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Gifts

Wolf carefully unwrapped the white gauze encircling the top-left portion of his face, keeping a wary eye trained on the little bathroom mirror. It had already been a few weeks after the surgery, but he had kept the bandage on, afraid of what he would see, and afraid of how he would feel after.

There was one final length of bandage hanging loosely over the top portion of his brow, and Wolf halted abruptly. He stared into the mirror, at the one purple eye that dared him to go on and finish the job he started. This was his last chance to stay "Overlord O'Donnell," to keep the one eye that made him feel like himself. The eye patch was more than just an object of intimidation; it was vindication, evidence that he had separated from any known authority and started doing what he wanted what he damn well pleased.

But where did that leave him after the first few years? Broke, living in a shabby apartment in Corneria with somebody he hardly knew, spending the majority of his time looking for a job. He wondered if disbanding Starwolf was as a good a thing as he thought it had been, by cutting his increasingly large losses and going into business for himself. That was all further evidence why he should throw down the bandage and look at his new face.

But it wouldn't be new, would it? Wolf asked himself in an agonizingly cynical voice. Maybe the sight of him with both eyes would awaken those distant memories when he had family and friends, when he had a place to live and people who loved him, memories that would maybe bring to light the reason why he still kept that photograph of him and Fox McCloud holding hands with the golden-pink sun slowly sinking behind them. It would all come back to him in a torrent of painful reminiscence.

Screw it, Wolf mentally shouted in his mind. He ripped the gauze away from his face and glared into the mirror.

He opened his left eye cautiously, trying to regain the feeling of having an eye where there used to be nothing. As the lid slowly opened, he was filled with a feeling of hysterical elation as the darkness that dominated his left side was filled with a blurry light. Then as his sight slowly returned to its old normalcy, he looked into the mirror. The new eye was exactly the same hue as the right one; he had been afraid that it would be a shade darker or lighter, or that it would be contaminated. Thankfully none of these was the case. He brushed his silvery-white hair off to the side and turned, admiring the side of his face that had been more of a hampering than anything else.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him, driving the cocky grin and interior happiness away. He walked out of the bathroom and into the measly living room, inhabited by a sofa, a nightstand, and a few chairs. The floorboards creaked and groaned as he made his way to the nightstand, where rested a creamy-white colored telephone. He fell down onto the sofa, sitting on his right leg as he grabbed the telephone. Conflicting thoughts began pouring into his head, striking each other like billiard balls. His head felt numb as he mechanically tapped the buttons on the phone.

God damn it, I can't believe I'm doing this.

_ But you have to. It was part of the deal._

_ Ooh, that sick and twisted psychopath. Why does he want me to do this?_

_ Who gives a shit? You've got your eye back, to hell with the How's and Why's._

_ But it still feels like...like..._

_ Like you're doing some good for once? Quit your bitchin' and just call him..._

Wolf sighed through his nose and closed his eyes as he listened to the obstinately pushy dial-tone. The flood of memories ran through the network and into his mind, playing old images on the back of his eyelids. A tear began to form when he heard a click on the other end and an all-too-familiar voice speak up.

"Hello?"

Wolf's voice caught in his mouth. He had to cough and clear his throat before speaking. "Hi, Fox," he said.

There was a short, tension-filled pause before the vulpine spoke. "Who is this?"

"It's Wolf, Fox."

There was another pause, this one much longer, sharper. Wolf held his breath as he waited for the first strike of thunder to come streaking through the phone at him. He nervously fingered the looping chains on his black jeans.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to talk, Fox...about things."

"We don't have anything to say to each other."

"Yes, we do. Look, I just wanted to make amends, to say that I'm sorry. Everything I did was just...I know I've done some terrible things, and I wanted to, uh..." Wolf paused as he attempted to stop himself from tripping over his own words. There was a derisive snort from the other line, and Wolf tried to go through all the things he wanted to say in his head before Fox could start up. He was too late.

"Nothing you can say can clear you, Wolf. You can't get me to believe the shit that comes out of your lying mouth anymore."

"Fox, please give me a chance to talk--."

"No. Your reputation follows you wherever you go, Wolf, we both know that, and yours is one long black streak of depravity. You're scum, and nothing you can say will change what I think of you."

"Fox!"

"Go to hell, Wolf."

There was a click on the other end, followed by a long, hollow ring that sounded like a dissonant wail in Wolf's ears. He listened numbly to that awful whine for a few more seconds before gently placing the phone back into its cradle, still hearing the bitter, acid tone in Fox's voice.

The two purple bracelets Wolf wore over his right hand trembled against his wrist as he tapped his fingertips on the ripped arm of the shoddy couch. He remembered putting on his black and red bomber jacket over his black tank-top because the temperature outside was steadily falling as each day went by. The jacket did nothing, though, to warm the frigid lump of ice that formed in his stomach.

Go to hell, wolf.

_ I'm already there._

Wolf let out a sigh through his nose as he grabbed his iPod from the nightstand, sticking the tiny headphones into his pointy, silver-grey ears. Standing up only to shift his right leg from beneath him and over the couch, he settled back into the cushions and closed his eyes, listening to his favorite band play his least favorite song.

"It was a simple reaction/ I'm like a moth to the burning flame/ but now I'm in isolation/ there ain't no room for a killer's game."

Wolf listened to this and other, far more imaginative songs until he fell asleep on the couch with his muzzle pointing up to the dim ceiling. He hadn't even been aware of his dozing until a large, white-furred hand pulled one of the headphones from his ears.

Wolf awoke with a start. He looked around and, spotting the tall white fox from the corner of his eye, made a slight growling noise in his throat. "What do you want?" he asked suspiciously as he turned off his iPod.

The fox flashed an enormous smile that stretched all the way up to his bright yellow eyes, exhibiting an array of sharp and unnaturally large teeth. He bundled the dark brown cloak he wore closer to his chest, crossing his long arms as he leaned against the back of the couch. Wolf could smell something herbal and heavy, clouding the air around them.

"So...how did it go?"

Wolf growled again. "Screw you," he said in a declaratory manner.

The fox chuckled in a low, sinister voice. "That bad, huh?"

"You know, you still haven't told me why you want me and Fox to get back together."

"That's not part of the deal. There was no need for me to tell you."

"Actually there is, Gray. Getting my eye back is one thing, but when you want me to apologize to someone who hates my guts, when you ask me to do something impossible, I want to know why."

Gray stood up, drawing himself up to his full height, the tips of his white ears barely touching the ceiling. His righteous grin dazzled in Wolf's eyes. "Don't worry about it, man. Just get in touch with him again and it'll all be alright."

Wolf crossed his arms and glared sternly up at the white fox.

"No."

Gray was about to walk away to the kitchen, but this one word made him spin around and glower down at Wolf with wide, amber-yellow eyes. They stared at each other like a pair of gunslingers in an old spaghetti western movie.

Wolf was the first to speak. "I'm not talking to Fox again until you tell me why I should spare the time for it."

The vulpine stared at him, emotion slowly slipping from his face as though a part of him were dislocating itself. He walked around to the front of the couch, the tips of his fingers brushing softly against the woven fabric. Wolf looked at him unblinkingly, resolute and impartial to the grin that again infected the vulpine's muzzle like some grimly cheerful disease.

"Let's just leave it at you owe me one," Gray said.

"We leave it at nothing. Tell me, or I swear I'll cut you."

At this, Wolf stood up and took out a silver butterfly knife from the recesses of his jacket. It was small, but he always made sure that the blade was sharp. Gray stared at the knife and cocked his head comically to the side. The grin he wore didn't falter or twitch at all.

"I bet you could, Wolf. But whether it would do you an ounce of good is something you should seriously consider."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Gray chuckled, his skinny chest bouncing visible against the interior of the robe. He gave Wolf a reproving look as though he were speaking to a young child instead of a twenty-six year-old.

"You really think that by killing me you'd be doing a good thing?"

"Probably."

"Hmph...You people have to understand real damn soon that there is no such thing as good or bad. The only thing that matters in this existence is survival...and the methods used to ensure that survival." Gray raised a long, bony finger to Wolf's face, and the lupine felt an odd stirring somewhere in the back of his mind. "I was the one that performed the surgery on your eye, Wolf, because any living thing as clever as myself should know that in order to survive, you need some kind of an ace in the hole, a kind of insurance policy in case of an untimely demise. You are mine, Wolf."

Wolf gripped the handle of his knife like a vice, narrowing his eyes as he growled again.

"You better tell me what you're talking about pretty quick, Gray."

Gray snickered. "I'm a walking virus, Wolf. Any living thing I come in contact with, I can manipulate its cells to suit my own purpose."

Now it was Wolf's turn to chuckle at the utter irrationality of what Gray was saying. He folded the knife and put it back in his pocket, laughing lightly as he looked up to the white fox, who continued to grin at him.

"Come on, Gray. Stop playing around and just tell me what--."

Suddenly Wolf's voice caught in his throat as his head felt as though a spike had been driven through it. He swayed on his feet, holding the side of his head where the pain hurt the most, just behind his left eye. It bit at him, eating him like some horrible thought-spider crawling through the mental tunnels and neural pathways inside of him. The agony was crippling, and he sank to his knees without knowing what he was doing. He was almost on the threshold of screaming when the pain abruptly--thankfully--stopped, as though magically lifted off of him. He stood up slowly, gripping the seat of the couch for balance.

Gray was looking down at him, smiling that unnaturally cheerful smile of his. His dark, ground-colored cloak was heaving and writhing with unseen things beneath, and a great hood was placed over his face. Wolf felt himself grow cold as he looked up into the albino fox's (no, not a fox...something else) eyes, which were now black, entirely black, darker than the darkness that crept on the planet when the sun traveled on to the opposite side. There was something inside those eyes, something that moved and twitched behind them like the things beneath Gray's clothing.

Gray spoke then, and his voice took on a peculiar reverberating quality, as though he were speaking with multiple voices.

"My cells in your eye will spread throughout your whole body if I activate them. When that happens, you'll just be another part of me, a set of arms for my work, a pair of eyes for my sight. If you don't want that to happen, Wolf, you do what I say, and you do it...now.

"Do it, or I swear I'll make you burn."

After that, everything went black, movie fade-out. Wolf collapsed back onto the floor, a thin line of red running down his nose and pooling onto the floor.

When he woke up, Wolf wondered what had happened. His nose tickled, and when he reached up and looked at the blood on his fingers, a coldness ran through him that seemed a little unfamiliar. He couldn't remember what he had done to have a sudden black out, and his head hurt when he tried. He knew that he had come back from his job interview at the hospital, went to the bathroom to undo the bandages around his head (he raised a hand to his left eye, and was relieved when he couldn't feel the woven gauze), he sat on the couch, called Fox (did that go well? He couldn't remember), hung up, listened to his iPod...and everything after that was just a foggy, black haze.

Wolf stood up and sat back down on the couch, his head feeling like it was full of bees all buzzing very loudly at the same time. He rubbed his head for a while until that fuzzy feeling went away ten minutes later. After that, Wolf grabbed the phone and dialed Fox McCloud's number again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He dialed until Fox McCloud answered...and listened.