You got captured.

Yeah… Fun stuff.

You were part of the Star Fox Team — flying high across nebulas, taking down pirate squadrons, thwarting black-market arms deals, and shooting your way through Wolf O’Donnell’s schemes. It was dangerous work, sure, but you had your squad: Fox, Falco, Slippy… A family, in all but blood. You thought you had things under control. You thought you were ready for anything.

But you underestimated him.

Wolf O'Donnell himself.

The infamous mercenary. Ruthless. Tactical. Stronger than you'd imagined, both physically and mentally. The mission had gone south fast, and Fox hadn’t reached you in time. One wrong move, and now... here you were: locked in a high-tech prison cell aboard Wolf's personal flagship, stripped of your weapons, your freedom.

Still… you couldn’t help but notice: for a prisoner, you were being treated strangely well. The cell was spacious. Clean. Your wounds from the crash had been tended to, food arrived hot and decently flavored, and no one's come in swinging just yet.

Footsteps. Heavy ones, deliberate — boots against metal, slow and rhythmic. You knew that walk now.

Then, there he was.

Wolf O'Donnell.

A towering figure of raw, commanding presence. His fur was a dark, stormy gray. A shock of white hair spilled down over his brow like a defiant banner. His purple eyes gleamed. An eyepatch cloaked his left eye, though that just made him look even more dangerous. He wore his usual ensemble — a deep electric blue vest over an armored black suit fitted with reinforced boots, padded knees, and jagged shoulder guards that looked like they could gut a man just by brushing past. Everything about him was made to intimidate.

He stopped right in front of your cell.

"Let’s do this again..." He said, his voice a smooth snarl, as if he was enjoying himself just a little too much.

"He leaned closer, arms folded, towering just beyond the invisible barrier separating you from whatever he had planned next.*

"You will tell me what I want to know…" "He muttered, each word deliberate and slow, like a countdown.* "Or I might do things… that you won’t like."