Fox's Void

Revisited. Rewritten. Reloaded.

Preface:

“Fox's Void”, the original fan fiction version, started as an ode to lesser tragedies I had experienced far before my writing career. Some, if not all, were not exactly mine, being ultimately vicarious in nature. I had recently finished reading the nihilistic, “Choke”, a novel by Chuck P., author of “Fight Club” and “Invisible Monsters”. The insight and experience in such a dark sector led me to vital realizations; it is through other's darkness that we truly learn to appreciate our own lightness. But, as an author, I was presented with an undeniable dilemma: “how would I present this message accordingly?”. Countless acts of research and interviews led me to the idea of 'tragedy'. I wasn't, however, quite ready to write my own, original masterpiece – it would be more or less arrogant and conceited. Well, somehow, someway, I did it: Fox's Void. After many rewrites, two only visible on in totality, I had left the project alone for two years. Now, after the advent of independence, I feel I can truly represent what I didn't know how to convey beforehand.

What you're about to read will be the most complete, finalized version (As well as the only version) of Fox's Void available on the Internet. Not only are you enjoying the completely uncut version, but it's free of err and extended with new dialog and events. It's a difficult process to run through such a conundrum, but, the ends are more than worth it. So, I bring you the complete, unabridged, rewritten, revisited and reloaded Fox's Void. At the end of the fan novel, expect a list of trivia for entertainment.

“Fox paused, the three months of insomnia greeting him in a unimaginably painful fashion. Fox collapsed, gripping his head. Thousands, millions of thoughts started pouring in, a tornado repercussion of fused mental pain overwhelming him. A few figures appeared above him, speaking. Fox, choking on his own saliva, passed out.”

I: Change In The House Of Flies

Rain tapped on the window, Fox’s feet tapping on the floor lightly. Outside the low-grade apartment complex existed a raging storm of only sadness. The actual weather was somber and melancholic, soft and almost so gentle it would erupt the sexual desires of any female. Soundless lightening flickered on an off, and so did Fox’s morals and ethics. Mist, mold and dust were acting like fog, drifting up in sinister puffs. Fox felt that desire again, the one he never wanted to abandon.

“Fox, please, oh God, please!” Falco seemed flustered, Fox walking toward him very slowly, grinning. The room had been dark, and a chill was arising as Fox paced ominously forward. Falco was now against a rather mineral-like wall, panting and beginning to cry. Fox smiled the best he could, pulling a large combat knife out of his favorite pocket. The blade itself had various Latin synonyms for “Evil” inscribed on it, shining and starved of dark cherry atrocity for far too long.

“Now Falco,” Fox said, pausing and rubbing the blade against his right thumb, “You know you’re my best, most honorable companion, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid of many things, but taking your life and having sexual relations with your girlfriend is something I wouldn’t be afraid of, and I’m not.”

Falco fell to his knees, begging, “Oh God, please Fox! Please, I want to live!” he declared, thick tears running from his eyes. Fox seemed affected by this somehow. He turned his back to Falco, Falco calming down and stuttering words.

“Thank you, oh thank you. Fox… thank…” Falco said, breaking down again.

Fox malevolently mumbled something along these lines, “Oh poor, poor Falco, you always had assumption problems.”

“What?”

Fox responded to his question by turning around violently, slashing open Falco’s face. A deep, thick, flesh revealing wound spewed open, a torrent of blood showering Fox as he smiled. A few droplet entered Fox’s mouth as Falco’s body feel backward, the sheer and pure taste of blood demanding some sort of sufficient action. Fox grinned, stepping forwards again as Falco bled, gasping for precious oxygen.

“How… how… could…” Falco said, finding it excellently difficult to talk with a slashed open jaw.

Fox crouched down over Falco, slightly drooling, “It’s simplistic, really. I just wanted to let you know, that before you die, I’m going to wildly rape your mate. There will be a mix of blood and other things, and I want you to know, truly know this before God takes you where he wants. It’ll be her best. As for you, well, I’ve always wondered what made a Falcon so unique on the inside.”

Falco began to scream, Fox laughing and slamming his blade forward down into Falco’s midriff. The metallic, silver luminous blade pierced forth, a slice and a surge of crimson life liquid combing into a rather lovely sound. A pool of blood stained Falco’s feather’s, filling and eventually making it’s way to the floor. Falco, still alive, felt the wedge move upwards, exposing more visceral content.

“Come on Falco, won’t you dig for gold with me?” Fox stated, more demanding than asking. Falco’s nerves were now resembling a the core of a fusion detonation, his fists clenching so massively strong that extra wounds were created. Fox was now almost crying in joy, taking his left hand and probing the insides of Falco. Squeeze, pull. A intricate tangle of organs ever so tangent were being pulled from Falco’s insides. This was purity. Falco attempting to scream again.

“Shut up.” Fox angrily stated, punching Falco in the face. Falco screamed louder, more intensely. Fox replied by probing and finding a wet, slimy heart deep within Falco’s ribcage. Ah, dinner. Fox rubbed it almost sexually, tickling and messaging the beating heart, watching Falco’s pupil dilate and intake any amount of the visible dimension possible.

“Yes,” Fox said, squeezing and messaging the hear harder, “you like that. I know you do. Feel me, this is my only hug to you. This is my affection. I am you’re guardian angel.”

At that exact and precise moment, Falco let out what would be the most shocking and nauseating, revolting bird-like roar of all. Fox gripped, crunching while drooling into Falco’s open midriff. His heart exploded, and Fox was now feeling his testosterone demand a female, a concentrated waves of blood expanding through Falco’s midriff. Fox, panting in pleasure, watched Falco calm, relax and breath to none. A tear, one single tear rolled out, glistening and absorbing into Falco’s complexion. Fox was not disappointed, for he was a new. Fox, hungrier than ever, was more alive than any God. Fox had a new goal. Fox… wanted to bring death. Fox was now the God of death. The alpha and omega. Falco died, and Fox was born again.

“You... son of a bitch...” Falco muttered, finally becoming the victim.

Fox's article of homicide drifted away from life, remaining limp and lifeless. McCloud sighed, checking his pink cellphone for any missed calls or messages. A stroke of luck presented him with the lack of ex-communication. Thank God! Fox thought, grinning widely. But, what to do with the body? A sinister cloud of mangled, fused thoughts embellished the weary mind of Fox McCloud, the canine commander letting a sick, twisted expression pierce his complexion. In the native days, Indians never wasted any of the buffalo's meat – any of it.

Earth below us, a famous song once stated. The count went on, and so did any form of time. Asteroids floated around and meteorites burned in the pinkish, purple-blue atmosphere of ever changing luminescence. Fox McCloud popped his neck, licking blood from his finger tips. The wind had turned to gale outside, and various, shapeless objects were thrashing about a few inches above the floor level. Dark scarlet tissue ran between the planks of wood, dripping and complementing the rendered, chilling room. The nearest black widow retreated under an old chair, falling into slumber. Fox, gardening, plucked the most ripe and ready fruits. Fox wanted to feel the juices drip out and stain matter, and needed it too. An artery burst inside Falco. “Look what you’ve done Fox.” Fox stated to himself. Falco’s body begged for more attention, but Fox didn’t want to give into the sorry sap of a living thing. The body was dumped, save for a few delectable organs and pieces of meat. McCloud let his gaze abandon the ally dumpster of Falco's dank apartment, returning to his nightly stroll.

He stretched in place, scrutinizing the vast emptiness of nightly civilization. A quick extraction of the cellphone made use of multiple numbers, the particular name of Lola blinking in glorious, vermilion red. Fox hadn't tasted her rear in sometime. With a collective of sexual intent, Fox McCloud journeyed to Lola's condo.

His eyes were open, taking in light again. Fox McCloud was in no state of emotion whatsoever. Auras, halos and mists of sunlight’s danced and rudimentariness tangoed the almost spacious room. Light was almost tenacious. Fox lets his tongue slide out, physical motor skills next to none for some odd reason. Insomnia. Fox had not actually slept at all the whole night. He lied in bed, looking up and indicating any metaphor that would arise in his thinking mass. A cold movement of compact, odorless air had continued moving around him, revolutions equivalent to Pi by now. It moved vastly slow, and existed crystallized, compact and compressed in space. Small flakes of flexible, micro-thin paint drifted in the air, chipped off from the prior set of ten hours. Ambiance could be heard from the window, enhancing the spectrum of atypical mathematics. Fox clenched his fists, ready for another day.

Fox jolted out of bed, perceptible conversation awaking him. The sheets were incredulous to sexual sweat, holding it close and smelling just softly. Falco’s beauty and pride slept next to Fox, smiling from the night before. What a mess. Someone had left the televisions on, and a female Rabbit spoke of breaking news. She was rather attractive, young and mysterious. But the mystery was now a riddle as Falco’s face popped up on the screen. Fox stood up, leaving his bed and the reproductive organically gaping Lola. Falco’s new girl was a nice piece, and Fox thought he’d listen to his conscience about this one. Tenderness now, death later. It would be more malevolent, more meaningful. If done now, it would be mundane and stupid. Evidently, the feline Lola was in deep sleep. Fox wanted to be there too, and most likely already was. Or would be.

Fox turned up the television, slipping on his button up shirt and combat jeans. The reporter was actually disturbed about communicating this death to the public.

Fox spoke to himself, “Ground control to Major Tom. Your circuit’s down Major Tom, can you hear me Major Tom? Something is wrong. I believe that it’s time to find my darkest apex.”

“What?” asked Lola, rubbing her hips, for bruises had occurred.

Fox twitched, licking his upper lip, “Yeah, darkling?”

Lola grinned, “Detergent costs money and I’m going to need a lot.”

“Sad, wet organism.” Fox chuckled to himself.

Lola, slightly confused, took it upon herself to talk in the most resembling way to an idiom, but then forgot and did something completely different.

“Wet organism?” she laughed.

Fox turned is head slightly, looking back at her from an askew angle. “Yeah. But it’s lovely, isn’t it?”

“Not the same kind of lovely as water, but… yeah, lovely.”

Fox grinned, “Viscous, wet, hot pressure. Sounds like some sort of… volcanic eruption. Maybe the same force.”

“Let’s find out again tonight.” Lola stopped after that statement, residing back to morals.

Fox scratched his right arms, roughing up the already matted fur. He grabbed a nearby bottle of caffeine pills, downing about six of them. “I need to stay up.” he finished, muscles in his body randomly flexing from the reaction to caffeine.

“It.. It seemed he was probed, almost decapitated and… missing various organs. The coroner said unknown Latin was inscribed on his chest… Falco…” she said, beginning to cry. Oh yes, now Fox recalled! The reporter was Falco’s half-sister! Ha, ha! How could he forget, silly Fox. Fox grinned, sunlight beaming in through the window.

“Silly Rabbit, tricks are for kids.” Fox turned off the television as he said this, Lola waking. She yawned and stretched. Obviously still lethargic. “Fox, you can’t tell Falco about this. He’d flip out. Besides, it wouldn’t be worth it, not with his unborn child in me and all.”

“Don’t worry,” Fox smirked, “it’ll be alright. I’m fixing dinner tonight. 6 PM. Be ready, alright?” Fox said.

The room was silent again. The bleached curtains gently thrashed in the abundant wind from the open window, and the black sheets were still wet and a mess. The room was just big enough for another two mahogany night stands, just big enough for Falco’s now dead ego. Fox rubbed his neck, popping it a bit. Scratching his head, he left the room and Lola.

Lola was worried. She wanted another fling, but now felt remorseful, felt guilty. Falco would be so hurt. And Fox, Fox seemed different from the last week. Maybe the insomnia was catching up with him. Lola yawned again, standing up and walking to the bathroom. The beauty of a master bathroom was one could stroll nude there, without having to acquire clothes. Actually, Lola only thought this because she thought the word “nude” was delightful.

Fox slipped his sunglasses on, looking about the city from the Lola’s condominium entrance. A rather enormous window just allowed a second story view of the city. You see, this was and is a condominium complex. Wonderful, Fox thought. This was the entrance to Lola’s room. This was his life, and it was ending one minute at a time. He bowed, applauding himself for a few seconds of last night’s accomplishments. He could still taste the blood, and still feel Mr. Falco’s heart in between his fingers. Fox chuckled walking forward. A few people greeted him in the hall, seeming attracted. He made his was to the elevator, tapping the bottom level button. In the future, there was an outer selection. Each elevator was equipped with semi-AI. Fox loved it, and Lola’s internal heat.

The doors opened, and some emotion came from the other side. Sadness. The doors opened fully, revealing a mega-distressed Orior. Ah, her. Falco’s other sister! Ha, ha Fox was getting his day. Fox grinned, Orior looking up at him, mascara lining down her face. A female feline with wings. Odd. Falco’s mother was either a whore or a lab experiment.

“Hello there, the angel from my nightmare.” Fox said, almost licking his lips afterwards. Orior cried, running past him to what seemed of Lola’s condo. Fox scratched his head, walking in the elevator and shutting the door. Down we go.

It hadn't been long before the lament of the middle-class had come into view, the chromium elevator doors opening to reveal a mess of pathetic individuals. He stretched, grinning wide with some sort of sick condescending malice, passing into the obviously horrible conduit halls. Oh Lord, McCloud mused to himself, I need to get the hell out of this mess. Little, torn fragments of mislead thinking assimilated reality, Fox finding his way to the main entryway. He sighed silently, opening the doors and passing into the appallingly desolate maze of the downtown area.

These were the reasons he had quote, “lost it” or “gone mad”. His plans were simple, forged in the most eternal of darknesses. After saving, resurrecting and defending the unapologetic excuse for a civilization, Fox McCloud had decided to rather annihilate it, instead.

“So goodnight, goodnight. You’re embarrassing me, you’re embarrassing- So goodnight, goodnight.” Fox ceased from humming his tune as he walked down the placid, but somehow vivid streets. Crows, oh this place was full of them. They flocked over head, making a conundrum to anything solitary. So in all essence, they mocked themselves. The air, pure today, was making Mr. Fox’s lungs feel more alive than ever. Fine, fine females were steeping down the streets along with males who got them every night, everyday. Fox grinned. A few male canines, in some gang, passed each other single servings of cocaine and syringes. McCloud scrutinized them for a specific amount of time, shrugging his shoulders and returning to reality. What a wonderful misleading lie, thought Fox. A few homeless beings crawled on the sidewalks, seeking for petty change and bills. Fox paused, the most aesthetically displeasing man stopping at his feet. Fox looked own slowly, his sunglasses reflecting light.

“Change?”

Fox rubbed his chin, “No.”

The man started to move forward, Fox stepping on him. “I wasn’t finished. Here, you can four hundred credits, all yours.”

“Thanks, mister!”

Fox sighed, “Listen to me you sorry excuse for a living thing, I’m not done. Fight that other hobo to the death, and it’s yours.”

“What? That’s moronic!”

“But well paying.” Fox smirked.

The paused for a few seconds. He could probably kill for that money and get away with it. He looked back up at Fox, almost to a point of redundancy. “I… can’t do this.” the bum tried not to cry.

“Yes you can. Anyone can. You’ll have a better chance at life than him anyway. Besides, who’s going to care about one homeless gender of a species, eh? You’ll be doing him a favor.”

The bum (Jim) panted, “No… no I cannot.”

“A favor, man. A favor. Something that no one else can take because you gave it to him first.”

This bum accepted Fox’s deal, planning suicide for a later time that night. Wiping his face, he turned to Fox.

“Alright. Fists?”

“No,” Fox started to drool very slightly. “Cannibalize him.” Fox finished, rubbing his midriff sexually.

“What?”

Fox grinned again, squeezing his lower midriff and beginning to sweat, showing teeth in his gruesomely clean smile. The bum agreed again, sighing for life was a bastard to him. The bum wiped his forehead, looked around helplessly, then coughed a varying times from one amount to a vague containment.

“Hobo, it’s what’s for dinner.” Fox laughed. The bum cried, picking up a nearby rock. He crawled over to the other hobo, still for a second. He was holding back many, thousands of tears. Fox was aroused.

“Jim…” the second one stated.

“I’m so sorry.” the first bum dignified.

“No!” yelled the second hobo, falling back as the rock impacted his face, splitting the nose and eyes open, bits of brain spilling out. Fox laughed, crouching down next to this… Jim.

“Dear, Jim, you’ve got it!” he laughed gripping Jim’s arm as he sobbed and cut slabs of meat off the homeless, freshly dead bum. The streets were now frantic, full of females and males running around screaming. This never happened anymore, and the law enforcement would take a few more minutes. Sirens sounded from a far.

“Good Jim,” Fox moaned, “that’s right. Taste his liver.”

Jim continued (the original hobo, forgive the late clarification) to cut organs out, biting into them. Fox stood up, stretching. “Here.” he stated in a mundane tone, dropping a small card next to the homeless canine. “This isn’t yours, it’s…” the homeless man read the card, “Falco- the murdered guy on the news!”

Fox paced away, smiling and licking his teeth, “You’ve just reserved a seat in hell. Go on, by a mansion, Jim.” Fox calmly stated, disappearing down the street corner. Jim, checked the card. It read 14,000 credits, readily available. Jim, on his knees, drifted face first to the ground, crying. Math states that two officer automobiles arrived in the vicinity of the bum, all of them standing and drawing pistol weapons.

Fox stopped cleaning his glasses, putting them back on as he walked. A loud scream was heard a few blocks away, various, copious amounts of gunshots. The sirens stopped, only an ambulance audible.

Fox, refrained form walking fast, slowing down and lifting up a females skirt. The lion-like female (highly attractive and tight) turned, blushed and kicked Fox. A gasp for air, then a retreat as the frightened female ran away. Fox laughed, the female walking away. Clouds started to appear in the sky as Fox turned but another corner, breathing in oh so delectable and nostalgic oxygen.