FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

I'm going to start posting this story here on SoFurry for people to follow. Check out chapter one if you're new to this: I edited it a little bit since it was first posted. The next couple of chapters will come shortly.

There will be sex, eventually, but it won't be until much later in. I've had a ton of fun writing this so far--leave me a comment and let me know if you like it!

For those of you who've followed my work from way back: this is a bit more of a tryhard story than I usually write. It has plot! It's a little different, but I love the way it's going and I think it's a great read.

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The merc world was vicious.

Fox kept this in mind as he landed his ship. The door to the club opened up to the bay, and he could hear the music from inside thumping. It still struck him as a little odd every time his own fur came into view and he saw white instead of orange, but so it had to be. If he'd worn his natural look, every merc in the room would be turning towards him and that was exactly the type of attention he couldn't afford, working as a solo operative.

The bouncer, a heavyset rhino with a sawed-off horn, guarded the door. Fox gave him a curt nod, and thankfully, the brute didn't stop him from pushing his way inside.

Interior, the music was louder, but the merc bar wasn't quite as bad as a nightclub. The music was kept just low enough that people could still talk, so the bass wasn't quite pounding to the point of knocking a headache into him. People huddled around tables in every corner of the bar; more than half of the occupants were clearly mercenaries, but even so, the sight painted here was a far cry from that at Cornerian military bars and merc hangouts. Fox saw few canines that weren't rottweillers or pit bulls. Uncommon species like hyenas, gorillas, and rhinos were a-plenty--hell, he even saw an elephant. Blasters weren't compact and hidden, but numerous and oversized and strapped forward on the waist in plain sight. It sure looked intimidating, but Fox could probably disarm any of them in less time than it would have taken them to draw.

But that's what being a mercenary in this part was about, it seemed. All around, the bar was huge muscles, gnashing teeth, and oversized guns. It wasn't about being tough, but looking tough, because if you made the mistake of looking like prey and someone pounced on you, there was no one to run to for justice--just more eager predators seeking to capitalize on your limp. It was like life in the wilds.

And Fox was a thin, pretty white fox with a 200mm blaster. He might as well be a walking bulls-eye.

On display in the center of the bar were four of five stations with half-naked women on display, gyrating to the rhythm of whatever flavor-of-the-month synth music was playing. And of course, sitting right in front of one of them, chatting up a dancer, was his man.

Panther Caruso. Of all the members of Star Wolf, there was a clear weak link. Wolf was a monster in the skies, dangerously smart, and damn tough to break. Leon was impossible to read. But Panther? Panther was a hell of a pilot, sure, but out of the skies, he was predictable.

Someone bumped into his side. Fox let out a low "Oof," then muttered a low apology out of instinct. He didn't think anything of it, and started pathing his way towards Panther-just for someone to bump into him again, harder.

"Listen to this twerp."

A glance to his left identified the voice as belonging to a musclebound bear, his flight suit stretched a bit too tight over his oversized gut. To his right, a female husky, taller than Fox, who appeared to be missing all but the base of her left ear. Her right one was so heavily studded as to make him wonder if the other had been lost in a piercing accident.

Another shove pushed him towards the female's grasp. "What the..." He cursed at her surprisingly strong grip on his wrists when he tried to jerk away. "Look, I don't want any trouble."

"I don't want any trouble," the husky mocked back in faux falsetto. She leaned in close enough that Fox could smell the alcohol on her breath.

"Let me go," Fox said.

"What a pussy," the bear from behind grunted.

"Now, now," The husky leaned in and bared yellow-stained teeth. "Don't be rude. You meet a lady at a bar, you ought to be buying her a drink."

From the corner of his eye, he could see another patron leveling a pitiful, amused grin his way. He tried tugging himself away again, but the husky had the positional advantage of leverage and the bear was just behind him, no doubt ready to pounce should Fox squirm his way free. If he wanted to have any chance at playing his role well, he couldn't let himself be walked over like this.

The merc world was vicious, and he couldn't be prey.

"I warned you." His knee came up and struck her in the abdomen. Normally, he'd reach back and elbow the other assailant, but he knew the bear's gut would nullify the impact and make that a useless affair. He heard a growl sound from the male behind him, and he knew he had to react quickly.

He ducked, just in time for the bear to miss, and he almost winced in sympathy as he saw those melon-sized biceps deliver their full force to the husky. A hand braced himself against the floor, and he pushed his weight up, springing up into a handstand that forced a booted foot against the underside of the bear's chin. Another shove on the ground from his palms, and he was propelling off the ground to his feet, dropping into a half-crouch.

The bear's form didn't scare Fox. He'd gone his whole life without being the biggest guy in the room. He didn't save the Lylat system through his godly physique or his hand-to-hand skills, but whether it was in the air or out of it, he was smart. And fast.

The bear was still struggling to regain his footing; having all that extra weight on his belly might have made him look intimidating, but it frustrated his balance. That was his weakness, and Fox sprang on it. He turned to deliver another spinning kick to the bear's face. It landed with a sickening crack and left the bear once more stumbling for footing. Once. Twice. Thrice, the move repeated, each kick paced with a step forward as the sheer force of the last sent the bear stumbling backwards. It only took three before the bear fell to the ground with a loud, resounding thud that seemed to quake the entire station.

The adrenaline had Fox panting. People were staring, wide-eyed, and when he glanced around the room, not a single soul was mocking him anymore. Fox stood up tall, and something blazed in his chest that he hadn't felt in a good seven months. He felt good. "The name's Renard," he said. "And if any of you are fool enough to lay a finger on me, you'll have the same fate."

It was clearly just another day at this bar. The bouncer, the same hornless rhino, stuck his head inside, snorted, and went back to his post. Conversations resumed. Fox disappeared into the backdrop, but this time, the backdrop disappeared from him, too. People kept their distance, as they should. They now knew the price of fucking with Renard.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Panther looking over at him, briefly distracted from his occupation with the bikini-clad vixen. When Fox met his eyes, Panther looked away. He'd amassed a small graveyard of shot glasses in front of him. Perfect. But Fox didn't want to just walk right up to him after making such a scene--no, that'd be too obvious. He kept Panther in the corner of his eye; whenever the feline went up to leave, that'd be his chance. For now, though... well, he knew there wasn't a bar in the System that wasn't home to a couple loudmouth braggarts who only needed a few pints to loosen their tongues.

He scanned his eyes across the room. A few people looked back at him. Some flinched away the moment Fox caught them staring. Others met his eye in a clear invitation. There were a few empty seats at the bar itself, but in the corner, at a small round table with a pair of seats free, another fox met his eyes and cocked his head. Like Fox, he was unusually diminutive for this place. Similar build, same species, clearly a merc.

The fox's eyes followed his approach while his mouth munched on a toothpick. "About damn time someone put Brett on his ass," the fox said. There was an empty seat to which he gestured. "Sit, and I'll buy."

Time and time again, the table erupted into raucous laughter, and Fox was the only party who barely gave a chuckle. The others downed pint after pint, but Fox had yet to finish his first.

There were four of them there: the fox, a grizzled boar, and a tiger couple. The boar seemed to regard him with annoyed amusement. The couple, for the most part, ignored him. But the fox--perhaps just by virtue of sharing species--took quick friendship with him, and they traded a few words as the rest of the group talked among themselves about various contracts they'd had over the years. Renard slid right into place: one disgruntled military cadet, deserting for a chance at a big break in the booming crime industry.

The conversation carried on for half an hour before it got interesting: gossip about various teams flew back and forth, names he didn't recognize. Darkwarden. Clawstorm. Astra.

"How about Star Wolf?" Fox said. The boar looked at him like he was an idiot. The two felines laughed. Fox met the other fox's eyes, and grunted. "What?"

The boar grunted. "You freshmeats are all the same. All you ever hear about is Star Wolf this, Star Wolf that. Hah. Same shit for a decade."

"They're the only ones that meet the press by name," the other fox--Valen, he'd said his name was--said. "So, that's not so surprising." He shrugged, then turned to Fox. "Anyway, they're... you don't want to work for them. Do business in their territory when you can, but run from anything with their name on it."

Fox quirked a brow. "I find it hard to believe they're that dangerous."

"Dangerous? That's one way to put it. Rule number one of Meteo is_ don't fuck with Wolf_."

The boar snorted and rolled his eyes, but the fox straightened his back and glared. The little guy had a surprisingly biting tone to his voice, and it was loud enough to carry.

"He's had a thirty-thousand dollar bounty on his head for ten years and no one's collected. I know every fucking tough-guy in the room wants to make like he's the biggest badass in the system, but you can't argue with the facts."

The boar looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around the fox's throat, but he didn't say anything: just balled up a fist and snorted.

"Meteo is mostly Wolf's turf," the male tiger said after a short pause. His voice was soft and almost musical, dripping with some kind of accent Fox didn't recognize. "Lot of people don't like Star Wolf, since they're always sticking their nose in everyone's business."

The female joined in: "Yeah, but. Most teams out here, they got something to prove. Look at 'em wrong and they'll sock you between the eyes. S'not that way with Star Wolf. Just don't piss Wolf off, and you'll never have a problem."

The male nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Like... well, that panther's here pretty often, but he's never kicked out someone's jaw like you. Everyone just leaves him alone."

"I've seen that chameleon out, too. He's one creepy fuck, but they're only trouble if you see the whole damn team."

"They're screwdrivers," Valen said. "It's Wolf who does the turning. Like it or not, he's got this whole sector wrapped around his finger."

"Enough of this," the boar grunted. "Who gives a shit about them, anyway. Once I get my team running, I'm gonna chase 'em all outta here."

The other fox's lips quirked up in amusement at that comment. Fox got the feeling that the little fox was considerably tougher than he let on. A pregnant silence followed, but Valen kept glancing at Fox, and Fox felt like his interest in Star Wolf would be suspicious if it were unjustified and he didn't want Valen on his ass. It was fascinating to Fox that the man who'd given him so much hell had such a far-reaching influence, but it probably shouldn't be to Renard.

"Reason I ask... I've been trying to find work," Fox said, joining in with what seemed to be this odd group's policy of just ignoring the boar. "A team's a good gig, and I've got the skills to earn a spot anywhere. I could shoot that old man right out the sky."

The fox scoffed. "You put on a good show, but you look lost as a puppy here. You do indie work first, _then _you look for a team, and you can forget about Star Wolf. You want to find work, I can help you out."

Fox narrowed his eyes. This little fox was willing to hook up someone he'd just met with mercenary jobs, and he hadn't even seen Fox fly yet? There had to be a catch. "At what rate?"

"Fifteen percent."

Fox laughed. "Fifteen? No way. I'll try my own luck first."

Beside him, the female tiger laughed. "Oh, that's cute. I woulda killed for fifteen when I started."

Fox rolled his eyes. Luckily, being clueless in the underground merc Meteo world matched with the role he was trying to play, here. "You guys on a team, now?"

The two tigers glanced at each other. "Stripe Z," the male said. Valen shrugged, and said, "Freelance." The boar just shook his head.

The female tiger leaned a bit closer towards him, and for a while, she talked about her team. Fox wasn't really listening. Nothing she said seemed to be particularly relevant, but Renard showed his due interest, positing a question here and there. From the corner of his eye, Fox saw Panther get up. He stood a few seconds later so it wasn't quite so obvious the two events were correlated. "I've gotta jet," he said. He paused to meet Valen's eyes first, and gave him a parting nod. He liked the fox and didn't think it was wise to lose contact, for as long as his mission continued. "Let's talk again, sometime?"

Valen returned the nod. "Same time next week. I'll look for ya."

With that, he trailed after Panther. A quick glance towards where he'd been seated showed an employee clearing away what looked like five shot glasses. Estimating that he'd been here around an hour, had a fairly bulky build, and likely had a good bit of tolerance, Fox wagered Panther wouldn't be much inebriated. Maybe just tipsy enough to loosen his tongue, but not enough to make this easy. Damn.

He followed behind Panther, keeping his distance and quieting his footsteps. A quick glance around told him there weren't many cameras in the area, and it was easy enough to keep himself out of range of them. Not that it particularly mattered; he doubted many would care about a fight out in the bay, after how little the bouncer had cared after his little fight inside earlier.

He waited until Panther was stepping up the rail to get on his ship, then he struck from behind. Fox grasped hold of Panther's legs and tugged him down. He brandished the knife he'd tucked into his belt and pulled Panther back against him. The blade of the knife whirred through the air and pressed up against his neck, the tip digging slightly into his skin. It was a quick move: one moment Panther was peacefully walking and five seconds later his life was down to a single flick of Renard's wrist.

"Who the--

He pushed the blade in firm enough to sting. "Quiet," he hissed. "I need information."

Panther stilled. "I know you. You're that fox--"

"I said quiet. Information." Leaving the blade in position, Fox reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tablet. He dangled it in front of Panther's face. It was a list of ships: eleven in total, five of which had been Fichina-bound relief ships. "What do you know of these ships? Was this your doing?"

"You're one of them, aren't you? I'm not giving you anything, you--"

Fox put the tablet away, then gave Panther's head a shove. It made a sickening crack against the paneling of his Wolfen that almost made Fox wince. "Alright, kitten. If a knife to your neck isn't enough of a threat..." Fox growled. "How about this." The knife slowly trailed down. He pushed the point in a bit more firmly, so that Panther could feel it trailing every inch of the way down his back, then around his chest, and finally, down between his legs.

Panther jerked so intensely that he almost did the job himself. Gods, that was satisfying; Fox was enjoying this far too much. "N-no! No! Okay. I'll talk." Fox stopped the downward motion of the knife, and Panther relaxed, letting out what sounded like a pathetic squeak. "Yes, we were involved, but they outfought us. There was nothing we could do."

Fox tilted his head. "Explain."

"They had protection. And even if they didn't, no one gets attacked in our territory, unless we give the okay."

His tongue wagged futilely for a few moments. "You defended those ships?" Who was powerful enough to contest ships in Wolf's territory and win?

Panther was silent for a while. He tilted his head and tried to get a look at Fox, who gave him another firm shove forward, denying him the privilege. Panther growled. "Who the hell do you work for?"

"Myself," Fox said. "Who's attacking the ships? What do they want?"

"I don't do the talking," Panther said, voice low. "You want to talk? You come talk to Wolf."

"Right." Fox snorted. "Walking alone into your base is a great idea."

Panther laughed. It was such a ridiculous thing; only a few minutes earlier he'd been scared to the point of squealing at the thought of Fox's knife. "You're new here, aren't you? You have no idea how Meteo works. You--hrrf."

Another hard shove shut him up. Fox didn't like to be mocked. "What makes you think I could trust you not to lead me to my death?"

"You're obviously a merc. Who do you work for? Corneria? Fichina? Some other crime boss outside Meteo? I don't care. You come to us, we'll pay you double."

Fox paused to consider this. He frowned and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

If this had been Leon he'd pinned, he would have been suspicious, but this was Panther: an excellent pilot, but a simple man. On the off chance that it actually _was _a trap... well, if Fox could blast his way straight through the front door of Andross's base on Venom, he could sure as hell weasel his way out of Star Wolf's clutches.

Hell, he almost looked forward to it. It'd been a long time since he'd gotten to push his limits.

Fox folded his knife back into his belt. It felt good to be back. "I'm listening."

Sargasso was long gone, but its successor was an imposing sight. It looked to be an old station, subject to rapid renovation and expansion as Wolf and his cronies overtook it post-Aparoids. Sargasso II, it was dubbed--or at least, that's what Panther had called it.

He couldn't shake the unease in the pit of his stomach as he flew in towards the base. There were more than a few ships circling the station, and every now and again, the bay doors would open and one would either swoop in or kick off. Fox wondered how many pounds of drugs, weapons, and other illegal paraphernalia were flooding in and out of the base every second. He kept expecting the comm screen in his ship to light up and flash a holo of Wolf's mug, but no: he was just a simple mercenary like the countless others flocking to the facility, no doubt. He didn't warrant that special attention.

When he'd boosted through the stone pillars marking out Andross's base on Venom so many years ago or when he'd nose-dived into the Aparoid tunnels, he'd been driven by necessity, desperation, and the knowledge that if he didn't die then and there, he and billions of others were going to die a few months later regardless. The adrenaline had killed off the anxiety perfectly, to the point that he'd been almost at peace. There wasn't any adrenaline to calm his nerves now.

He could only hope there wasn't any special attention waiting for him just beyond the bay doors, as he guided his ship in to a rest. He couldn't shake the feeling of paranoia that somehow Panther had seen through his disguise, even though in that simpleton's case it should have been immediately obvious had he done so.

He'd stepped foot on one of Wolf's bases in the past, but not on nearly as friendly terms. He'd never seen things in their natural state, and truth told, it was a lot less scummy here than he'd been expecting. The station was old, but not as old as many of the military outposts Fox had stayed on in the past, and there weren't as many apes or weasels as he expected. There were a few technicians and what looked like mercs and smugglers in the bay, and it was a good mix of species: bird, raccoon, ape, lion, bloodhound. The distribution didn't quite look like that of a military battalion, but it was closer to one than the menagerie at the bar.

Panther led him to the door and punched a code into the padlock. As one would expect in a larger base, the dock was isolated from the main base to deaden noise from incoming vessels. A winding staircase led him up to the main floor, and...

Completely standard. It might have even been an older model of a military barracks. Dull, gray metal everywhere. Not a hint of color except for blackened scorches, remnants of blaster fire from fire-fights long forgotten. If he'd woken up here without knowing where he was, he'd have no reason not to think he was on a Cornerian station.

"Half an hour," Panther grunted beside him, "then right back here. Make yourself at home."

A good five minutes of searching and he found the bar, at which he ordered a beer and cocked his ears, but the only thing he gleaned from the experience was the amusing realization that Wolf fed his grunts better beer than Falco bought. Mercs flitted in and out of the small joint steadily, but most of what he heard was gossip or technical. An overwhelming majority of people he saw were either unknowledgeable visitors giving reports or permanent, close-lipped workers. It seemed Wolf had a tight grip on anyone who entered Sargasso, and Fox shouldn't have been surprised.

All too soon, he and Panther were riding the elevator up to the top floor, and Fox hadn't gained a damn thing from his exploring. The halls seemed like a blur to him as Panther led the way, and Fox wouldn't have been able to find his way back if his life depended on it.

They came to a halt before a heavy sliding door. Panther punched a code, and once the thing slid open, placed a palm on Fox's back and pushed him in. The door closed shut behind him, and Fox knew it wouldn't be easy to get it back open.

He was alone. Behind him, Panther. In front of him, Leon and Wolf.

He'd never seen either of them outside of their ships. Leon was far shorter than he expected; if he broke five feet, then he did so just barely, and his thin figure made him look even smaller than he was. He looked much more a shriveled skeleton of a man than a deadly mercenary. Wolf, by contrast, was larger than Fox had imagined. Sure, he knew Wolf's dimensions from dossiers, but if the name of the game in Meteo was intimidation and puffing yourself up, Wolf was an absolute master. Dark, thick fur lended an unnecessary illusion of even further bulk to his thickly-muscled form, even when he was clothed. Gleaming teeth, unkempt headfur, and the scouter mounted over his bad eye made him look even more imposing.

Wolf O'Donnell. That name had haunted him for a decade, now, and here he was in the flesh, very much alive. Seeing him like this-seeing him breathe like a normal person, seeing him in his element-made it so much more personal. It was time, at last, to see if the person measured up to the idea.

"Here he is," Panther said. "The little fox who's been asking around."

Fox met Leon's eyes first. They narrowed. Leon didn't trust him; it was so immediately obvious that it almost made Fox wince. The reptile's thin lips were pressed together and his eyes were flicking over Fox as if probing for his every weakness. Despite his height and build, he commanded a powerful presence, and Fox was the first to look away.

Similar suspicion was in Wolf's single purple eye. His head tilted, and his whitewashed eyebrows flattened in a squint, like someone staring down someone they think they might know.

Fear gave Fox's spine an icy chill, and his fur threatened to stand on end. But years in the business had taught him how to control how his emotions showed, and he kept himself calm, just like Renard would, and met each of their eyes in turn, defiantly.

"Lock him up," Leon hissed. His voice was low and his words came out too fast. "I don't like him. I don't trust him. We don't need him." He sniffed the air-a long, steady, brooding sound. "Smells like trouble."

He could hear a grunt from behind him. No doubt Panther was poising to grasp his wrists, but by now, Fox had a decent enough read on his character to know he wouldn't act until Wolf gave the word. But Wolf said nothing.

Leon droned on. "Fur too short. Frame too thick. Ears too big."

Another chill, this time powerful strong enough to make his pulse pick up. He hadn't a clue what Leon was talking about, but damn if he wasn't observant. If anyone was going to blow his cover, it'd be that lizard. As he glanced over at Wolf, as if in search of some kind of mercy, he realized that with the scouter he'd been fitted with, he might have been able to pick up the acceleration in his pulse.

"Leave us." Wolf's voice was harsh and coarse and so deep. The older male glanced at Leon. "Both of you."

If nothing else, Wolf had command. Leon's tongue flicked out, and his eyes narrowed at Fox once more, the motion accompanied by a short hiss. Then, he slithered out, Panther following behind him.

And at last, for the first time in his life, he was alone with Wolf O'Donnell. Whether or not Wolf was aware of just who he was remained to be seen, but he figured if Wolf found out his ruse, he'd be locked away in minutes.

Fox's lips curled into a smirk. Hubris. That's what Renard would have. "You're awful quick to trust. If I wanted to kill you, I could do it in an instant."

Wolf grinned. There was no mirth in it, just condescension and mockery and fang. If there were amusement, it was like that of an elder amused at an ignorant child. "He's right. You're not an arctic fox. What are you, then?"

"Albino."

"Green eyes. Very green."

Fox's pulse picked up again, and now, Wolf's grin widened. Oh, yes, he could see the numbers hike, for sure. But the sadistic smile didn't last for long-just long enough for Fox to see those glinting teeth. His lips quickly flattened and he was back to that calm, calculating stare.

"I don't trust you. But don't go thinking I'm afraid of you, either. If I were scared, you would already be cuffed and disarmed. No, I'll tell you what I am." He took a few steps closer. His thick scent went straight to Fox's nose. He'd never had much close contact with wolves before. "Curious. Who are you?"

"Renard."

"Renard doesn't exist." Fox tried to keep his expression static, but the bark of laughter Wolf let out told him he failed. "You think I was up here twiddling my thumbs? I do my research. Renard doesn't exist. There are exactly twelve arctic foxes active in Meteo. You aren't one of them. There are exactly two white foxes. You are neither."

As he said this, he walked closer and closer. Fox stepped backwards instinctively. Soon, his back was pushing up against a wall. Wolf was getting closer. Fox's breathing had accelerating, and his pulse continued to rise.

Hell, he was scared, and it was showing. He swallowed and he could swear it was visible. "It doesn't--"

"And you're nervous. You're scared." He knew exactly how much to draw out the word to make it sting. "You were so confident with Panther, but once we started sniffing around?" Wolf took an exaggerated drag through his nose. "I can smell your fear." The words were deep and predatory.

The tension snapped and the word blurted out. "You're fucking scary, alright? I'll admit it. Are you happy?" He grunted. "Of course you don't have records of me. I--"

"You're military, aren't you? Cornerian? Fichinian?"

Each word felt like a dagger. Wolf was inching in closer. He was a foot away now. "Listen to--"

Wolf snarled. "You're here about those ships, aren't you?" His jaws snapped, and Fox barely bit back a whimper. "Your precious cargo?"

He knew what he should say, at this point. He knew how to respond, but his body wouldn't do it. His tongue wouldn't listen. He wasn't playing the part of Renard very well-he wasn't even playing the part of Fox very well. There was something primal, something fearsome in Wolf, that messed with him. Wolf had barely raised his voice, but the force and command in it hit him somewhere deep. Each blow left him staggering.

It was no wonder Wolf had been so successful. Fox felt like prey. Wolf O'Donnell definitely did not disappoint.

But Fox was stronger than this. He steeled himself and bared his teeth, snapping his own jaw back in return. "Let. Me. Talk!"

For a moment, Wolf was silent. If he was surprised, he didn't show it, but Fox knew the older male had much more practice on masking his emotions than he had. "Talk."

Fox took a moment to steel himself and regather the words Wolf had stolen. He had it all planned out, but now, he could barely get his story straight. He didn't know what Wolf knew, and what secrets he'd already figured out.

"Those ships weren't your doing."

"No."

"Explain."

"No." Wolf shook his head. "Information is precious. You want, you give."

Fox judged how much he should give away. Start with the smallest bargaining chip and work his way up. "I have manifests and schedules for every Fichinan relief ship for the next two months. Complete with a detailed list of guard personnel to be hired in the wake of the attacks."

Wolf scrutinized him. At least now Fox had something vaguely resembling personal space, but Wolf had this habit of flexing his wrists, and that reminded him that he was only a moment away from Wolf's claws being on his throat. The silence dragged on too long. "I can't read you."

"You don't need to."

"Why did you come? Did you think I was behind the attacks, and that I'd pay for the list? Are you investigating the ships' disappearance, and do you think I'll lead you to the attackers in exchange for the information? Or..." He leaned in. "You're nervous. Bargaining for your life? Little fox is in over his head?"

Fox seethed.

"First two point to military. Did you abandon, or are you a spy?" Fox didn't say anything. Five seconds passed--

--and Wolf's hand was at his throat, claws pressing into his neck, snout inches away. He didn't have to raise his voice; he lowered it, and the single growled word burned: "Answer." Wolf's stare was so intense that, no matter how much Fox willed it, he couldn't look away.

Fox had lived through fifteen years in the sky, two galactic wars, and countless lethal shots dodged by nary an inch--but never once had he felt this much unadulterated terror.

He forced in a deep breath, determined to not let Wolf's strong-arm tactics dominate the conversation. Yeah, he was terrified, but he was too good to let that stop him. "If I were a spy, or an investigator... why would I have it out for you?" He leveled his eyes with Wolf's solitary one, exuding a confidence he didn't feel. "If you could prove to me you weren't behind the attacks, I'd be off your ass for good."

Wolf's grip loosened. He turned away, and took a step back, stroking his chin. A few moments later, he whirled back around.

"Why the hell would we fight those ships? What do they have that we want? We deal in guns, ammo, military tech, and protection. Those ships have food, water, climate control devices... all useless." He growled. "And believe me, the last thing I want is Corneria on my ass again. I don't want to have that fox flying through and smashing up this base like he did the last one."

"But you were seen near those ships."

"Yes. They paid for protection. But they didn't pay enough. We were outnumbered, and couldn't fend them off."

Fox grit his teeth. Something about that didn't seem right. Wolf stretched out his hand. "Now, the records?"

"That's it? That's all you're giving me?"

"I gave you the truth. Now, the records."

Fox reached into his pocket and pulled out his tablet. Wolf, in turn, brought out his own. It only took a few seconds to beam them over. Wolf scrolled down the list, musing. The break gave Fox a chance to stare uncontested. His rival looked older than he was expecting. By now, hints of lighter gray were starting to show in his blackish fur. The years hadn't been kind to him.

Wolf pocketed the device again. "Now, there's this little issue where I don't trust you. Until you clear up your identity, I'm having Leon lock you away."

Fox stared. "I thought we--"

Wolf cut him off with a growl. "If there's anything else you'd like to tell me before this conversation ends, now's your chance."

Fox flattened himself against the wall. He had nothing. The seconds rolled by, and Wolf was like a statue, staring him down, waiting for his confession. It didn't come. Wolf pulled away with a frown.

"You remind me of that fox. It pisses me off."

That was the last he heard before the doors whirred open. Something cold pressed to the small of his back. A jolt ran through his body; he hissed, and the world went white.