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[img]http://i1339.photobucket.com/albums/o719/EthereanFire/Fox_zpsterb1uck.png[/img]


[color=2efef7]Level:[/color] 5 -> 6
[color=2efef7]Day/Time:[/color] Day Three; Dawn -> Mid-Morning
[color=2efef7]Location:[/color] Smash Arena - Tunnels -> Tetris Castle: Council Chamber -> 75th Floor - Personal Quarters -> (X)rd Floor - Hangar Bay -> Platform City Airspace; In pursuit of the Halberd
[color=2efef7]Tags:[/color] [color=aquamarine]Rosalina[/color] [@Holy Soldier]
[color=2efef7]Mentions:[/color] [color=4be2a3]Naija[/color] [@DracoLunaris], [color=green]Guile[/color], [color=f49ac2]Kirby[/color], [color=8882be]Meta Knight[/color] [@Holy Soldier], [color=steelblue]Varrock[/color] [@Zarkun]
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[hider=Level Up]
(P)Damage + 1
(M)(E)Damage + 1
(M)(E)Defense + 1
Dexterity + 2

Weapon: Arwing
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The entire campaign up to this point had been little shy of disastrous. The System lost its greatest, most iconic, longest-lived hero, who was subsequently grave robbed at his own funeral, forcing them to align (albeit temporarily) with a villain in order to recover his stolen soul, and the one place in which they sought to seek brief respite in healthy competition brought only chaos and extensive, unnecessary civilian casualties… all just within the first two days. This all weighed heavily on Fox’s mind for the next few hours following the latest incident, flooding him with an array of emotions that he still managed to keep mostly well hidden, as he tended to do. These included some degree of guilt for having unwittingly encouraged the team’s participation in the night’s events with his own (having been tasked with keeping them conditioned), regret for those he couldn’t save, doubts about the heroes’ cause and his part in it, anger enough to compel him to leave a faint impression with the outermost of his fist in the elevator wall when he was alone to do so, and the sense of melancholic grief that came with all of it. At the moment, there was little else to be felt about it, and the meeting that was called did no favors on that front.

Fox hadn’t spoken to or even made direct eye contact with anyone since leaving the tunnels, not even at the meeting (which he failed to notice that Slayer was absent from, despite being the last one present to have seen him), during which they were admonished for taking part in underground sport with nonsensical talks of “punishment”, which were thankfully reconsidered, but simultaneously thanked for having coincidentally put themselves there in a position where they could act to prevent a potentially greater disaster from sneaking up on them. That was certainly more than could be said for the incompetent containment force over-eager to act prematurely on kill orders, who [i]should[/i] have been held accountable for their actions, but instead got off seemingly uncensured with some of their own still working the case, despite doing arguably more harm than the actual enemy. Fox might have had the mind to protest as much, had his mind not been somewhere else wondering what he could have done better or differently or why the hell he even still bothered doing what he did by continually re-assuming his “hero” mantle. With a little time, he would be able to answer that question for himself. For the time being, there were more urgent matters that demanded his attention with only one person around who could answer the questions that needed to be asked. Having said that, he wasn’t exactly interested in asking them right now--not while his wits weren’t about him.

It had occurred to him that he was going on two full days with almost no rest, so any interrogation from him would have to wait until that changed. Besides, Moneybags was safely within the Council’s custody with forty-eight floors of heroes and armed forces between him and escape, should it cross his mind; [b]he wasn’t going anywhere[/b]. Implicitly assured of that, he retired to his personal quarters to turn in for what he expected would be the remainder of the morning. Having brought virtually nothing with him besides what he had equipped, the room was short on personal belongings. However, it came sufficiently pre-furnished well enough to keep it from being too sparse while leaving room for any requested additions. It was even designed with a space-age aesthetic to give it a comfortable sense of familiarity for the spacefarer. It was likely that all of the heroes’ rooms were similarly tailored to their occupants. Needless to say, they were all reasonably well accommodated for.

For now, the weary pilot would only be making use of a few square feet of the space he was provided. Immediately after the door shut itself behind him, he removed his belt with all of the adjoining effects (his blaster and reflector) and hung them from a spare loop on the wall next to the [url=https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Arw6c0dJHAE/maxresdefault.jpg]newly furnished flight jacket[/url] that was waiting for him. (Apparently, [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4072776]some kleptomaniac[/url] made off with his previous replacement during the ensuing chaos back at the arena.) Motioning a few inputs on a touch-based atmospheric control panel, he dimmed the accent lighting and replaced the outside view through the window with a simulation of space to obscure the encroaching daylight that would otherwise disturb his sleep before gently positioning himself on the semi-firm mattress without so much as untucking the blanket or removing his boots. With some light shifting in place to adjust for comfort and a deep, heavy sigh, he let his eyes relax themselves shut, allowing no further thoughts of the previous days--or those due to come--to pass through his mind as he drifted off effortlessly into peaceful unconsciousness.

[hr]

Sadly, he wouldn’t even enter his first REM cycle before being alerted awake by the alarm system. The vulpine sprang to his feet, grabbed his effects, and made a dead run out the door, throwing on his belt and jacket on the move. He would arrive on-scene a few steps (or hops, in her case) behind Naija, but not before drawing his sidearm and getting off a few pot shots at the invaders at the end of the hall, which he now recognized as denizens of Dream Land through their peculiar getup. He had to take special care to not hit the wounded Major or Ambassador Rosalina, and at that distance, his accuracy suffered as a result. His shots found no purchase against any of the minions before they could make off with Moneybags, nor against the one leading them. Fox angled down his weapon when Kirby called out to the familiar figure, an expression of curious sobriety coming over him at the realization that gave him pause.

Though it probably shouldn't have, Meta Knight's apparent involvement in this came as something of a surprise for the mercenary. Thus, he was reluctant to take any shots at the spherical warrior; not only because he understood what he was capable of, but because he only ever knew him as an ally from during the Subspace Incident. He sent himself off with a challenge to Kirby (and, by extension, everyone else present) to seek him out just before disappearing into the translucent teleportation ray. Fox began to assess the situation more closely as he took in the scene that transpired around him. In his contemplative daze, he neglected to answer Varrock's call. He was thinking that there had to be some greater reason for everything that was happening--for why a known ally of the System would suddenly make himself an enemy of it. They were short on much needed answers to be found, and with the efforts of the healers faltering, he concluded that he could do no good were he was.

Fox sprinted off back in the opposite direction he came from towards the warp elevator, giving a firm pound on the control panel upon entering so that it may take him down to the hangar bay as quickly and expediently as it was capable of doing. There, his old aircraft would be waiting for him. He had put in the request to have it brought in shortly after the first mission, which was little trouble for them considering that they could reach across the universe for recruitment, and he spent most of that night into the late morning hours before the funeral assisting the resident engineers as he could just to keep himself busy while getting it back into working shape. While it wouldn't come fully loaded out or upgraded, all of it's basic functionality would be restored to have it flight-ready again. As soon as it came into view for him, Fox beelined for his Arwing with alarming haste, entering the cockpit with more of a leaping step and a somersault than a climb. The windshield lowered around him and the propulsion systems whirred to life as he hurried through all the preparatory steps to readying for takeoff, skimming through the diagnostic prompts that showed up in his HUD.

Although he was going alone, he thought the better of relaying as much to no one, and apropos of that, he could at the very least inform the gracious celestial that represented his corner of existence. He opened up a comms line to Rosalina, unsure of how she would hear it, but knowing she would regardless. [color=2efef7]“Ambassador! This is Fox. Do you read me?”[/color] He would await her confirming response if she had one, and wouldn't if she didn’t. [color=2efef7]“I'm going after him,”[/color] he declared calmly. He knew what he was getting himself into acting on bold impulse like he did, but they weren't soon going to have another chance like this to get a better look at their real enemy. He wasn't going to argue with anyone about it, wait for orders, or ask permission, nor would he be daunted or deterred by the frankly suicidal odds against him if it meant doing what needed to be done. If she knew anything about him at all, he trusted that she would understand that. Regardless, he would be well on his way by the time anyone would find out that he had left.

With his piece said, and without further delay, Fox gradually engaged the throttle until it was a full. The docking rail did the rest, carrying him to the bay exit at speeds that could make most faint and slingshotting the spacecraft into a spiraling ascent. The jet's momentum briefly slowed upon unfurling its wings before suddenly quadrupling with an energetic burst to send it into escape velocity. A violet, radial flash of boosterlight and the bright report of overdriven g-diffusers signalled the start of the spacefarer's likely perilous pursuit of the Halberd as the Arwing vanished into the sky.