of Fox's arms in a grip, and he knew he wasn't going to win by sheer strength. Wolf was heavier, he thought, and maybe he could use that to his advantage.

Fox kicked out at the other's legs, and though it didn't do any damage, it was enough to knock Wolf off balance. Fox took the opportunity to twist the other's arm, making the older canine grunt in pain. But before Fox could land a punch, Wolf seized upon Fox's bad positioning to kick him, sending him staggering back. He recovered in time to leap away from Wolf's charge.

For a while, they stared at each other, panting. Fox could feel himself shaking—it was just like it was in the cockpit, only exacerbated tenfold, the fear driving out all else because now he knew he couldn't win. It didn't help that Wolf was blocking the only exit, so there was no way he could escape. If Wolf wanted him dead, he would die. But he couldn't help thinking, Why? Was this a game to Wolf? Revenge for all the shootdowns?

Fox panicked when Wolf started towards him. He didn't know what to do—his mind locked up, his military training dissipating. He threw up his hands to block, despite Peppy's voice screaming at him Dodge and retaliate! When Wolf collided with him, he was completely overwhelmed, and he fell to the ground.

Less than half a second later, Wolf was on top of him, and his strong paws closed around Fox's throat, thumbs digging into the hollow spot at its base. Fox sucked in a breath by instinct, but it caught in his throat and he gagged, sputtering for air that wouldn't come. He struggled to push Wolf off, but the older canine was too strong. Spots of white dotted his vision, and tears welled up, blurring his vision and burning his eyes.

Just when the world began to slip away, air rushed into Fox's lungs, and he gulped all of it he could, leading him to choke and sputter again. The pressure at his windpipe was gone, though Wolf's paws still encircled his neck, limp. Panting, Fox knew he should prepare to throw all his body weight against Wolf, to try and get him off, but instead, he found himself wiping the moisture from his eyes and looking up at the other.

The older canine was frowning, eyes focused on Fox's chest, but not seeing it. When Wolf's hands slid away from his throat, curiosity overwhelmed caution. “Why?”

“I was wrong.” Wolf stood, the weight leaving Fox's chest, and looked down at him.
“Sometimes I do hate you.”

Maybe it was just the oxygen deprivation, but Fox couldn't make any sense from the words. “What?”

“You won't see me again,” Wolf said. He walked towards the exit of the alley, moving with surprising languor.

“Wait!” Fox’s muscles locked up when he tried to stand, but he managed to move himself into a sitting position. “What the hell is your problem?”

Wolf snarled, and Fox had to battle the instinct to scoot back. "You're alive, McCloud. You should be kissing my boots."

“I don't understand. Why...”

"You're a smart guy," Wolf said. "Figure it out."

Ten seconds later, Fox was alone in the alley. He crossed his legs and rested his forehead in his paws, thinking, Hell if I won't see you again. And despite all the pain and confusion, there was one thing that gave him comfort:

McCloud had a mission again.

"The Ambassador" Preview

Ark lay back in his bed, staring out the adjacent window into the beautiful black of nothing. Aboard the Hyperion, his entourage's issued shuttle, the world outside seemed nonexistent; back at home, on purified Venom, the world outside seemed nonexistent. But he knew that he was about to be in a place where that was very different—the city of glittering metropolis: Corneria City.

The ETA had been one day. Now, one day later, he knew that the time was coming near. His entourage all thought he was asleep up here, but he'd hardly slept a wink since departure, and he still didn't feel tired. He'd trained—albeit lazily—for this for the last four or so years, and the thought of being the first native Venomian to see Corneria left him restless.

The ping of the speaker system startled him, making him sit up in bed. A mellow female alto—the voice of his friend Milan—said, “Ark, we'll be pulling into port in half an hour.”

“Gotcha.” He dragged himself out of his bed, groaning a little. He entered his private bathroom, pulled out his uniform, and began to dress himself.

The golden pin on his vest read Ark, Venomian Ambassador. He ran his thumb over it and adjusted it a few times until it was perfectly straight, then flexed once, grinned at himself, and stared at his lupine figure in the mirror for a few seconds, trying to straighten his tie.

A few moments later he was out of his room into cold, metallic halls of the ship, and met by two others who fell into step beside him so naturally he didn't bother to glance at them. Members of his entourage, he knew.

An unfamiliar voice said, “Sir, are you ready? They're about to dock, you know.” The guy who spoke was a cheetah, beady black spots dotting his muzzle.

“I'm fine,” Ark said, eyes analyzing the other. He'd never seen the cheetah before, but he didn't have any time to dwell on that or ask anything, because his other escort cleared her throat, and a glance at her told him that she was the cold vixen that he knew as Sheva.

Not good.

“Chancellor Debs will want good report,” Sheva said. He could feel her eyes burning his fur. “It's not cheap to send you over here.”

Ark stared back at her. “I know,” he said. “You mind your own business and I'll tend to mine.” He paused. “Is there anything you want to share with me about this?”

She frowned, but nodded, and when she spoke her voice was strong. “The governor's name is Isaiah Parker. Flatter him and he'll be your best friend for life.”

“Got it. Dismissed, Sheva.”

She didn't move. Instead, she pointed a cold finger at his chest and whispered, “Look, Tornas, if you screw this up, it's going to be the death of you. And I don't mean that Dash would kill you for it.” She turned the finger to herself. “I will. Got it?”

He sighed. “Yes, but I assure you that your concerns are all in vain.”

“I know you,” she said. “I have known you. And I...” She frowned again, cutting herself off. “Nevermind. It's not worth the trouble. You're hopeless.”

She was gone in a few seconds, fuming over nothing, as usual. Ark stared after her, watching her tail's erratic swinging. Damn near impossible to please her, he knew, and she was a nightmare to have in a place like this. He'd ostracize her, but the trouble was, she had connections—but he had his own connections, too, and because of that an icy stalemate existed between them, tipped slightly in his favor.

“Sir?” It was the cheetah.

“What?” he barked.

The other backed up, looking wounded. “Milan's waiting for you.”

He sent another glance in the direction Sheva had gone before saying, “Very well then. I'll be right there.”

He shouldn't be worrying about her, anyway; he had a new world to explore.



The low-pitched alarm sounded, signaling that the Hyperion had begun its docking process. The sound continued for all of five minutes, which Ark spent waiting in the bay, casting an eye over at Milan every once in a while.

Milan, a short husky, had been his adviser for as long as he had been into politics and his friend for far longer. They had attended school together and had dated a few times, but nothing more ever came of their relationship. If not for her, Ark knew that he would have been replaced a long time ago.

So it was with expectant eyes that he looked at her now. As soon as the alarm cut off, he asked, “Where are we going after this?”

She fake-sighed and started pushing him towards the big bay door with the red Exit sign over it. “We go to the embassy, silly.”

He walked of his own accord now, turning his head back to talk to her. “And then chaos ensues?”

“That pretty much sums it up. We have to check in with the gov tomorrow, then it should be smooth sailing from then on.”

“Sounds good to me.” He was at the door now, and he pressed the button to raise it. It retracted with a mechanical whirl and click, and then he was face-to-face with that old hound...

Gods, he couldn't remember the guy's name.

“Hello, ambassador Ark,” the hound said, offering a paw. “Welcome to Corneria, and I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay.”

Ark grabbed the other's paw and shook it with his own. “Glad to be here, ah...” He cleared his clear throat. “I'm sure I'll enjoy my stay.”

Milan cleared her throat. “Ah, General Pepper, if you would be so kind as to give us the address for the headquarters and our embassy, we would be greatly obliged.”

Ark blinked at her. “Yes, General.”

“And who is this?” The general gestured at Milan.

“Her? She's my adviser, General. Been working with me for years.”

“Very well then.” His face wrinkled, then he pulled out a letter from... somewhere. “This has all the information that you'll need for your stay, including the address for the city hall. I trust that you two can handle it from here?”

Ark grinned, eyeing at Milan. “Of course we can.”



The embassy, as it turned out, was nothing more than a single floor of an upscale apartment complex in downtown Corneria, and that suited Ark just fine; at least he had his own room. He carried his luggage in—just a few bags, nothing major—and set it on the bed, and just that quickly was out of the room again.

He rode the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out into the parking lot, which was bleary in the bright midday sun. He only had to wait a few seconds before Milan was at his side.

“You got the packet?” he asked, and she picked a folded sheet of paper out of her pocket and handed it to him. He took it, got in the hovercar's passenger seat, and began trying to make sense of the map.

And of course, they were intercepted by traffic. Of all the things they could be doing in the glittering metropolis, getting a scenic view of the dent in the back of the dated HoverStar in front of them didn't rank very high.

Milan was thinking the same thing, because she yawned and growled. “Lucky bastards,” she said, pointing back at the apartment building.

“Yeah...” He thought he found their current location, but the road he'd been looking at on the map turned out to be on the other side of the city. “I wish I were sleeping, but no, we have to do all the work around here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and tell me where to drive. I mean, it's not like we're going to a meeting or something grumbletastic like that.”

He stared at the map again. “Uhh...”

She sucked her teeth, then snatched it out of his hands. “Give me that...”

Ark sighed and reclined back in his chair. He resolved to let her have her way and find it herself, and focused on watching the façades of the city fly by. While Milan had her eyes on the map, his drifted elsewhere. He took note of the shops, the malls, the cozy cafés, the bars… he had seen very few of any of these before on Venom beyond what was deemed necessary for survival, and even they had been government-run. The clever, catchy names displayed by sundry signs and boards seemed peculiar to him, but they solidified that he was a part of a freer world where work and rushing weren’t the only things in existence.

Several long minutes later, Milan punched him on the shoulder. “We're here, doofus.”

He lifted his head up and took in the surroundings, trying to memorize the layout of the buildings that surrounded the place—not that he needed to. The city hall itself was an enormous complex, at least the size of the apartment complex he was staying at, located in an immense, gated (oddly blurry?) courtyard. He remembered thinking that you would have to be pretty oblivious to miss the place—it was like the Grand Bastion of Venom City times four—but later he couldn’t remember where it was for the life of him.

It was there that his memory began to wane. There were glimpses and flashes of scenes from the drive back, but they were fuzzy and distant, as if they were pictures taken on film that never fully developed. Standing in the middle of the chaos like an oasis in the wastes of Titania was a strip of memory that was so vivid it was almost surreal.

In it, the stench of alcohol and musk dominated all else. He sat in a knotty stool (ever heard of padding before, sweetheart?) in some run-down bar he had passed earlier that day—shoddy even by Venom's standards—but dammit, he felt good, and why he did, he didn't understand at first. As a bonus, the world buzzed and spun not unpleasantly, and through the haze he could see that same doberman that had been trying to get him drunk for the past ten minutes.

“Have another round?” the guy would say. And Ark would nod and say, flashing the vixen-snaring grin that had gotten him this far in life, “Yes please.”

Ark wasn't sure what he'd had at this point, but he knew he had a whiskey mix in front of him just then, and he'd be damned it wasn't the most disgusting drink he'd ever tasted in his life, but it felt so good that he couldn't stop. When the doberman asked him if he wanted another, he just nodded, not trusting his voice.

A new taste hit his tongue, and he found it more despicable than the last. It burnt like wildfire as it went down. He starting caughing, and the doberman—an ugly son of a bitch, Ark realized, as if seeing him for the first time—looked at him, laughing and asking him if he was alright.

“I'm fine,” Ark said. He shifted on his stool to relieve some of the pressure on his tail, but slipped on the uneven surface and nearly fell, instead ramming into the overweight tiger sitting on his other side, who pushed him back and said, “Watch it, ya lightweight mutt.”

The room swirled around him, and he had to grab on to the counter to keep balance. This place is terrible. Coherent thoughts like that were rare that night, and it stuck in his memory. He tried to think of how it could get any worse, and imagined an Enforcer stomping up beside him like Carrie Nation, yelling at him to get back to work, you; imagined Pancho Wheatly, that snotty fennec who'd kill for Ark's job, flaunting his progress and daring the wolf to do better. But as soon as such notions entered his mind, he felt silly because none of that could happen in this world, and he knew in that instant that it was what made the booze drinkable and the atmosphere tolerable.

The doberman was smiling now. He had matched Ark's drinking glass-for-glass, had a stern look that the wolf knew from experience only challengers wore, and had a fiery glint to his movements that bespoke overconfidence. It was a different kind of challenge—not the Wheathly-esque ones Ark was used to, instead lighthearted and meaningless—and he accepted it willingly.

But Ark wouldn't let the dog win. Ark was a wolf, way better than this lowly mutt. He managed to get halfway through the second glass when he felt his stomach spasm, and then he got up and rushed to the bathroom.

He ducked into the first open stall he could find and the alcohol singed as it came back up, the poison leaving his body and painting itself on the toilet. In the shock that followed, he crouched in front of the commode and rested his head on the nasty floor, gritting his teeth and choking back sobs at the pain.

Contrary to before, the world around him now seemed very real, and he could feel acutely the pain in his head and was aware that, on some level, he was no longer connected to the world; he felt as if he and Corneria and he were two discrete entities, as if it had ostracized him. Above all that, there was the shaming fact that the dog had won and the ridiculous mess Ark had been (and still was) reduced to, and all those factors combined into a crushing force that made him chant the mantra, never again, never again, never again…

The memory began losing its clarity, and the world became a blurry oblivion before Ark had moved an inch.



He drove back. He had no other choice. With all the spinning and the cloud of haze blackening the already-black night, he considered himself lucky that he didn't die that night.

But die he didn't. He made it back alive, albeit as a stumbling mess that collapsed into the elevator and hit the wrong button twice before he found the floor he was on. He fumbled with the key for way too long and finally managed to get the door open, but the thing took him in with it and he ended up tumbling on the floor, whimpering.

And that was when he realized that either he was really drunk, or his room smelled weird. His mind might have deserted him, he reasoned, but his nose never would. He sniffed the air for a few long seconds and came to the conclusion that there was somebody in the room. Something male, something... feline?

“Hel—hello?” Ark said into the darkness.

He heard a start, and then somebody must have dropped a flash grenade because he groaned and clutched at his eyes, his head pounding.

“Sir?”

He knew that voice, though he didn't know how he knew it. What was more important was what the fuck the guy was doing in his room. He'd meant to say that, but what came out instead was a garbled, “What're you... here...?”

He didn't get a response. Instead, he felt warmth around him and a sense of weightlessness that he later registered as being picked up. Someone set him down on something soft—a bed, he reasoned—and that was the last thing he remembered.

"Six to Bereavement" Preview

When the time comes, don’t hesitate. Just act.

As he lay on his bed, the clock at his bedside displaying in neon-red letters 2:03 AM, the words echoed in Fox’s head. He stared at the ceiling, and what he saw looming back at him were scattered images of aparoids and Wolfens that only became more pressing when he closed his eyes.

He had long since given up on sleep.

The others had told him not to worry about Wolf. Easy enough for them to say, he thought. That he was only alive because of a man whom he had almost killed three—or was it four?—times was a sobering thought. He hadn’t had much time to think about it during the rest of the fight against the aparoids, but now that the war was over, it returned to him full-force, bolstered by the words that had spurred him to action only yesterday. Who would’ve thought that Wolf O’Donnell would be, by the transitive property, the man who saved the Lylat system from the aparoids? Fox certainly wouldn’t have been able to do it himself.

Now that he’d gotten himself started on that again, he knew that there was no way he was going to sleep naturally tonight. Funny, he thought; he’d hit the bed more tired and stressed than he’d been in his entire life, and now he felt perfectly awake. He could go for a walk, he supposed. Maybe check up on the progress of the trip. But he knew that they wouldn’t be getting back to Zoness for at least another day, so it would be pointless. Everyone else would be asleep by now, so there was no way he could rouse Falco for a midnight game of billards. Even if doing something like that were possible, Fox ached all over and wasn't sure that he would be up for it.

Deciding that it was best to ache a little now and feel better tomorrow, he rose from bed and went into his private bathroom, rummaging for whatever sleep medication he could find. When he returned to his bed, his mind was empty. He fell asleep easily, thoughts of the aparoids and of Wolf slipping away from his mind, but not his dreams.


When the Great Fox landed on Zoness the next day, all of the Star Fox team was in the bridge, watching the descent. It had been a while since Fox had been to Zoness. The last time he'd come here, the place was a toxic dump, so seeing the oceans restored to their beautiful deep blue was both a shock and a relief. It was even more shocking and relieving when Fox stepped out into the tropical weather and saw the beauty of the planet for himself.

They'd landed on a small island that he'd heard was a popular site for tourists; it also happened to be home of the best mechanic on Zoness and one of the few stations from which they could refuel. Still, as far as Fox could tell, none of the team members were in any rush to get back to Corneria, so they would probably be staying for a few days.

Fox spent most of the day doing nothing. He wandered the streets, ate some of the Kani that was so popular around the Zoness, and lounged at the seaside, letting himself recover from the mental and physical wounding he'd experienced during the war. He played a few games with Falco, of course, but other than that, he didn't see anybody from the team, which suited him fine for the moment.

That evening, he went to some popular bar that he'd been told about. He hadn't had a drink in who knew how long, and even though he hated the taste of most alcoholic beverages, he decided that he could deal with it tonight. After all, there was a cause for celebration.

But soon after he ordered his drink, he saw someone sitting in a dark corner of the place that made him forget all about it.

He was confused, unsure about he was supposed to do. He kept alternatively staring into his drink and casting glances over in the guy's direction, and once he could've sworn that he saw the glint of purple staring back at him. That made him look away and take a gulp of his drink, of which he winced at the taste.

He was pretty sure he had been found out by then, so leaving without being noticed was probably an impossibility. Instead, he summoned up what little courage he had, picked up his drink, and walked over to the guy. Glinting purple eyes followed him on the way there. Fox wordlessly sat down beside the other, setting his drink on the table and making a point to look away.

“I knew you'd come over here, pup.” Wolf had a glass of his own, and he raised it to his muzzle, taking a long draught.

“Wolf...”

The glass slammed on the table. “Look, just because I helped you out twice doesn't mean we're best buddies now, alright?”

Fox blinked, and now he turned to face the older canine. When he saw Wolf leaning back in the chair, staring at him, he realized that it was the first time he had seen the other in person. That made Fox stop and run his eyes over Wolf's lupine body, noting every feature of the guy who had been such a formidable opponent and veritable ally—although now, looking at him, that last part seemed completely unbelievable.

Wolf was even more intimidating out of the cockpit that he was in it. He was tall, even sitting down, and his shoulders were broad; he looked strong, though he lacked the overly-bulky look of a bodybuilder. Though Wolf had few scattered scars, there was a certain tension in his posture that belied a deeper wound than could come from battle.

“What?”

Wolf's voice snapped Fox out of his reverie. He'd been staring. He shook it off as nothing, though, and said, “You're straight to the point.”

“I don't want you to go around thinking we're pals, okay? Now what do you want?”

Fox said the first thing that came to mind. “Why are you here?”

“Probably the same reason you're here. To relax, refuel and repair and all that stuff.” He took a sip from whatever he was drinking. “Panther's off with some girl and who knows what or who Leon's doing.” He paused for a second, looking off into the distance, then swiveled to face Fox. “Where's bird-brain?”

“How am I supposed to know, and why do you care?”

Wolf shrugged, but his ears flickered. “Just because I asked doesn't mean I care. Ever heard of being polite?”

“Yeah, you tell me we're enemies and then try to make small talk with me. You're so polite.” He huffed, and looked away, then muttered under his breath, “Hypocrite.”

He held that pose for a few minutes, occasionally taking a sip out of his glass. It still tasted horrible, but he kept going back to it because it was something to do other than sit in silence, waiting for the other to speak. He finally gave up and faced Wolf to tell him he was leaving, but he saw that Wolf was staring at him and the older canine looked away immediately.

Fox decided not to say anything about that. Instead, he got up as if to leave, and did a double-take when Wolf got up as well.

“Are you stalking me now?”

Wolf said nothing, but growled and bared his teeth. Taking that as a cue, Fox exited the bar. As soon as he was out, he noted that Wolf was still following him and slipped into the nearest dark alley he could find. His heart pounded.

As soon as he was sure that they were out of sight from any bypassers, Fox spun around and lunged at Wolf, but the other rammed into him and knocked him on the ground. Stars exploded in Fox's vision when his head collided with the hard cement, and when his vision cleared—

A knife.

Fox drew in a quick breath. Wolf was straddling him, a blade drawn and its tip gleaming at Fox's throat. But on closer inspection, he saw that the other's breathing was labored, and the knife was shaking in his hand as if it were struggling to break free of his grasp.

And then the knife fell to the floor with a deafening clang, and to Fox's great surprise, Wolf got off him, stood up, and walked away.

“Wait!” Fox called. Wolf's body twitched, and he slowly turned around.

“What?!”

Fox got himself up so that he was sitting with his legs crossed. His head ached too much for him to stand, both from the impact and the questions. “What just happened?”

“You're alive, McCloud. You should be kissing my boots.”

The contradictions were overwhelming; Fox sat tongue-tied for a few moments before saying, “You're not making any sense. What's going on?”

“You're a smart guy,” Wolf said. “Figure it out.”

At that, he began walking again, and none of Fox's protests could stop him.

Information

I've been seeing some hits trickle into this page ever-so-slowly. If you read one of my original works (well, more like, one of the one) and like it, be sure to leave a comment. While comments won't spur me to action on finishing something immediately, it'll certainly make me think more about it.

For those of you who don't know the layout, you can find the stories I've put up on this site on the blog archive on the lefthand side of the screen. Click and read to your heart's contentment (or agony; but for the sake of my sanity I'll assume it's contentment).

Update: I have some more stuff that I'm considering putting up here, though none of the works I have now are completely finished.

Also, for those who come from my het fics: some (or most, or all as of right now) of my original works are homolicious.

Reconstruction

The first chapter of "Reconstruction" has been taken down from this blog. If you're interested in the story, send me a message and I can e-mail you a copy.

Sciophobia, Chapter II

“Ey, get me a bottle o Surville's, will ya?”

“Coming right up.” Darting to the rack, Moon-Claw grabbed a bottle and handed it to the man, who gave him ten gold in response, then crouched over the wine as if it was all that was left in the world.

Chuckling softly, Moon-Claw put the gold in the chest and leaned against the wall, his tail idly swinging from side to side. He had the morning today, so there weren't that many customers until noon, and the few that came in before then were mostly the regulars. Telaendril would probably be coming by soon, actually.

Telaendril...

No, he told himself. Don't think about that. You are in the inn working as a barkeep; you are not an assassin.

He sighed, tail now thumping against the wall. He'd went and spoiled his good mood, not like he'd expected any otherwise. It always happened the night after a contract, which, thankfully, he only did one of about every two or three weeks.

Still, as he weaved through the customers and sold them their goods, the battle last night and his drunken haze afterwards seemed fuzzy and distant, and he found that it wasn't all that difficult to push them out of his mind. He found himself lightening up as the hours dragged by, and some of the regulars gave him a bigger tip than usual. When she came in, Telaendril eyed him once, but otherwise didn't acknowledge that she knew him.

The day reached its peak of activity at noon. There were at least six or seven people, and he knew a few regulars that usually came in about this time, so the crowd was sure to grow.

He was getting beer and grapes for someone when he heard an unfamiliar voice:

“Hey. I just want a loaf of bread and an apple. How much will that cost?”

He said without turning, “That'll be eight gold, Miss—” He paused when he saw her, cutting himself off and staring like an idiot.

Excepting the Shadowscales and Mach-na, there weren't many Argonians in Cheydinhal, so seeing her was like seeing a High Elf at the shrine of Malacath. She looked ordinary, wearing a common shirt and some kind of skirt made from a material Moon-Claw didn't recognize, but had some kind of unidentifiable charm to her.

Realizing that she was holding the gold in her hand and offering it to him, he cleared his throat and took it. “Right, I'll have it right out.”

As soon as he put away the money and he had delivered her goods, he asked her, “Are you new around here?”

She looked up from her plate. From the look on her face, he could guess that she hadn't expected him to continue talking to her. “Yes. I come from Bravil, but I got a job offer up here and...” She held up her hands in a pseudo-shrug.

“I could show you around town if you want.” The words were out before he knew he was thinking of saying them. If she was surprised or offended, though, it didn't show.

“I wouldn't want to be a burden,” she said, taking a bite out of the apple.

“No, really,” he said, crouching down so he was eye level with her. “My shift's over in thirty minutes and I got nothing better to do.”

“Well...” She looked down, swallowing. “Me either, so... why not?”

For some reason, that made him extremely happy, but the one or two people trying to get his attention brought it down a little. “Alright then. I'll be out in thirty, where you want to meet?”

“I'll just wait outside this place when it's time, alright?”

He nodded. “That's fine.” He took a glance over at the rest of the patrons. “I've got to. I'll see you then.” He didn't have time for anything else, so he just waved lamely and went around to tend the rest of the customers.

She stayed on his mind for the rest of the shift. As soon as he got done with the wave of new customers, he tried to find her and couldn't see her, so he assumed she'd already left.

As the rest of the shift dragged on, his thoughts began to turn to her more and more. Maybe he was doing the wrong thing, getting involved with her like that. He tried to reason that offering to give a tour was hardly considered involvement, but that didn't make him feel any better. Tour or no, he was sure it was still considered a date, and that was more than he usually gave people. All it took was three to start a real relationship, right?

When someone had to yell at him to catch his attention, he realized that he was making entirely too big of a deal out of this. It was time for him to get off now, anyway, and his replacement hadn't arrived... so she'd probably be gone before he left anyway, hell, she probably would have been gone anyway. Oh well, it was worth a try...

When his replacement, Mariana Ancharia, arrived, he didn't really give sneaking out that much thought. If he'd figured the Argonian would be out there waiting for him, he might have done it, but supposed there wasn't really much use in it as it was.

So, naturally, he recoiled a bit when he heard the voice and saw her sitting on the bench waiting for him, wearing a pleasant smile.

“Hey. Busy day, I'm assuming?”

Standing here in front of her, with her pale eyes and calm, radiating demeanor, it was hard to imagine that he could really have that much of a corruptive influence on her. That part of him that had earlier raced ahead of his mind took control again, and he found himself saying, “Yeah. Where do you want to start?”

She shrugged, standing. “Wherever is best. You know the place better than I do.”

He chuckled, eyes scanning the horizon. “That I do...” This was the commercial district, western side of town, everything taking on a bright shade of yellow in the afternoon sun. The Newlands Lodge loomed in front of them, Mach-na's books and Borbas' Goods and Stores not too far off. It wasn't that far to find your way in Cheydinhal, he figured, scratching his chin, but he could still tell her what he knew. “Well, let's just start here. That alright?”

She smiled again. “Sure.”

He took her around town, explaining the history and function of each building as best he could, and he found that he did a much better job at it than he would have expected. The weather was fairly good; not hot, but warm enough to make him gaze longingly at the pools of water around the bridges going into the residential district.

When he passed by the abandoned house, made evil eyes at it and didn't say anything about it, she asked, pointing at the place, “What's that?”

He shrugged, trying to slow his heart, feeling stupid for getting her involved all over again. “It's... um, it's just a run-down house. I don't know who owns it, but he hasn't sold it yet. Been like that for years.”

“Strange,” she said. When she didn't say anything else and instead asked a question about Riverview, he let out a deep breath he hadn't known he'd taken.

He explained to her what little he knew about the place, then pointed at the house located to its right. “That's where I live,” he said. “It's not Riverview, but it's a nice place.”

“I like it,” she said, casting it an appraising eye.

“Where do you live?” Moon-claw asked.

She hesitated before answering. “It's over there.” She pointed at Aldos Othran's old house, on the other side of the road. “I bought it from the count, split the price with one of my friends.”

He found himself grimacing. “Oh?”

“Yes. She and I both got offers up here around the same time, and the move was more than either of us could afford.”

Oh, a she. There was no cause to worry, then. “Well, it's good that you found a way to make it work. Where do you come from again?”

Another hesitation before she said, “Bravil.”

“Hrm?” He raised an eyebrow. “Bravil? That's a pretty dramatic switch, going from Bravil to Cheydinhal.”

She nodded. “This is much nicer than I'm used to... and it's nice not to have the skooma addicts wondering the streets.”

The mention of skooma made Moon-claw shudder. “Well, we should continue on. There's not much left.”

She gazed once again at his house before turning to face him. “Alright.”

When they finished the tour, the midday sun was at its peak, and he knew that it was time for their walk to be over. They were standing in front of Mach-na's Books, Moon-claw fiddling with the few pieces of gold in his pocket that he'd collected as tips, waiting for her to speak.

“Thanks,” she said after some time. “I wasn't really expecting to find anyone who'd be this nice. It's definitely different here than it is in Bravil.” She laughed, and Moon-claw laughed along with her.

“It's a nice place,” he said, then took a deep breath. “I guess I'll see you later, then?”

“Yes. I suppose you will.” She stood there for a little longer, as if she was reluctant to leave, then said, “Bye,” waved, and disappeared into the alleys. He watched her long after she had went out of sight.

Sighing, he started the walk back to his place. There was nothing special about her, he decided—or if there was, he hadn't been around her long enough to notice it. It was just the risk factor, the thrill of doing something he knew he shouldn't that set him off. Or was it? He couldn't tell yet.

He stopped at the edge of the river and peered down into it, watching the reflection of the sun beaming back at him, and realized that either way, he had just made one of his greatest mistakes.

Sciophobia, Chapter I

Even in the dead darkness of midnight where everything took on melancholy shades of gray, he could see the caravan. It was a company of four: two merchants in the wagon (hidden from view, but he knew they were there; race unkown), pulled by two mounted Imperial guards. The wheels grated against the stone pathway, the entire wagon shaking and creaking in response. One of the guards actually looked worried about it as they passed over a few bumps, but Moon-Claw knew that was soon to be the least of their concerns.

From his refuge in the bushes, Moon-Claw could hear a conversation going on, but the words were lost. Good, he thought, it would make it all the easier.

He pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming at the guard that was the farthest from him. Drawing back the string, he let it fly. It met its mark on the guard's neck, sending him flying off the horse.

The other guard stopped and his head darted down. He got off his horse and kneeled down beside the other, probably asking if he was alright. For now, he probably was—it wasn't a fatal shot, Moon-Claw guessed, but the poison would kill him.

The merchants, Redguards, emerged from the wagon, and Moon-Claw could hear the sound of voices again. He ignored them as he loosed another arrow, which sank into the other Imperial with a wet thud.

The merchants would be looking in his direction now. They always did. Moon-Claw brought up a hand and called upon the Shadow, rendering him invisible.

This was the fun part.

He was behind the two merchants in just a few seconds. He pulled out one of his daggers and slit the throat of one of the merchants. The other one whirled around and gasped, and Moon-Claw took a second to admire the sheer terror on his face before plunging the knife into his heart.

Leaving the carnage to rot, Moon-Claw sheathed the blade and began his walk back to town, whistling quietly to himself.


-


He used the secret passageway to get back into Cheydinhal, since the guards probably wouldn't take too kindly to an armed, bloodstained Argonian in all black. It was so dark that he couldn't really see anything in the city, but finding his way to his house was second nature. It wasn't a really big place, but big enough to earn the envy of the less well-off people.

He went immediately to his room, stripping off the shrouded armor. He began the process of maintenance: wiping off all the blood from the cloth and daggers with a wet rag, making sure that all of his arrows were still in condition, sharpening the daggers...

It when he was wiping the blood off the dagger that the familiar black void began to fill his stomach—he'd just ended four innocent lives.

It never hit him when he was doing the killing. No, he was trained too well for that. It was always in the aftermath, when he was repairing the damage of the night, that it happened. And as always, he needed a drink more than anything, but the Bridge Inn would be closed by now.. He of all people would know that.

As soon as he had his nightclothes on, he was sitting at the desk in his bedroom, a bottle of mead in front of him. It tasted like crap compared to Tamika's, but he never had any of that at his home.

Tamika's...

He had been drinking Tamika's after it had happened, he realized. It was the first alcoholic drink he'd ever had... and how old had he been, sixteen? Nevertheless, he'd remembered staring at the bottle, hating the taste and hating himself even more for not being able to stop.

He had taken a life. Because of him, Irene Patrick would never live again.

She had screamed. Oh, yes, he had enjoyed the look of pain on her face, enjoyed the dull thwacks of the shovel as the blade sank into her flesh. Damned skooma addict, she'd let her mouth get out of control and then she'd tried to—

He shivered just thinking about it, but that wasn't important. What was important was that she would never be able to redeem herself, never have the opportunity to get off the skooma.

But she deserved it, didn't she?

Nobody deserved death, he reasoned, taking another gulp of mead. His mentors had tried to tell him that death was natural, tried to familiarize with him, tried to get him to make it his life. But he'd revolted, turned on them and escaped and lived for all of six months on his own before he'd killed somebody of his own free will.

Two, three bottles—then same as now, all gone, and the next thing he'd remembered then was a throbbing in his head and that accursed voice:

“You sleep rather soundly for a murderer.”

“I didn't mean to do it!” he'd said, not even worried about the stranger's appearance in his house, convinced that if the man was here to kill him he'd deserve it anyway. “I couldn't control myself.”

That was because he was bred to be a killer, bred to live and feed and profit off death. And as much as he hated himself for it, there was nothing he could do to fight his nature.

And so he lived now. Barely. He never did enough to be able to afford Tamika's, but he had a decent house, even worked part-time at the local inn serving drinks so that nobody would get suspicious.

But deep down, he wanted something more. He brooded on it every night when he was in his bed, as he was now, and every night when he fell asleep his dreams were dark and answerless.

His eyes were closed now and everything was pleasantly buzzed. There was the reward for the contract, of course, but he could get that tomorrow. The stupid vampire didn't have a life outside of the sanctuary so there wasn't really a rush or deadline.

For now, Moon-Claw was content to sink into slumber. It might be dark and answerless, but the void that it brought was always more welcoming than the void that was his heart.