FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

-

It never stops raining on Venom. Never.

A hundred years have passed, or so they say, since Lylat last showed its radiant face to that planet's barren surface. For the people of that world, the rain has simply become a part of life. It ceaselessly peppers their ruined cities in rolling, toxic sheets, blanketing the worn stone structures in acrid mists that choke the life from vegetation and animals alike. To the Venomians, the rain is just another thing to be endured, just one more grim facet of Venom's reality. Ask any native, and they'll tell you; the longer you stay there, the faster you learn to live with it.

The rain becomes a part of you, they'll say. After a while you'll soon stop hearing it, and eventually the sound will come to you as naturally as your own breathing. Your lungs will burn in the planet's toxic atmosphere... but hey, you're on Venom. You must deserve it.

Wolf O'Donnell watched the rain as it spattered against the cracked Duraglass of his cockpit's window. The stench of the mists reached him even there, even past the layers of shielding and the pungent smoke which wafted off of his cigarette. The smell of the rain cloyed at his sensitive nose, sending his rough whiskers twitching at the odor.

He wasn't born on this blasted, toxic rock like the other Venomians, and he'd never grown used to the constant downpour, or its smell. The sound of the rain scratched at his ears as it slid across the cockpit's windows, calling out to him in whispers. He couldn't ignore it, no matter how hard he tried.

"You're not home," it said.

At a certain point in his life, Wolf stopped trying to ignore the rain. Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, he kept his eyes focused on the horizon line beyond the glass, watching the cloudy green sky as it bled that poisonous sludge down upon the planet. Venom had it out for every cursed, wretched thing that dared to eke out an existence upon its surface. Between the sheets of toxic rain, the nearly unbreathable atmosphere, the storms which tore apart nearly anything built upon its surface, and the endless, roiling seas of acid... the planet was like hell itself, but only so much more tangible.

He puffed out a noxious cloud of smoke, letting it fill the cockpit and blur his vision of the skies. Smoking was toxic too, of course, but far preferable to what lay just outside of the glass.

The lights on his old stat-com radio glimmered on and off upon the cluttered surface of his dashboard, distracting him from his thoughts. Someone was trying to get in touch with him. He ignored it. This moment was his, a little pre-race ritual that he never denied himself, and he wouldn't share it with anyone. Taking another lungful of fragrant ash, he looked up and watched the sky through the haze.

The rain was right. This wasn't his home. He would never forget that.

If it weren't for the ever-present shroud of that sickly, green sky, the young wolf imagined that he might be able to see his home world even then: a distant, pale light among the unseen stars, waiting for him. Of course, he knew what his home looked like. He'd watched videos of Corneria countless times on the busted telemonitors that could occasionally be scavenged down here among the ruins. He'd seen the cheery pictures of vibrant cities plastered across faded propaganda posters in the subways and abandoned metro-malls. But he had few memories of the place to call his own.

It was to be expected. He'd only been a pup when his father had been exiled to Venom for treason, taking his hapless young son along with him. For sixteen years now, Wolf had watched the rain, and his father was long since put in the dirt. The acidity in the soil had likely eaten his bones to nothing, Wolf thought darkly. Now it was just him, the rain, and the voice waiting for him on the other side of the stat-com.

This was Venom.

The stat-com lights blinked insistently, and Wolf knew that he'd have to listen to that voice, sooner or later. He needed to get himself ready. Exhaling gruffly, he turned away from the window to regard the mess of his cockpit.

"I really should hire a fuckin' maid," he grumbled.

Empty beer cans, worn cassette tapes, and ashy cigarette buds littered the panels and arm rests of his cockpit. He knocked the cluttering trash clear from his flight control deck in impatient swathes, stirring up the cloudy, stifling air and bringing the scent of stale pizza crumbs up to his nostrils. He must've left a crust or two around somewhere, and he made a mental note (which would surely be ignored) to clean out the cockpit after this race was over. Wolf rarely made such efforts to tidy up his space, but this time it was for good reason.

"Where'd I put it?" he mumbled to himself, tossing about the trash.

He couldn't be expected to race without his good-luck charm, and all of this rubbish was making the search more difficult than it should have been. A moment of panic shot through him as his hunt went on, until at last he found it hidden away beneath the busted-up toolkit that he kept beneath his seat.

"There ya are."

A rare smile split his haggard, grey muzzle as he looked at the photo in his paws, and his long, bushy tail made futile efforts to wag in its cramped place behind the pilot-seat. He clutched the little slip of plastic paper close, carefully smoothing away creases and folds with his gloved fingers. The photo carried with it all of the expected stains of long years in the paws of a messy owner, and no small amount of work had gone into keeping it whole. The acidic air of Venom ate photo vinyl like candy, and Wolf had traded much for the chemical treatment solutions needed to preserve the old bit of scrap. To him, it was worth every piece.

"I thought you ghosted me for bit, Captain. Can't race without my co-pilot, now can I?"

He carefully tucked the slip back into its place among the ridged metal linings above his display panels, giving one last glance at the smiling faces that looked back at him from the vinyl. In all the years that Wolf had lived upon the cruel surface of Venom, he'd never once lost a race. As sure as the rain fell, when Wolf got into his cockpit, he made the skies his own. Although he'd never told anyone his secret, he'd always attributed this success to the little autographed photo that now sat above his controls. It'd help him win now, same as ever.

With his good luck charm finally in its place, Wolf flicked the stat-com on with a long, black claw. He was ready to tear open the skies, and no amount of rain could hold him back.

"This is Wolf," he said into the radio. "I'm ready. Are we doing this, or what?"

The stat-com spit static at him for a moment before a response chirped through, distorted by the disturbances of the storm outside.

"What the fuck took you so long, Wolf? I've been sitting down here in the lower metro-belt for half an hour. If you make me wait any longer, there's gonna be more than just rain falling on your head. Get your ass up here!"

Wolf grinned, canines flashing in the dim light of his cockpit. It seemed as though his little pre-race ritual had gone on a bit too long this time. His opponent was impatient now.

Good. It'd be all the more easy to out-fly Razer if that dumb monkey was already getting emotional. Stifling a laugh, Wolf flicked a few switches on his console and set the engines of his old starcruiser rumbling into action. The low purr of her motors reverberated through her metal hull and the leather of his seat, working its way up to thrum in his chest and tickle at the base of his balls.

Good girl, he thought, getting amped up for her run.

"No need for all the foreplay, Razer," he replied back into the radio. "I'm just warming up my engines. Be there in a sec."

The stat-com chirped loudly as it was disconnected from the other side of the radio, and now that he was freed from the distraction, Wolf was at last able to set about waking the Wolfenstar up from her rest. The ship was an old Cornerian cruiser model, slim and sleek, and Wolf had traded in years' worth of scrap just to get her engines in their current condition. Her long, stately wings had been heavily modified to resemble the famous Arwing ß from the Cornerian Navy, but this was for more than just a cosmetic effect; decals depicting all of the races she'd won decorated her hull like prized tattoos, providing proof of her superior design. She was his breadwinner, his security... his home away from home. As her engines roared into life with every flick of a switch and every turn of a dial, Wolf repeated his mantras under his breath.

"One more race," he sighed gruffly. "One more scrap trade. One more piece of the warp drive... one more day on Venom."

The planet Venom- if that blasted rock could indeed even be called a planet- stood at the abyssal end of the Lylat system's planar ring. It was a corroded pit of a world, too remote and too far from any other habitable planet for an old cruiser like the Wolfenstar to travel in one leap. Only a genuine warp-engine could carry her away from its blistering, emerald skies, and it was the dream of many optimistic Venomians to find or build a ship with such capabilities. But finding engine parts from among the wreckage of Venom's ruined cities, wastes, and scrap mountains was no easy feat. For years now, Wolf had been saving up his earnings, buying pieces and trading the junk that he'd earned in his races. There wasn't much left that he needed for his own warp drive.

Not much longer now, he told himself, and then I can go home.

At last the engines gave a victorious sputter, and their hydro-cylinders kicked into life with a shuddering jolt. The stench of high-octane fuel replaced the cloying fumes of cigarette smoke as the Wolfenstar's_fuel pumps activated, and with a wicked grin Wolf started up the ship's propulsion systems. His cockpit lurched as the cruiser shuddered and rose up into the misty slant of the rain, toppling the old ruin that he'd been parked upon as the ship's gravity bumpers kicked off. A cloud of damp dust and mud spattered across the _Duraglass as he pulled his cruiser past the collapsing rubble, and then with a short boost he was clear.

Veering upwards, Wolf's craft climbed up into the toxic clouds, into a sea of endless green, and then leveled... this was his domain upon the hell that was planet Venom. Soaring through the sheets of cold, emerald acid, he watched the ruins pass below him from behind the security of the Duraglass. The wasteland didn't look nearly so bad at 2,000 meters, and for all intents and purposes Wolf felt himself like a strange class of nobility as he observed the desolate world below. He was above it all, figuratively, and now literally; he was an outworlder, and he deserved better. The rain spattering against his window told him otherwise, but he needed only to listen to the purring engines of the Wolfenstar to know better.

Turning his cruiser east, Wolf proceeded towards the ruins of ancient Vastoria. If the old scavengers were to be believed, it was one of the first mega-cities built by the planet's original inhabitants in ages past, long before the acid built up in the atmosphere. Wolf never fancied himself a historian of Venom, so he didn't know much about the place himself.

At any rate, it was old enough that no one really knew who built it, and although the ruins were falling apart, that just made for more interesting cruiser tracks. Everything else was incidental. The stone towers flew by his windows as he directed his cruiser down to the street-levels, and soon he flew close enough to see the pockmarks in the stone left by the acid.

He found Razer exactly where he was supposed to be. The monkey had parked his own cruiser on a tower near the western edge of the city, close to the starting point. As he landed alongside him, Wolf could already see the shiny metals and fancy acid-resistant paintjob that Razer had put on his ship just for this showing.

What a waste of good trade, Wolf thought as he looked over the craft. He'd have been better off upgrading his engines... the rain will wash that shit off in no time at all.

The Venomian racers were fond of dressing their ships up for performances, and it wasn't terribly uncommon for them to sink their winnings into new decals or aesthetic add-ons to give themselves more hype before the race. Unlike Wolf, they never expected to leave Venom behind. This was their home, after all, and it was where they belonged. They rarely spent their money on warp drive parts like he did.

Wolf pulled up alongside Razer's ship, acidic steam rolling off of his hull as the heat boiled away in the rain. He was able to get a good look at the monkey from his side of the Duraglass: a grivet with pale, shaggy fur framing a sour-looking face. His attire was typical for a Venomian, with flashy colors depicting his turf and the value of his scrap hauls.

The simian glared back at him from behind his own window. Clearly, he didn't like to be kept waiting. Nearby, huddling beneath the stonework, his crew held similarly dour expressions.

On Venom, it was nearly impossible to survive off of one's own good graces. Food, drinkable water, and shelter were all precious commodities out here in the acid-ridden wastes, and you'd be lucky if you could manage to salvage enough scrap to pay for even a few days' worth of living. Your only chance of survival was to cling to a collective, or to a gang. Wolf had done pretty well for himself by sticking around the ruin-racer's clique. His success had made him popular, and wealthy as far as any Venomian could hope to be in the mire, and so he hadn't needed to worry about keeping his head down among the various turf wars and ego battles. Razer had his own allegiances too, and by the looks of the colors he was flying on his cruiser, he was hanging around with some rough crowds. They'd be watching the race as well, observing from the shattered windows of the nearby ruins alongside the rest of the urchin crowds.

The stat-com blinked on his control panel, and over in the other cockpit, Razer made a gesture for Wolf to answer. A quick flick of his claw set the static humming, and Razer's terse voice called out from the other side.

"What the fuck are you looking at, pup? Are we gonna race, or did ya just come down to ogle the paint? I ain't gonna sit here and let the rain eat my chrome."

Wolf winked at the monkey from across the gap.

"You've got bigger things to worry about than the rain, Razer. You're about to eat exhaust, and I hope you left room for extras... I haven't cleaned the filters in a while."

"You little prick," Razer spat, all static and vitriol. "Better hope you smash into a tower before I get my guns on you."

The stat-com angrily clicked off, and Wolf settled his eyes on the track ahead. Before them stood the vast complexes of towers and buildings that once marked the wealth of Vastoria. Hundreds of spires rose out from the broken concrete and twisting streets, providing a gauntlet that had tested the pilots of Venom for decades. This was to be their course. At the finish line marked deep within the city, another crowd of spectators waited amongst the rubble, hiding from the rain as they watched for the cruisers to come thundering into view. They'd serve as witnesses to attest to the victor, and the spoils would be distributed accordingly. Wolf planned to have those spoils for himself.

Of course, Razer's threats weren't likely to be idle, either. Weapons were free to fire on ruin-races such as these, but they came with their own cost. Providing energy to weapon systems took power from the engines, and of course you had to have your opponent in front of you to fire with any accuracy. No racer in their right mind wanted the other guy out in front. But Razer was a known wild card, and fond of his trigger finger. He probably figured that he could blast Wolf out of the sky before he made it to the finish line. Wolf smiled at the thought.

They should know better by now. Don't they know who I am?

From the rubble atop the tower crawled a small, faltering figure with an acid-resistant tarp thrown over his greying head for protection. The referee. He stood between the two cruisers, holding out glove-covered paws for both of the racers to prepare. Wolf made a final check of his systems, taking one last glance at his good luck charm. The faces in the photo smiled back at him: one with the utmost measure of confidence, and the other with the youthful grin of optimism. A hastily-written note was penned in black ink on the bottom, smudged and faded from years of handling.

To my biggest fan, Wolf. Keep shooting for the stars!

Narrowing his gaze on the track of buildings in front of him, Wolf nodded to the ref. Razer did the same, and soon the covered figure was throwing down his paws in the count.

Five...

Wolf reached down and thumbed through the cassettes scattered about the floor. He was looking for one of his favorites: an old electronic piece with real bass, something that shook the _Duraglass_and blared out over the engines. A race like this needed some proper music for accompaniment, after all.

Four...

There it was, hidden amongst a short stack of older recordings. Their labels were drawn on in a crude hand: McCloud's speech after the Battle of Victor Falls, McCloud's interview after Fortuna raid,Starship Sounds for Sleeping. He plucked the cassette up and carefully removed the old tape from its case.

Three...

Slipping his tape into the vintage media outlet on his dashboard, Wolf waited for the cassette to rewind. He turned the speakers on his audio systems up- all the way up- regretting the loss of power but knowing full-well the importance of a good backing track. With his music set, he reached down to a lower storage compartment, opening it.

Two...

Wolf pulled out a small, black case from the compartment. He popped it open, retrieving a pair of folded-up sunglasses from within and slipping them over his eyes. In the early days, other racers had mocked him for wearing such a thing on a planet with no sunshine, but they'd stopped jeering after he'd won his first few races. At this point, the shades had become a part of his local legend. He wondered if any of the Venomians had ever guessed about where he'd picked up the fashion.

One...

It was Venomian custom to cheat and fly off early at the last moment of the countdown, and Wolf was by no means unwilling to adopt that particular tradition. Shifting the cruiser to maximum flight speed as the cassette tape started spinning, both he and Razer blasted off from the top of the tower, leaving the poor referee spinning in the rain behind them as the sonic boom shattered windows and crumbled stone.

The G-forces slammed Wolf back into the cracked leather of his seat as the accelerators kicked in. He tore his way down the starting tower, passing buildings and crumbling spires at rapid speeds, the wind whooshing by his cockpit with each close call as his wings missed the walls by mere feet. Through the gaps in the buildings, he could see Razer's ship just a few streets down. Trash and debris flew across the roads as the wind from his passage swept the ground, and he wove through alleys and backstreets, passing in and out of sight. Wolf couldn't keep his eyes on Razer though. He needed every bit of concentration not to fly into the crowded buildings.

Venom's ruin-racing was the most lethal and fast-paced sport in Lylat. Only the people stuck here- hopeless, desperate, and hardened by daily encounters with death- would ever compete in such a thing. It wasn't irregular for pilots to reach speeds of up to 400mph, where the pressure pulls your lips back from your teeth and makes the blood rush from your head. Cornerian sub-space pilots had the luxury of replacing their lower limbs with fancy metal prosthetics, reducing the dangers of uncontrolled blood flow, but Wolf wasn't so lucky. Already he could feel himself getting sick, lightheadedness making everything beyond his cockpit blurry and distorted. The bass from his music thrummed loudly in his chest, providing a staccato beat against the rapid pace of his own heart.

Movement on his right. From between the buildings, Wolf could see that Razer was pulling back, slowing down from his initial speed boost to get behind him. Wolf shook his head roughly to clear his mind, slicking his dry tongue against his fangs. He welcomed the fear that started boiling up from his guts. He wanted this. He wanted to feel something on this miserable rock.

Let Razer get behind me.

A wild grin lit up his features, and he punched in the accelerator for higher speeds. The Wolfenstar roared down the abandoned avenues, twisting between ruined towers and old apartment complexes, scattering the debris of parking lots, and tearing up anything that wasn't nailed down in her wake. This was the best part of racing, when the ground beneath his cruiser shook and he left a trail of ruin in his wake; he loved fucking up Venom, more than anything. This shit-hole of a world deserved it.

Rapid, shrill alarms rang throughout the cruiser then, snapping Wolf out of his fun. The lock-on sensors were triggering.

"Looks like he isn't fuckin' around," Wolf muttered. His teeth chattered at every syllable from the uneven turbulence of his winding flight-path. "Guess the fucker's good at stabbing guys in the back."

Unconcerned, he reached up and took the photo from its treasured place on the dashboard, tucking it gently between his fangs. He didn't want it flying around, as the contents of his cockpit tended to do when he performed evasive maneuvers. Slapping on a few of the switches, he extended the modified Arwing-style deflectors on his wings and got a firm grip of the central control stick. Then he looked out through the rear mirror, and waited for the shine.

Laser fire is standard fare for Cornerian fighters, but here on Venom, you'd be lucky if you could even scrounge together a plasma thrower. Wolf had made sure to get a good look at Razer's ship before the race had begun, and he'd taken careful note of the monkey's weapon systems. Sure enough, the bastard had managed to rig himself a plasma gun, but that wasn't so bad. He preferred plasma over old-fashioned bullets. At the speed they were going, he'd have just enough time to see the shine of the ejectors before the plasma was flung at him. If it was lasers or bullets, he could never react fast enough.

Wait... wait for it...

His eyes dashed back to the path, to the winding alleys and cluttered buildings, and then back to the mirror, watching two worlds at once. Death could come from both angles, from a crash or the plasma.

Wait... there!

A brief red flash caught his eye as Razer's plasma throwers tossed off a round. That was his signal. Leaning hard into the side of his cockpit, Wolf threw every bit of his lean, muscular weight into the central stick, slamming the opposite pedal at just the right moment to compensate for the turn. The result of this maneuver was what had made him the greatest racer in Venom, and an untouchable object to punks like Razer.

The infamous Cornerian barrel roll.

The Wolfenstar spun rapidly on her axis just as the plasma bolts sped down the road towards her hull. Spinning wildly, the deflectors on her wings caught the bolt and flung it aside, where it smashed heavily into a nearby building. Although Wolf was moving far too fast to view the outcome of the impact, he knew the result. Plasma that hot would melt straight through concrete and rebar, to say nothing of what it would have done to his old cruiser's hull.

With the plasma safely thrown off, Wolf skillfully reversed the maneuver, bringing the Wolfenstar back into a smooth, speedy drive down the road. A dizzy smile split his fangs as the trash in his cockpit settled back down onto the floor, and with a trembling paw he swatted off the stray cans and tape cases that cluttered his space. Carefully, he took his photo from his mouth and returned it to its place.

He could only imagine how Razer was fuming behind him. No one else on Venom could pull off that trick. No one else had what he had.

Those tapes on the floor weren't just for tunes. He'd picked most of them up from some odd traders here and there in the subway cities, and others he'd won in his early races, back when the stakes were small change and he rode on gravity-bikes in the broken down highways. A few however, weren't from Venom at all. They represented nearly all of what Wolf had taken with him in his exile, all that he'd been allowed to carry as a youth. A few old cassette recordings, and a photo taken of him and his hero... the inventor of the maneuver that was gonna win him this race.

James McCloud. The hero of the Cornerian military. The mercenary ace pilot who had won the Titanian War.

Wolf's pup years had been spent in adoration of Captain McCloud, and it'd been his dream to one day join the Cornerian Naval Academy and fly by the fox's side. As the son of a prominent military official, his chances had even been pretty decent. He'd studied every video of McCloud in action, watched countless holovids of his dogfights and parade flights, and listened intently to every recording of his speeches. He knew by heart the contents of each of the cassettes which sat on the floor of his cockpit. He'd heard them hundreds of times. The secret of the deflecting barrel roll was there, hidden amongst each of those recordings, and over the years he'd pieced it together. Now, although Corneria had exiled him, and his father was long-since dead, it would be James McCloud who saved him.

Wolf was far too proud to ever admit his admiration for the fox openly to another Venomian. As a symbol of Cornerian authority, McCloud was hated across the planet. But Wolf didn't share that opinion. This wasn't his home, after all. And when he finally got off of this blasted rock, he'd return to Corneria and show McCloud his skills. He'd join Starfox, and he'd put to work all of the skills that he'd honed here in the dirt, beneath the skies of acid. He'd finally-

A brief, red glint of light flashed at him from the balcony of a nearby building, and Wolf recognized on reflex the shine of plasma.

In front? How?

There was no time to employ McCloud's trusted maneuver here, and he desperately pulled up on the control stick as the plasma shot through the Duraglass of his window. He bellowed in pain as blistering wind and searing rain blasted in through the hole, and alarms rang throughout the cockpit loudly, drowning out his music. Instinct caused him to jerk up on the control panels, and suddenly the Wolfenstar was pulling up, soaring out from the cover of the towers and into the rain.

The green sky spun around him as Wolf struggled to gain his bearings. He leveled out the ship, angling her against the wind so that the rain no longer shot through the hole in the Duraglass. His mind raced as he tried to piece together what had happened.

He'd seen the glint of light. That was a plasma bolt, no doubt about it. The stench of burning leather caught his nose, and turning his head aside he could see the source. A black, singed score was burnt into his pilot-seat, only a few inches from his left eye. Had the marksman aimed just a bit further right, that hole would've been through his head.

Breathing loudly from between clenched fangs, Wolf's eyes narrowed in thought. It was a small blast, precise. This was certainly not the work of a weapons platform onboard a ship. That bastard Razer must've had one of his goons hiding out in a tower, trying to snipe him down. A personal plasma thrower didn't have much hope at knocking the _Wolfenstar_out of the sky, but a good shot might have blinded him, sending him crashing and ending the race.

The race!

Turning the nose of his cruiser down, Wolf looked out over the city, glancing rapidly from street to street. He'd risen up to a few hundred meters in his panic, and now he was able to clearly see the sprawling ruins spreading out for miles in each direction. His sharp eyes scanned the field of debris, narrowing in on Razer's craft as it shot through the streets. The interruption of the sniper had given that monkey a valuable lead, and Wolf's heart dropped as he saw the simian's craft racing towards a break in the ruins, towards a former city square which they'd designated as the finish line.

By default, it was illegal to rise above the skyscrapers in a ruin race, but then again, it was also illegal to have a third party intervene like the sniper had. Wolf had every right to continue, but how could he catch up? His mind grappled at a dozen hopeless ideas, and he snatched at an answer as he watched the rain fall down to the streets.

He'd fall too.

Ramming the cruiser's throttle to its maximum speed, he angled the Wolfenstar down sharply and plummeted back towards the ground. The wind whistled shrilly as it sped past the broken Duraglass, and rain slipped through in sparse trickles, spattering his consoles with soft hisses and burning through his flight jacket. A few spattered against his shades, and he gave a grim chuckle as the dark plastic bubbled mere centimeters from his eyes. For all the mocking that he'd received on their behalf, the shades had finally made their use here.

The G-forces from his descent threw him back against the leather of his seat, but he built up velocity all the same, and as the first tips of the skyscrapers flew past him, he easily exceeded the _Wolfenstar's_normal maximum speed.

That'll do, he thought. Now, I just have to get this speed going horizontally... no problem.

Gripping his controls tightly, he began to pull up. The control stick stuck obstinately under the air pressure, and turning to look out at his wings, Wolf saw that they were locked in place by the speed of his descent.

"C'mon... c'mon, get them up, old girl," he muttered, biting his lip as he pulled harder. Inch by inch, the wings responded, leveling him out, but the ground still approached at a dizzying speed. Down below, he could see Razer's craft, coasting easily towards the finish line. He'd slowed down, perhaps assuming Wolf lost, or dead as planned.

"Up, damnit... up!"

The ground was suddenly all he could see, and then the wind caught beneath his wings. He leveled out onto the street just as the ground met him. His cockpit lurched as the sound of screeching metal rang in his ears. The bottom of his cruiser slid against the ground just for a moment, but then rocketed off down the street with little speed lost. A victorious howl burst from Wolf's chest as he shot down the city's main road at a speed he'd never felt before, tearing past Razer and into the square with the roar of overdrive engines.

-

The win had been a close call. He couldn't deny that. If it'd been him that had to play the role of referee, he didn't know who he'd pick.

Then again, fuck Razer.

Fortunately, the outcome of a ruin-race was never called by the pilots themselves. In the case of a close call, a third party usually arbitrated, and most of the time this task fell to a representative of whatever gang had claims over the area where the race was held. Luckily for Wolf, the ruins of Vastoria belonged to the Void Scamps. They hated Wolf on account of his attitude and his status as an off-worlder, but they hated Razer's and his crew even more because they were actual competition. In the end, close call or not, they handed the win to Wolf.

Razer gave them the expected hell, but that simian asshole wasn't Wolf's problem anymore. Once he'd loaded his prized scrap into the secure storage unit onboard the Wolfenstar, he left Razer and the demolished track behind. He was off to better destinations. A celebration was in order.

Downtime is a rare thing on Venom. Between foraging for scraps, trading for food or necessities, and fending off the varied thugs, bandits, and desperate thieves which lurked amid the ruins, it was hard to find a moment of peace and quiet. That said, the Venomians treasured those rare moments of rest when they had them, and for that reason pubs such as the Roiled Rose were considered sacred ground. Wolf directed his cruiser there first. Repairs on the Wolfenstar's scratched underbelly could wait.

The Roiled Rose was an underground establishment, since like most longstanding Venomian institutions, its owners wanted to keep it safe out of the rain. Buried beneath the ruins of what was supposedly some museum of science in Vastoria's time, it sustained itself in the tunnels of stone that once held the museum's parking lots. According to hearsay, the founder of the place discovered the tunnels lush with all sorts of exotic alien flora, survivors from the seed banks and exhibits from upstairs, and he'd cleared it all out to make room for a pub. As far as Wolf could tell, no roses still grew there; nothing that beautiful could live on Venom.

The museum itself had mostly caved in, but there were still plenty of hollowed spaces and halls in the ruin where he could afford to park the Wolfenstar with some modicum of shelter. Tucking the old cruiser beneath an awning of busted concrete, he popped open the cockpit and hopped out, leaving his acid-soaked, blistered shades behind. He'd find another pair. The cold air stung his lungs as he breathed in, and despite himself he coughed as he was once again introduced to Venom's unwelcoming atmosphere.

"Ahhh," he sighed, taking in deep lungfuls and relishing the pain. "That's the shit, right there."

Over the years, a few workable entrances had been found here and there in the museum which led down to the former parking garages. He picked his way through the rubble, wandering through ancient exhibits left behind by the first Venomians. Graffiti marked the claims of a dozen different ruin-gangs. Here and there it declared a victory, the loss of a friend or loved one, hateful messages against rivals, or the conquest of a good fuck who was invariably someone's mother or sister. This was the news here on Venom, a script of all the happenings throughout this quadrant of the ruins. A good read, if a bit vulgar.

Amidst the scattered, broken displays, Wolf found what he was looking for. An old staircase wound its way down into the depths of the parking garage, and he followed its cold, stone steps into darkness. Here and there he stepped over the prone bodies of piss-drunk old scavengers, or hurried past some horny pair making wet noises in the shadows. These people were just symptoms of the Roiled Rose. They offered two things in abundance: cheap alcohol and sex, and sometimes both if you could handle yourself. Wolf, high on his victory, was of a mind for both.

Wolf found the tavern in the back of the garage's lowest floor, nestled securely within the old maintenance tunnels and parking units. The flat, empty space of the garage was littered with scavenged furniture, and light from six different kinds of gaudy, colored bulbs lit every corner of the place. Laughter, crude and ugly, echoed dully across the concrete from the various revelers who loitered among the furniture. Wolf's nose curled up at the smells: moonshine, pussy, and rotting leather. It was paradise.

Sauntering with all the swagger of a champion, he made his way through the furniture and over to the lowly place which served as the Rose's resident bar. It was little more than a scattering of stools situated against a broken-down wall, on the other side of which an old, scarred pig served the acidic swill that Venomians called alcohol. It would do for Wolf, at the moment. Venom had taught him not to be choosy.

A few others sat at the bar besides himself. He took stock out of habit, since the last thing he needed was to plop himself down and get drunk without realizing that he was surrounded by guys from some gang that he'd fucked over in the past. His eyes went from one dim figure to the next. A pair of lizards slicking their long, slimy tongues into their drinks, another wolf who looked as though he'd seen too many years under the rain, and a panther. The panther caught his eyes.

He was beautiful, and not just by Venom's poor standards. Venomians were a haggard breed of creature, and it was easy to spot a native. The acidic humidity made their fur coarse and rough, and it brought a dimness to their eyes that reflected lives filled with hopelessness. Even in the weak lighting of the Rose, Wolf could see the shine in this one's ebony fur. Hell, it almost looked conditioned. Must've been a new arrival.

Taking the stool besides the panther, Wolf gestured the pig for a drink. You couldn't be choosy in a place like this, so he didn't bother being specific. While he waited, he tried to glance sidelong at the figure beside him.

The cat was lean, and he wore clothing to the best effect of it. A fishnet shirt clung to his muscular torso, and a pair of delightfully indecent shorts put too little of a barrier between his tight ass and the uncertain nastiness of the stool he was sitting on. His long tail swished delicately against the legs of the stool, counting rhythm to the obscene music playing from somewhere nearby.

It wasn't until the panther cleared his throat that Wolf realized he'd been caught. Brilliant, yellow eyes flashed in his direction. They were a dead giveaway. This cat wasn't a local.

"Are you just window shopping," he asked. "Or do you actually plan on making a purchase?"

Wolf blinked in surprise.

"Window shopping?"

Of course, he was only momentarily taken aback. The realization struck him as the panther held his gaze, sultry eyes watching him from the dark. He should have figured... fishnets, clean fur, and the location. This cat must've been some new piece of tail that the _Roiled Rose_had found somewhere and pressed into work.

"Ah, my bad," Wolf finally said. The pig delivered his drink, and he took a swig of the stuff. It burned like hell going down his throat, and settled angrily in his gut. Gulping noisily, Wolf turned to look at the panther with a more critical eye.

There was no denying how attractive he was. Hell, he could almost pass for a chick. It'd be a damn shame to pass up such a fine piece of ass, especially coming off a win.

Give him two more weeks, Wolf thought, and that clean look will be just a memory. Poor thing.

"Shopping, heh. So, are you the kind I have to buy a drink for first, or are you the shop-and-go type?"

The panther looked at him warily. His long, black tail swished against the bar stool. For a prostitute, his gaze was remarkably sharp. Wolf wondered at the kind of person it would take to survive here on Venom, living off the courtesy of those who used you just to get off. Considering the average Venomian, it couldn't have been a pleasant lifestyle.

"A drink would be nice," the panther said at last. His voice was smooth, all coyness and forced sensuality. Wolf smirked and put up another digit for the bartender. He could afford it.

"Well, I don't think anybody around here would call me nice, but I'll get ya something anyway. I'm feeling charitable."

"It's appreciated."

They waited for the pig to deliver the second drink, and now that he knew what he was getting, Wolf felt no shame in eyeing up the panther's assets.

"You got a name, cat?"

"Caroso," he responded softly.

"That's not Venomian."

The panther's drink arrived, and he reached out to take a dainty sip from the glass. Despite the calm, self-assured look in his eyes, Wolf noted that he couldn't hide how his lips shrank back against his muzzle from the harsh taste. The poor cat was probably used to finer stuff, wherever he came from.

"Well," Caroso said, setting the glass back on the wall. "We have that in common then, Mr. O'Donnell."

Wolf couldn't have hidden his expression if he tried.

"How the fuck do you know me?"

The panther smiled, and the edge of his soft lips curled up just slightly below his manicured whiskers. His teeth were too perfect, like those models on the faded toothpaste advertisements in the abandoned malls.

"There's very few sources of entertainment here on Venom, Wolf, aside from people like myself. A few other patrons saw you landing up above, and I overheard them talking about your recent race. Your past as an off-worlder was mentioned... word gets around."

Wolf sniggered, draining his glass and setting it down with a loud belch.

"Word's not the only thing getting around, I bet."

Caroso didn't laugh. Killjoy.

"At any rate," Wolf continued. "You're not wrong. What's your price?"

Sipping daintily from his cup, the panther watched him from over the rim of the glass. There's a look only felines can give, cold and calculating, and Wolf silently admired the other male for it. He couldn't wait to see the look on those eyes once all the formalities had been dealt with, and he'd buried his bone in the smug feline.

"A ride," he said at last.

"Is that supposed to be an innuendo or something?"

"No," Caroso said, his tail flicking in annoyance. "It's my price. I want a ride in your ship."

"Shit, that all? Normally your type-"

"Off this planet. Word has it that you're nearly finished with a drive."

Wolf's ear gave a dismissive flick, and chuckling to himself, he signaled to the barkeeper for another drink. Caroso waited, unblinking. For all the fierceness in those eyes, his tail played a mad beat of nervousness against the barstool. Smiling darkly, Wolf leaned against the bar and held up a paw.

"Well... is that all?"

The panther's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Would you prefer I ask for cash as well?"

"Heh. A comedian too. You do realize I could get my rocks off with an old sock and a few minutes in my cockpit, right? Carrying another passenger through the atmosphere takes twice as much fuel in a ship the size of my cruiser. The fuck makes you think you're worth that kinda price?

Placing his cup down gingerly, the panther gestured around with a claw. Dark shapes lingered here and there in the corners of the lot, reclined upon furniture or leaned up against cold concrete. Through the dim lighting of the string-lamps, Wolf could make out their hungry-looking eyes, paws reaching out to whoever passed by. Desperate.

Prostitution is an ugly business regardless of the planet, but here on Venom it could take shades of nastiness not seen elsewhere in Lylat. Wolf could smell the stink of them from here; it was the smell of ruins, of the waste and despair of the world, sprinkled with sex from a hundred weary participants.

Caroso brought his claw back, placing it on his lean chest before dragging it down across the smooth, dark fur of his stomach. He cut a line across the trim hide of his abs, letting it linger above the hem of his shorts. Wolf's eyes followed.

"I'm worth it, Wolf," he said. "I'm not like the others here... neither of us are. You knew that the second you looked at me."

Wolf's cock throbbed in his sheath. There was the price to consider, sure, but here was Caroso as well. This wasn't some cheap piece of Venomian ass that had been passed around a dozen times over the last hour. Wolf could see that just from casual observation. This cat was an off-worlder, like himself. Neither of them belonged here. Even if Wolf was having difficulty making up his mind, the pressure in his sheath made the decision for him.

"Smug little prick," he said. "Alright cat, you got a-"

"Wolf O'Donnell, you mangy fuck!"

The voice cut through the darkness like a knife, and interested heads turned swiftly to regard the source. Wolf grimaced, ears flicking back against his skull. He recognized the voice.

"Razer?" he said, not looking up from the bar. "Is that you? Shouldn't you be off cleaning my dust from your window? Or flinging shit, whatever it is you monkeys do for fun."

The grivet stormed past the lounging areas, making a beeline for the bar where he and Caroso sat. From the corner of his vision, Wolf counted three others besides Razer himself, likely cronies from his gang. He turned to the bartender, who watched the scene from behind bushy, worried brows.

"Hey, you got that drink I ordered?"

A strong grip around the collar of his jacket suddenly pulled Wolf from his seat, and snarling, he freed himself and stood up to face his aggressor. He could smell the booze on Razer's breath from this short distance. That wasn't good; the monkey was a maniac sober. Wolf regretted that he'd spent all of his scrap and cash on parts. He'd never saved enough for a firearm.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a dull switchblade and snapping it open in the simian's face. Razer didn't seem impressed. His compatriots each had their own weapons out, and all in better condition. One in the back even had a plasma thrower, and Wolf had to suppress a laugh at the sight. That'd be the sniper from earlier.

"That piece was mine, Wolf," Razer snarled in his face.

"Just yours?" Wolf spat back. "What about your friend over there with the plasma thrower? Were ya gonna split it with him, or did ya just pay him in cash? He was a piss shot either way."

The sniper in question was a pot-bellied lemur, and the rage on his face did a fair job of equaling Razer's. The lemur stepped forward, only for another of the thugs to stop him with a paw. It seemed that Wolf was Razer's prey, this time.

Wolf couldn't blame the lemur for being upset at the insult. In all fact, it'd been an amazing shot, delivered through both rain and wind, with a small firearm, and against a target moving at ridiculous speeds. He deserved full credit for his aim, not that he'd ever get it from Wolf.

"Where'd you land your ship?" Razer's voice brooked no arguments, but Wolf wasn't so easily intimidated. It'd be ballsy to start something here in the Rose, even for someone like him.

"Fuck you," he responded, tapping the dull edge of his knife against the monkey's chest. He slowly backed away, circling the group carefully. He wouldn't be cornered.

"I'm taking back what's mine, Wolf. You're gonna tell me where you parked it."

"Parked it right up your ass. Fucker's so loose, you didn't even notice."

Despite his calm, outward demeanor, Caroso let a snort of laughter slip past his paw. Razer's face went beet red, and suddenly he reared back a fist as though he were about to take a swing. The world froze as Wolf brought up his knife, and everything went silent. Then, before he could understand what was happening, Razer was being pulled away by his cronies. Wolf saw his face go pale, and the lemur stashed his gun beneath his jacket. They left faster than they had arrived, melting away into the shadows beyond the lights. Razer's voice was low, soft, as he called out.

"Be seeing you around, pup."

It was all over in the span of a few seconds, and suddenly Wolf found himself standing alone in front of the bar. All eyes were still on him though, and behind him. On instinct, he turned, and regretted it almost instantly.

Approaching the bar, and himself by extension, was a group of three apes. Gorillas... tall, well-built, and imposing by figure if not by dress. The three of them wore matching clothes: heavy grey trench coats with long-necked, yellow sweaters underneath, grey fatigues, and acid-resistant boots. A neat, shining pin on their jackets displayed the letter 'A'.

The color and style of the clothing was irrelevant. What mattered was that it was clean, and that they matched. On Venom, one wore what they could find. Wolf himself wore an old Cornerian flight jacket with the symbols scratched off, a worn t-shirt, and a pair of slacks that had enough tears and stains to be sold as 'vintage trash' back on his home world. But these apes were matching. They didn't find those clothes sitting around somewhere. It was made for them. It was a uniform.

Wolf found himself backpedaling as the gorillas took their seats at the bar, nearly in lockstep. He knew who they were by their clothes, if not by the symbol on their pin. Razer must've seen them coming first. They weren't part of any common ruin gang. They belonged to Andross... and every Venomian knew who that was.

You didn't start fights with them, and you didn't talk to them or try to make deals with them. Andross was beyond the concerns of ruin trash like himself and Razer. He had wealth and power, real offworld power, factories to make weapons and ships and, obviously, uniforms for the lucky simians he drew into his fold. It was rare to see them in the slums. He couldn't imagine a reason for them to be here.

Caroso spoke then, his voice a soft whisper in Wolf's ear. He didn't even notice that the panther had moved from his seat.

"You going to invite them to join us, or just stare?"

Wolf suppressed a growl, and taking the panther's paw he led them both into the darkness. The apes hadn't so much as given him a passing glance.

All the better.

-

The good thing about living in the ruins is that there's no shortage of quiet, abandoned corners to hole up in. In his youth, long before he'd found the Wolfenstar, he'd often spent the idle hours of the day hiding away in such places, daydreaming of flying back in the blue skies of Corneria while his father scavenged the wastes. He loved the smell of old dust, the cool touch of concrete in the darkness, and the security offered by silence, hundreds of feet below the acid-soaked surface of the world. It was in a place like this that he'd hidden after his father had been killed. These days he didn't need to hide, and now there was only one good use for such corners.

The spot he'd chosen wasn't romantic in any sense of the word, but then again, Wolf didn't know what romance was aside from some vague notions of chivalry that he'd picked up from Cornerian vids. Winding through old service tunnels and maintenance shafts, he and Caroso had found a hallway where light hadn't shone in years, and there they shacked up in a storage closet that had long since been cleaned out of useful materials. They didn't need light to do what they'd come there to do, but for convenience Wolf brought out his pocket-lamp and set it down. Caroso's eyes glimmered in the darkness, cold and brilliant, and again Wolf was reminded of just how beautiful his catch was.

"Well, ain't this cozy?" he said after closing the rusted door, gesturing around them towards the darkness. "Hell, I'm surprised some addict didn't beat us to it. This is prime real estate."

He looked down at the panther's slim body, dimly outlined in the light. Licking his chops, he grinned and winked.

"What're you still wearing those for, cat? You want to earn that ride, don't ya?"

To business then, and neither of them made a show in stripping. Wolf took off his flight jacket and laid it down on the concrete. It'd do for bedding, if the cat really needed it. He made short work of his shirt, boots, and then his pants as well, while the panther leisurely slid his own tight-fitting articles down over his narrow frame. It would've been a much nicer reveal, Wolf thought, if what he was wearing wasn't so telling in the first place. Wolf peeled off his boxers next, casually flinging them onto the careful pile that Caruso was making.

The panther's eyes flicked over the canine's body, his lithe muscles and hefty, grey sheath, but only for a moment, before looking down to regard the pilot's underwear with disdain. Kneeling down, he plucked them up and off of his own clothes with a claw, and his delicate, pink nose wrinkled in distaste as he tossed the briefs aside.

"Don't you ever wash these things?"

Wolf answered the prostitute's question with a low, barking laugh, and grabbing the back of the feline's head, he forcibly pressed those supple, protesting lips up against his sheath. They'd be better put to use down there. For his own part, Caroso could only manage one soft, displeased grunt before his snout found itself buried between the wolf's grey thighs, and he gave a most perfunctory sort of effort to free himself before giving up. Wolf's smile widened as he felt that rough, feline tongue begin to flick softly against his fur.

"Wash?" he rumbled, rubbing the panther's head happily as his balls got a long-overdue cleaning. "You got a laundry mat around here I don't know about, doll? That's a dumb question."

True to his profession, the panther didn't try to pursue any further small talk, instead paying the full service of his lips to the cradle of masculinity between Wolf's thighs. There was something to be said about a cat's tongue when it came to oral sex, and Wolf let out an appreciative groan at the treatment, leaning back against the concrete as that rough organ gave long, appreciative licks along his sheath and the musky skin of his sack. If the stink of slick, salty sweat bothered the panther, Caroso didn't show it, and Wolf could only imagine that he'd seen worse here on Venom.

"Damn boy," he muttered, curling his lip as that barbed tongue worked on the tip of his sheath. "You know your way around cock, don't you?"

Wolf kept his broad paw around the back of the panther's head, but the guidance was hardly necessary. Caroso's tongue danced with a slow, sensual pace against his cock holster, slicking up the rough, grey fur, teasing its opening, and popping soft kisses up and down its length. Here and there he brought his lips up to suckle sweetly from the leaking tip, and a happy growl rumbled in Wolf's chest as the tramp stuck his tongue down into those depths.

"Kinky fuck," he muttered.

All of this attention was making it difficult for his cock to stay hidden, and under Caroso's ministrations the first few inches of red, angry-looking flesh started to peek out from the safe confines of Wolf's sheath. The panther homed in on it immediately, giving a cute little moan (almost certainly for show) as he suckled on the exposed tip. Soft flicks of his tongue quickly brought inch after inch sliding free, and soon Wolf found himself panting despite his best efforts at control. It'd been a while since he'd gotten head like this, real quality cock-sucking worth more than a cheap piece of scrap. He had to slow this down, or he'd be done all too soon.

Pulling back on the panther's head, he eased Caroso off of his swiftly-hardening shaft and back down to his balls. Wolf had as fine a pair down there as any man ought to who flew the ruins, and the long race earlier that day had built up a sheen of musky sweat on the darkened skin. The panther nuzzled them, chuffing softly like the slut he was supposed to be, and rolling the egg-sized orbs between his soft paws. His whiskers tickled, but that rough tongue came out to scratch all the right itches, and in no short order Wolf was being given a regular tongue-bath just where he needed it most.

Sighing in contentment, he laid his head back against the cool stone. Yeah, he thought. This was worth it.

"Hey, what was your name again?"

"Caroso," the cat mumbled softly from between mouthfuls of Wolf's balls.

"Right. You a full service guy?"

The panther looked up at him, arcing an eyebrow. He planted a long, wet kiss on the fuzzy trail that led down from Wolf's sheath to the base of his sack, before pulling away.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I got stiff shoulders. You any good at that sorta thing? Not like I wasn't enjoying the sweet stuff you're doing down there... your tongue's just a bit rough on the jewels, that's all."

Caroso rolled his eyes, and only gave Wolf's heavy sheath one last, long smooch before rising. "On your belly," he said, and Wolf obliged.

Fortunately, his flight jacket was there to keep his exposed bits off the cold and dirt of the concrete, and once he had flipped himself over, he settled with his head resting upon his crossed arms. He felt the panther descend gracefully across his spine, with a knee astride each side of his ribs. Those manicured claws ran across his back, tracing the crisscrossing scars there and leaving light furrows in Wolf's grey hide.

"Did you get these from the races?" Caroso asked softly. "A crash?"

"Those? Nah. You crash at the speeds we play with, and you're gonna end up with worse than a few scars. I got those just a few months after landing here... a lesson from an old ruin-gang who found me and my pa looting from their scrap heaps."

Cool, soft lips pressed gently on Wolf's notched skin, moving in a soothing line down the length of his scars. Those delicate paws got to work on his shoulders, and for all of the cat's elegance, Wolf could still feel the strength of a predator behind his movements. It didn't take long for the initial aches of the massage to slide down into pleasure, and he felt all the tensions from his race ease away as the panther worked through his muscles. Racing makes you tighten up in ways that you wouldn't believe, and it was a rare treat to get this kind of relief. Sex was easy to come by if you had the scrap, but care was another thing.

"It's not so bad," Wolf continued, grunting occasionally as the panther's paws dug in at a particularly tender spot. "Pa got it worse."

"Oh?"

"Yeah...ungh, that's the spot, right there... they shot him."

At that, Caroso's paws froze in their place. His claws tickled against Wolf's rough hide.

"I'm sorry," the panther said after a moment. To Wolf's surprise, his words didn't sound empty. He'd told the story of his father's death a dozen times over, but he'd never heard any real sympathy before. Everyone had lost someone on Venom. To hear such empathy from a common whore, of all people, surprised him. He shrugged away the concern.

"I didn't say stop... and don't be. He had it coming." Wolf looked back over his shoulder. "Hey, you're not half bad at this. What'd you do back on Corneria?"

Caroso's paws dug in sharply, drawing a wince from Wolf.

"Whoever said I was from Corneria?"

"Fair point. Watch the claws."

Wolf was content then to just let the panther do his work, kneading like a kitten at the corded muscles along his back. Caroso worked from his shoulders down across the crisscross of his scars, rolling his palms in slow circles just above the base of his tail. He felt a firm grope then on the muscular cheeks of his ass, and surprised himself with the gruff yip of surprise that came from his own mouth.

"Handsy little minx."

Caroso shrugged, doing his best to look innocent. "I was just curious."

"Yeah, you ever hear the one about curiosity and the cat? I think my shoulders are good now. Almost forgot why I brought you here."

Pushing back, Wolf rose to a seated position as the panther eased off of him. Unlike Wolf, who'd built up some muscles in the scrap yards of his youth, and had hardness beaten into him from years on Venom, Caroso was all long limbs and leanness. Seated in the soft light no more than a foot or two away, with his tail curled demurely around his legs, he appeared for all the world like some Cornerian noble who'd snuck away from his chaperones to spend an hour of clandestine fun with the help. If it'd been under different circumstances, Wolf wondered if he would have been smitten with the panther. He was beautiful, coy, intelligent, and he clearly knew his way around cock.

A real keeper, as his father would have said.

"Hey," he growled, reaching a mitt out to feel the rich fur of the panther's thigh. "I got a little soft there, talking about my old man. You mind if I eat you out? That shit gets me wild."

There was a shift in the panther's expression, but it was too brief for Wolf to register the meaning. Disgust perhaps. Or maybe curiosity. Definitely not anticipation. Cats are always so damn high and mighty about their tail-holes.

"I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised. You're a dog, after all."

"Wolf actually, and is that a no?"

"I wouldn't last in this profession if _that_was my boundary."

Caroso shrugged, and leaning down he raised his long tail up, framing it over what might have been the most perfect ass Wolf had ever laid eyes on. Like most canines, he admitted to a predilection for ass-munching, and it was a damn rare thing to find someone on Venom with a rear worth visiting in that respect. Rolling his tongue around his chops, he wasted no time in prying apart the panther's taut cheeks and diving in.

Caroso smelled like roses, if you'd believe that. Dragging his tongue in a sloppy line from the base of the panther's demure, midnight-colored balls, Wolf slopped his way up across that pink, winking star and right along the underside of his raised tail, smacking his lips loudly all the while. This cat's ass was like a bottle of fine perfume, scavenged from the hidden ruins of some forgotten department store: heady, and dancing some fine line between trash-cheap and fancy.

Perfume was a useless commodity down here in the wastes. It didn't help you to survive, to fight, or feed your belly, and so it often fell to the lowest dregs of trade, and to the lowest rungs of society. Prostitutes had loads of the stuff. Consequently, they were one of the few things on Venom that smelled good. Wolf took a deep huff against the panther's velvety perineum before giving it a rough kiss. It was a treat to breathe in the scent of fur that didn't smell like rusted batteries.

In the perfect silence of the underground, Wolf's sensitive ears were treated to all the various sounds a panther could make in the throes of a good tonguing. Gripping the cat close with one paw and keeping those cheeks spread with another, he let his long, canine tongue do the work God intended for it to do. Wolf employed the vast arsenal of his kind's ancestry to the task of making Caroso squirm: long, languid laps, heavy kisses on soft pink flesh or the taut skin of the feline's nuts, fast and hungry licks in a flurry of slobber, and every combination in between. Much as he liked to hear the cat moan, it wasn't just for his benefit.

Down below, his cock had shot back out of its sheath in no time at all, stirred from its confines once again by the clean, floral scent of an ass that needed to be fucked. Pre drooled from his tip in a messy river, pooling at the loose base of his sheath and down into the wrinkled lines of his well-licked sack.

He could have continued like this all day, if he'd wanted, but the more pressing concern jutting out of his sheath demanded otherwise. With one last, long drag of his tongue along the panther's upturned ass, he gave it a smack that drew a startled yelp out from its owner.

"Damn fine ass you got, cat. Five stars."

"I'm not a bed-and-breakfast," Caroso hissed, indignant.

"Not yet... got the breakfast stuff down with the banquet you have back there, but I'll have the bed part in a sec."

Rising onto his knees, he pulled the panther's ass back up and grinded it into his lap. There was nothing better than the warm friction of a freshly-eaten ass sliding up and down on his cock, and he took the time to slowly grind and hump the panther's taut rear against his firm prick. He pulled back hard on Caroso's hips, pressing himself flush against the cat's softness and enjoying the heat he found there. Caroso just huffed softly beneath him, his ears flat against his head and his tail twitching nervously.

"What's the matter?" Wolf asked with a predatory grin, giving the panther another lewd thrust and sending his tip jabbing into the underside of the other male's tail. "You're almost acting like you didn't _ask_for it."

To his credit, Caroso didn't budge, and if anything, he only arched his spine up further, pressing his slick entrance up against the knot swiftly ballooning out from the tight confines of Wolf's sheath.

"You'd hardly be so eager if you were the one about to take something that thick... with just a bit of dog-spit to compensate."

"Heh. Just a bit?"

Wolf looked down and hocked another glob between their bodies, smearing it with his tip against the rim of the panther's delicate entrance, just for good measure.

"I'm a wolf, sweetheart. There's damn near a cup of that stuff gooed up in yer business. That's more than most would give."

"Generous."

"Aren't I?"

Wolf chuckled, and with a careful bit of aiming and a curt thrust he buried the first two inches right where it counted. Caroso shuddered and cried out softly, but with enough restraint to suggest that he'd done the deed often enough. Whether this was true or not was irrelevant, and Wolf didn't wait around for his sake. Easing back out, he thrusted in again, and again, sawing in inches at a time and enjoying the vice-like grip of a tight cat around his tip. All the stimulation had him leaking like nobody's business, and Wolf figured that between his pre and the spit, Caroso would be more than ready for a good knotting when it came. One way or another, they always were. You offer to fuck a wolf, and you know what you're getting.

The slick sound of flesh sliding into flesh echoed off of the concrete walls, until soon it was joined by the softer sound of fur patting against fur, and large, grey orbs grinding into smaller black ones. Wolf's hips met the panther's rear with a satisfying smack upon each connection, and he held himself there for a moment just to enjoy the sight of that ebony fur against his own. The panther's velvety walls conformed perfectly to him, slick and warm, and he flexed his cock just to see Caroso squirm beneath him.

"Ahh. Got the sweet spot, didn't I?"

Wolf didn't wait for an answer, instead grinding forward further and letting the natural bulk of his cock slide roughly against the panther's prostate. His reward was all the sweet moans, groans, and sighs of the handsome cat's obvious pleasure, and his tail wagged happily as he pulled himself back and forth over that tender spot.

By this point, Caroso's clenching tunnel was working his cock up real good; he could feel his knot starting to firm up, eager to bury itself somewhere warm and deep. It wouldn't have to wait long. He gave the panther another long thrust, swinging his loose sack up to smack against the panther's, before leaning over and taking a nip out of those slender, black shoulders.

"On your back. You're a real pretty fuck, and I want to see your face when I knot you."

Wolf didn't bother to pull out. Gripping the cat's thin waist along with a leg, he twisted Caroso around on his cock so that the panther was flipped onto his back. He couldn't help but enjoy the wince that brought to the cat's beautiful face, even more than the nice clench around his prick. Caroso would have to get used to the pain, living down here on Venom.

Leaning down so that he could lie snout to snout with the cat, he grinned in a wolfish fashion and slipped his paw down into the panther's sheath. He gripped the thin tube possessively, grey paws fondling the soft, warm flesh. Caroso wasn't hard, but damn if he wasn't leaking from his sheath like a faucet. Hard cock on your prostate will do that.

Laid down on his back as he was, with Wolf hunkered over him and those long, thin legs spread around the larger male's waist, Caroso was now the very picture of vulnerability. Wolf thrust into him, allowing himself a low moan of satisfaction as he felt his knot kiss the sweet, steadily-yielding ring of flesh just below. Caroso winced again, panting, and threw his arms around Wolf for leverage as that knot came into contact with his entrance, again and again.

He looks so fuckin' fine, Wolf thought. So fine... I earned this.

Bending down, he planted a hot, wet kiss on the panther's open, panting mouth, locking fangs and pushing his slobbery tongue down into that sweet maw. Caroso's eyes widened as that thick, canine tongue slid past his own meek defenses, and then his eyes closed, and he moaned into the kiss. The cat tasted like sweet, crappy liquor, and that barbed tongue twisted against his own so delicately. Down below, his knotted sheath kissed the cat's pucker on every contact as he drove those long, red inches back and forth, faster now than before.

He didn't care about taking it slowly now, or being delicate with the prostitute. It was folly to ever consider delicacy on Venom in the first place, and he played that to its truth, lifting the cat's scrawny waist and pounding into him with all the savageness his muscular hips could provide. His corded abdomen bunched as he flexed his hips again and again, and the sound of his heavy balls rung out as they smacked against the upturned end of Caroso's ass. His tail flagged wildly, and he panted between slobbery kisses as he devoured every sweet inch of the panther's mouth.

It was heaven, it was fire, and it was over much too quickly. The panther couldn't keep him out for long, and slowly that thick knot started to spread him open, one centimeter at a time. It sunk in with a resounding pop, followed by a pained howl, and before Wolf even knew what he was doing, he was hunched over the cat with his canines sunken in that slender neck and dizzy stars spinning in his eyes. His heavy balls drew up in slow, rhythmic movements as his muscular ass clenched, and Wolf emptied a few weeks' worth of stress and anxiety into the feminine form beneath him. Gusty breaths came out from between mouthfuls of black fur, and slowly his high turned into an easy, rolling tide of pleasure as his shaft slowed its pumps.

He didn't realize that he'd bitten Caroso until he tasted blood, and with a start he gingerly pulled away, grimacing at the marks he'd left on the otherwise flawless flesh. The panther was still panting, staring up at him with that tender mix of defiance and fear, well-fucked. For a time, seconds or minutes, neither could tell, they just stared at one another. It was Wolf who looked away first.

"I... didn't mean to do that. Don't know what came over me."

Although Wolf kept his eyes glued to some imperfection in the concrete, he could still feel the panther's gaze on his face. They were still connected by the stubborn hardness of his knot, and it was impossible to put more than a foot of distance between them in any sense. He pushed himself up on his arms and held himself there, hovering over the smaller male's fragile, quivering body. It surprised him when the panther leaned up and planted a long, slow lick across his throat.

"You're not the first client to take it out on me."

Wolf grimaced, indignant. He tried not to look back at the bites he'd given the cat.

"Take what out? I don't know what you mean."

A smooth, feline paw graced his jawline, pulling him back into a short kiss. It was certainly better than he deserved.

"This planet," Caroso whispered. "It kills us, piece by piece... fills us with hate, or sadness. Some take it out in fights, others race and let the thrill dull the pain... others fuck, and let it all out on their partners. Like I said, you're not the first."

For all that he did to hide it, Caroso's husky voice still shook from the fucking. Everyone on Venom was so full of bravado and cock-sure toughness, that it was rare to see real vulnerability. It made Wolf distinctly uncomfortable. He waited in silence until his knot deflated, still pumping the occasional spurt into the panther, drawing little shudders from them both. Caroso didn't kiss him again.

When at last he'd gone soft enough to pull out, Wolf gave the cat a bit of time to clean up after himself in a corner of the room, lights off. He thought to himself all the while, trying to ignore the wet, gross sounds of necessity coming from the other side of the chamber.

Took it out on him, huh?

Wolf didn't like the implication. That this planet had affected him, or that he'd taken that frustration out on others. In a way, he'd always thought himself above Venom, and above its influence; he knew that he'd escape from it someday, unlike the others. He felt violated now, and he wondered if that instinct to bite- to hurt without conscious, as the planet had hurt him- had always been there, or if it had come about from his being only recently.

I need to get out of this place, he thought. I need to get off this planet.

Slipping his clothes back on, Wolf waited for Caroso to finish cleaning and dressing before leaving alongside him. Neither said a word as they walked back through the darkened halls. Words weren't really necessary; the cat had certainly earned his ride, after all. As they made their way back through the grimy tunnels, they eventually overheard the sounds of loud, raised voices coming from the Roiled Rose. Wolf briefly held back, wondering if some sort of fight had broken out in their absence, but that didn't seem to be the case. The voices were celebratory, not angry. Curious, he followed the panther back to the bar and found the source of the commotion.

The Rose was lit up in ways that Wolf had never seen before. Crews that had never met in amicable circumstances packed the bar and the stands of cluttered furniture, drinking together, roaring with laughter, and cheering in their stupor. Beside him, Caroso seemed equally confused, and his wide feline eyes had dilated to take in the scene.

"What the fuck's got them so happy?" Wolf growled. It was simply uncharacteristic. Pushing through the crowd, he made his way over to the bar, calling over the porcine bartender.

"Hey," he yelled over the noise, until finally the pig gave him an ear. "What the fuck happened?"

The pig looked at him in mild amusement, grinning tuskily. "What, you haven't heard?"

"Obviously not."

Smiling, the barkeep grabbed a few empty glasses from the bar and set them back to be cleaned. "News just came in from an acid-skidder, back from a trip to the southern pole. Some Cornerian pilot, a big-shot ace, just got gunned out of the sky near the pole a few weeks back. The bastard's wing-mate left him high and dry, and some crew took him out. Big deal, apparently. First Cornerian we've shot down in months."

Wolf nodded, and the pig got back to work. He felt somewhat torn. On the one hand, he despised Cornerian agents who came to stir up trouble in what was already a shit hole. It wasn't terribly uncommon for them to come in on sweeps to make sure that the exiles weren't getting too comfortable, and every Venomian could tell stories of how such raids had killed off a friend or ruined a scrap heap. On the other hand, McCloud was a Cornerian, same as himself. Out of curiosity, he nudged the barkeep again, who threw him an annoyed glance as a response.

"The pilot," Wolf asked. "Who was he? I used to keep up with that sorta thing."

"Oh," the pig snorted, and tossed out another greasy grin.

"James McCloud."

The words didn't immediately register to Wolf, and as the bartender turned back around to deal with the influx of customers, he simply stood there by the bar, staring blankly into space. A dozen conversations flew around his head, but he failed to hear anything.

James McCloud was dead.

That was the reason the Venomians were celebrating. A soft, guttural sound escaped from between Wolf's lips, too quiet to overhear amidst the roaring crowd, and Wolf slowly put out a paw to steady himself against the bar. He felt breathless, light-headed, like after dipping out from a dive.

He'd experienced only the most cursory sort of pain after his father's death. If anything, the lack of security, shelter, and protection had bothered Wolf more than the loss of the man himself. He'd hated his father since the moment they'd been exiled, and it was McCloud who had filled out that void in the years since. Wolf had listened to those tapes every night since landing on this godforsaken planet, he'd heard every word and held them in his heart, and now McCloud was dead, and the Venomians were celebrating. It made perfect sense; he was a Cornerian war hero. In his own way, Captain McCloud represented the force that had put all of these people here.

Wolf's nails slowly slid across the bar, scratching dully across the concrete. James McCloud was dead. Wolf would never get the chance to meet him again. He'd never get the chance to fly beside him. Somewhere, his prized ship was sitting in a flaming heap in some acid-soaked pit, shot down by monkeys. A low growl escaped his throat, bringing a concerned look from a shaggy-furred dog sitting beside him.

Wolf's mind replayed the words of the bartender over and over again. Shot down... after his wing-mate had left him high and dry, easy prey for the countless Venomians who wanted him dead. A dozen faces flashed behind his eyes as memories from old vids and recordings played out once again.

A wing-mate from McCloud's crew.

Grief was never a long-lasting sensation on Venom, as it served no real purpose. All too often, it was overshadowed by anger, by fury, and so it was with Wolf. By the time the bartender had returned to see if he wanted another drink, he'd forgotten all feelings of mourning. Already he was trying to remember names, faces... a hare, a pig, a few others he couldn't quite recall. Ignoring the bartender, he stormed off from the bar, off into the darkness.

It wasn't until light from the surface touched his face that he realized how fast he was walking. His breath huffed out in pained gasps, and suddenly he fell to his knees in the stairwell. There was no one else around. He wept in the sad, strangled gasps of someone who was not used to crying, unsure and uninterested in how to compose himself. He didn't know that one could feel such sadness and rage all at once. He didn't know what to do, or who to hurt to make himself feel better. The young wolf was so caught up in his emotions that he nearly struck Caroso when the panther reached out and touched his shoulder.

When the fuck did he show up? Has he been there the whole time?

The panther watched him with wide, wary eyes. He looked different in the light. Wolf could see the dirt and grime on his fur more clearly now. Sure enough, Venom was getting to him too.

"Are you alright?" Caroso asked. His tail flicked, a sure sign of feline caginess.

Wolf sighed, wiping his eyes with the back of a gloved paw. He'd forgotten about the prostitute entirely. This was the last thing he needed now.

"I'm fine," he said, rising and dusting himself off. To show any sort of weakness on Venom was asking for disaster, even if it was to someone soft like Caroso. Turning, he proceeded to make his way up the rest of the stairwell, towards the rain and the dim, green light of the planet's surface. He could hear the cat's footsteps just below, following.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get your ride some other time, cat. I'm... not really ready yet."

"Is this about the pilot they shot down? James-"

Wolf whirled on the panther with a snarl faster than the other male could backstep, and with a startled yelp Caroso fell backwards down the stairs, landing awkwardly on his feet at the bottom like any cat would, pearly fangs bared. It'd been an instinctual reaction at the mention of McCloud's name; Caroso was lucky he didn't get a black eye, or worse.

No. It's not his fault, Wolf thought. He wanted to be angry, but not at him. Leave him.

Confining his growl back to the depths of his throat, Wolf stormed off into the museum, back towards the shelter where he'd parked his craft. He hopped through the rubble, climbed the rebar to the chamber where he'd left the Wolfenstar, and walked towards it without so much as another glance backward.

Cats, Wolf thought. I don't have time for it.

Nevertheless, he heard the swing of the metal door behind him, long after he'd closed it. The damn panther was probably following him. Thumbing open the hatch to his cockpit, Wolf slipped into the pilot's seat.

"You'll fuck off if you know what's good for you, Caroso," he growled loudly. His voice echoed throughout the empty museum, dulled beneath the sound of the rain. Even with the rain, however, he could still hear well enough to tell that the voice that called back to him wasn't the panther's.

"Don't know who Caroso is, pup, but you can fuck off, Wolf."

Wolf whipped his head around just in time to see the glare of the plasma thrower as it shot off a round. Hot plasma was flung into the cockpit, missing his head by a hair, and spattering against the windshield just behind him. The splatter sent burning plasma across the panels, the glass, his seat, and his face, and lancing agony seared into his skull as a chunk of the stuff was spat into his left eye. A pained howl tore itself from his throat, and he barely managed to throw himself onto the floor of the cockpit as the second and third shots tore apart the pilot's seat. Plasma bits ate into his leather jacket and wreaked havoc among his control panel, and all he could do was clutch his face, curled upon the floor.

Outside, a round of celebratory hollers rang from Razer's crew, which grew steadily closer as they approached. He had to get out, had to move, but panic gripped him like a vice and held him against the floor. Reaching up, Wolf started flipping switches blindly, trusting in the knowledge of his own craft as he reached the ignition controls. He could hear Razer's thugs shout out in alarm, and another bolt of plasma grazed off the cockpit, but too late. The ignition kicked on, he pressed at the singed throttle, and he was up. The Wolfenstar tore through a thin layer of roofing and sped out into the emerald sky.

Even pressed into the cockpit's floor as he was, Wolf couldn't escape the burning rain which sizzled down into his fur and clothing with every drop. He hadn't closed the entry hatch. Pained gasps fled his lungs as the rain fell upon him, Venom's rain, but he kept his paw on the throttle. Up, and out, into the sky which had held him there for so long. The pain in his skull grew sharper as he scraped the bottom of the clouds, and Wolf began to taste dark, heavy blood in his throat. His vision faded in the only eye that he could still see out of, and the green sky above began to grow dim.

Not here, he thought. His eye weakly scanned the unforgiving sky. He was hateful, and powerless. It can't have us both...

He felt his paw slip off of the acid-soaked throttle, reaching feebly for the emergency landing switches. But he couldn't see, couldn't be sure they were the right ones from his cramped place on the floor, and before he could reach them, Wolf slipped off into a state of nothingness. His head rolled limply atop a scattered pile of cassettes, and a burned, tattered piece of vinyl that once might have been a photograph of a dead man.

The ship crashed into the ground in a spatter of acidic mud and broken concrete, and the rain fell upon the ruin.

-

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to vote, and let me know how you felt about the story in the comments below! I'm always trying to improve, and I appreciate all of your feedback. In the future, I plan on releasing three more stories related to this one. The next story will likely return to focus on Peppy as he recalls just how he and James traveled to Venom, and all that transpired there; the theme of that story will be 'Bargaining'. Please let me know if there's something that you'd like to see in that story, as I like catering to my fans when possible.