BEEEEP!! BEEEEP!! BEEEEP!!
 
 
A shape groaned and shifted under the blanket in the darkened room, lumps rising and falling in the deep blue fabric. It wasn’t long before a feathery blue hand shot out from beneath it and slapped down on the incessant alarm clock, silencing it swiftly. After a bit of mumbling and lip-smacking, the figure emerged, sitting up in its bed, a faint, slim silhouette in the black room.
 
 
[GOOD MORNING, FALCO. YOU HAVE—1—NEW MESSAGE FROM—FOX MCCLOUD—]
 
 
“Nnnnhhh… just lay it on me…”
 
 
Slowly, the quarters filled with soft, warm light, and the figure in the bed was fully revealed. It was a slender, athletic blue pheasant, his face consisting of a set of fiery green eyes encircled by dark red feathers and a large yellow beak… some would say the size was befitting of his personality. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as the computer played the voice message that had been left for him.
 
 
“*VUWIP* Hey Falco! Just a heads up, I have something important I need to discuss with you at breakfast today. It’s urgent, so try and be quick! Ok, see you then!” *VIYUP*”
 
 
The avian inhaled, then sighed loudly, his chest deflating. “Got it, I’ll be there in a flash.”
 
 
Finally possessing the will to move, Falco threw his blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, talons hitting the small rug he’d placed upon the metal floor whilst he stood up. After a quick stretch, he cast his gaze downwards, upon his physique. His torso was slim, his smooth abdomen having virtually no muscle definition and his pecs just barely jutting out. His limbs weren’t much better, his legs looking like little twigs to him. And his cock… Falco blushed in embarrassment. The pink rod was currently flaccid, resting in his lap, but it was only about 6 inches when erect anyway. He doubted it was impressive enough to attract anyone to come back to his room with him… especially not Fox or Slippy - what, why did he think that? He purged it from his mind. Time to get ready for breakfast. And whatever dumb meeting the Captain was dragging him into.
 
 
After a brief yet incredibly satisfying hot shower, the pheasant took a quick moment to observe his bedside drawer “shrine”: A collection of framed photos of himself that existed to stroke his massive ego once or twice a day, in case no one else was willing to do it for him. He chuckled, smiling as he stared upon his portraits. “Yeah, I am a hot piece of ass.” he mumbled. “What does Wolf know, anyway?” He crouched down, pulling out one of the drawers beneath and grabbing his neatly folded clothing. First things first, his signature tight-fitting flightsuit, formed from red leather which had faded into an orangish-reddish hue over years of use. The blue bird would often complain about how tight it felt on his groin, but he secretly loved wearing the suit, since it accentuated his twink figure VERY well. His red bandana of a slightly more vibrant shade went on next. He didn’t NEED to wear it when he wasn’t out on a mission, but he sure didn’t notice that he’d put it on. Just force of habit, really.
 
 
The next thing Falco put on was his white and silver jacket with its oversized collar, completely unzipped, as usual. Last but certainly not least, his boots, made mostly of off-white metal with stronger silver steel on the toes, heels and collars. They tended to be quite satisfying to click on, the straps making loud CLICK-CLUNK noises. After this last step was finished, Falco stood up, then checked himself in a handheld mirror and fixed up a few feathers on his head that were sticking out, properly flattening them back into his swooping crest. A proud smile spread across his beak. Now, he was ready to begin his day aboard the Great Fox.
**
**
**
Falco could detect that the mood was somewhat… off as he entered the kitchen for breakfast. Everyone was already at the table; it looked like Peppy had cooked something up. Bacon and eggs, nothing too spectacular. But strangely enough, the avian was barely acknowledged by anyone. The most he got was his crewmates glancing upwards at him, then quickly shifting their eyes elsewhere uncomfortably as they continued their meals. The only person who kept their eyes on him was Fox, who had an oddly intense expression and a certain gleam in his green eyes. Weirder yet, he didn’t have any food in front of him, not even a plate or cutlery. Falco assumed the meeting they were having was about something serious… maybe Fox had found his secret booze stash? Although, per protocol, it would have been confiscated immediately, and it was still there when he checked last night, so it was probably something different.
 
 
The ace pilot took his seat and shoveled a bite of egg into his beak with his fork. “Well, what’d you wanna see me about, Fox?”
 
 
Fox’s stomach audibly growled, unsettling the bird. Everyone turned to Falco as the fox began to speak. “So, Falco… you signed a contract before we took off, right?”
 
 
“Of course. I mean, everybody did, right?”
 
 
“Uh, no…”
 
 
The bird kept eating, but kept paying attention to what his leader was saying. “What do you mean? That’s a standard contract you had me sign, everybody’s gotta sign that to confirm they’re part of Star Fox before they step foot on board.” The tan vulpine’s belly growled again, this time with a bit more urgency, and he winced as he clenched his jaw and dug his claws into the table. “Correct… but that wasn’t a standard contract, Falco.” The blue pheasant looked puzzled as he ate a strip of crunchy bacon. “...You didn’t read the whole thing, did you?” Fox asked.
 
 
“Of course not.” Falco replied nonchalantly. “Was I supposed to or something?” Fox glanced at Slippy, who had spent the past several minutes primarily concentrated on his plate, and was about to polish it off. He belched awkwardly and brushed himself off once he realized eyes were on him. “Slippy…” the fox said matter-of-factly. “Can you fill Falco in for me?”
 
 
“Oh! Uh, of course, Fox!” The fat frog grabbed his Infopad and hummed to himself as he pulled up the relevant document. “Says on here that you’ve agreed to serve as the Great Fox’s emergency rations.” The bird raised an eyebrow, confused. “What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
 
 
“It means that if worst comes to worst…” Peppy chipped in. “You will be our sustenance.” The ace pilot nearly choked on his food, having to thump his chest a few times to get it to go down properly, making a sickening swallowing noise and coughing. “Sorry, it’s just…” Falco chuckled awkwardly. “What the fuck are you telling me?”
 
 
“Well, eheh… l-like me and Peppy said, if we run outta regular grub for some reason, we’ll just eat you.”
 
 
“...You’re fucking kidding, right? …right?”
 
 
“To be fair, Falco, you did sign the contract. No take-backs!”
 
 
Falco glared at Peppy, seriously considering strangling the old fuck… but after yet another GRRRRLLLL emerging from Fox’s stomach, he realized he might have a bigger problem at hand. “Guys… what does that have to do with this meeting?”
 
 
“Falco…” Fox calmly mentioned, even as his eye twitched with roaring hunger. “I have an emergency you could help out with.”
 
 
“Y-You fucking idiot… you’re going to eat me, Fox?”
 
 
“Yep. I’ve been wanting to for years at this point… the softness of your feathers, the way your ass looks whenever you bend down for an exercise or to pick something up… you must be delicious.”
 
 
“H-Hold the fuck on, Fox! You can’t just h-have me for breakfast! Especially since we DON’T have an emergency!”
 
 
“I have a reeeeaaaaally bad hunger emergency thanks to you, birdbrain… I’d say that’s good enough, wouldn’t you?” The vulpine smiled as he eyed up the pheasant, like… like a greedy fox faced with some plump rooster. Falco was trying to keep his brave face on, but his facade was evidently cracking, beads of sweat dripping down his beak, his eyes nervously darting around… hell, his whole body was shaking in fear. His eyebrows furrowed, and he tried to get a word of support from his teammates. “P-Peppy!! You know him better than me! Talk some sense into him!!” The ace started to cower as Fox started to lean over the table, climbing on top of it, his boot unfortunately knocking Slippy’s drink over. The hare just tutted and shook his head. “Don’t worry, things will sort themselves out quickly!” Peppy offhandedly spoke, a slight smile on his face as he thought of the utter humiliation the cocky avian was soon to receive.
 
 
What happened next was astonishingly quick for everyone involved. Once the fox pounced on his scrambling, panicking prey, Slippy sighed and bent down to grab the cup, then stood up and went to the fridge, ignoring Falco’s petulant threats and frightened screaming as he did so. He pulled a carton of OJ from the fridge and refilled his beverage to a soundtrack of loud swallowing, rustling clothing and hungry moaning. By the time he sat back down again, Falco was no longer in the room with them, and the kitchen was an absolute mess. A chair knocked over, a red flightsuit draped over one of the counters, a jacket sitting on the floor next to some claw marks, even a metal boot sitting on the table. And on the floor, flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him, was a very satisfied-looking Fox McCloud, his green flightsuit stretched around his full, distended belly.
 
 
“Uuuuaaaahhh… UUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPP!!!”
 
 
A few spit-soaked blue feathers shot from the captain’s muzzle, landing around his face. One even flopped onto his nose, and was quickly blown off. “Aaagghh… someone help me up, please.” Peppy obeyed, outstretching his hand and helping to hoist the stuffed fox up as he panted and spat scraps of feathers from his mouth. “You were right, Peppy. He IS a tasty birdbrain.”
 
 
“Told you so, Fox. Even if you didn’t register him as rations, I probably would’ve shoved his rump down my throat anyway.” The hare joked, jostling Fox’s belly with a teasing slap. “Besides, He could do with a bit of humbling.” The slab of poultry stewing in the fox’s gut didn’t seem to agree with this assessment, yelling his head off and pushing his hands and beak out of the engorged stomach, only for Fox and Peppy to nonchalantly push the bulges back down. Slippy seemed rather interested as well, an obvious blush on his face as he stared at the tight, wriggly bulge of Falco sloshing around under the stretchy green leather. That so-called ace pilot was a dick to everyone onboard, but Slippy often bore the brunt of it. Every so often, whenever the two were alone performing a task or a mission and Falco was being particularly mouthy, the green frog considered whether it would be a good idea to eat him. Sure, he smelled really good, like a holiday roast, and he had the most sublime ass of any pilot, hell, any Cornerian he’d ever met, and he would definitely squirm up a storm were he to find himself in a belly… but his morals and his concerns over how the Team would react to him devouring his fellow crew member held him back. Now that he realized that he could legally eat Falco, and that Fox and Peppy not only didn’t care, but were eager to indulge in him themselves, Slippy was kicking himself for not chowing down on him way, way earlier. Wasn’t like he couldn’t make up for all the times he wanted to end that squawky bitch after the captain had his fun, though…
 
 
“MMMFFFF!!! FOOOOOXXXFFF!!!!”
 
 
The pheasant very loudly complained, his voice a trembling cocktail of anger and fear, but it meant nothing. Fox shoved his bulging head back into the depths of his sloshing stomach, a sudden gurgle cutting the poor birdie off. “I’m gonna sleep our favorite little pilot off. Wake me up if you need my help with anything. Or don’t, I don’t really mind.” He addressed his remaining teammates, paws rubbing over his bloated middle.
 
 
“You got it, Fox!”
 
 
“You can count on me.”
 
 
Smiling, he turned around, his fat ass wobbling with every little movement as he left the kitchen, abandoning his friends to a bit of an awkward breakfast together.
**
**
**
Fox laid on his bed, fully nude, his flightsuit and clothing laying in a neat pile on his bedroom floor. His cream-colored fluffy gut was clamped tight around the shape of a fat-assed avian twink, the curves and lines formed by his delectable body blatant in the gurgling flesh. Squishes and sloshes echoed in the quarters as Falco’s hands, talons, and ESPECIALLY his terrified face imprinted outwards, struggling to escape their hellish, acidic confines. “Fooooooox…” he meekly begged. “T-There has to be some kind of mistake here… let me out! I-It’s fucking burning!!”
 
 
“Pipe down, birdbrain.” the captain casually responded as he drummed his fingers upon Falco’s beak. “I’m trying to churn you into mush here, and your wriggling really isn’t helping.” There was a sly smirk on his face, as if he had no qualms with doing this to his friend… as if he had wanted to do this for years. “I-I’m Star Fox’s best fighter, Fox!!” Falco pleaded. “Y-You’re seriously just going to digest me and treat me like… like a PIECE OF FUCKING GARBAGE!?”
 
 
“Well, not - URRRPPP - garbage… unlike garbage, you have a lot of nutritional value!!”
 
 
“W-WHAT THE FUCK!? LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW, YOU FATASS!!! OR I SWEAR TO-”
 
 
SNAP!!
 
 
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!”
 
 
“Whoops. What was that?”
 
 
“FOX!!! FOX, IT HURTS LIKE FUCKING PISS AND FIRE IN HERE!!! SPIT ME OUT, PLEASE!!”
 
 
The vulpine sighed, tail swishing as he swiveled his legs over the side of the bed, standing himself up. His stomach was softening already, crunching and bubbling around the prime piece of meat it had been fed. Falco Lombardi would likely be nothing but slush filtering through fox intestines in no time. BUT in the meantime, he was gonna have to find a way to keep busy. “Hmmm… wonder if you have anything cool in your quarters, Falco?”
 
 
That little tease sent the disgraced, crumpled pheasant over the edge, and he began to thrash and scream like he never had before, only really succeeding in stretching the flesh and splashing more acid on himself. Fox rolled his eyes; honestly, the pilot’s insubordinate outbursts were getting boring. He just walked away without acknowledging him, swaying his tummy from side to side while he roughly patted it and belched up even more feathers. BHUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPP!!!!
 
 
“YOU CAN’T DO THIS, YOU SHITHEAD!!! I’M-”
 
 
CRRRNNNCCHHH!!!
 
 
CRRRCCKK!!
 
 
Luckily, a well-timed clench managed to shut the annoying birdie right up.
**
**
**
[REFORMATION PROCESS: COMPLETE]
 
 
[REFORMATION SUCCESSFUL]
 
 
[AWAKENING SUBJECT FALCO LOMBARDI…]
 
 
[SUBJECT AWAKENED]
 
 
FFWWWSSSSSHHHH
 
 
Falco stumbled out of the glass pod in a daze, almost falling onto his knees as the artificial white steam from the reformation pod. He crouched slightly, placing his hands firmly on his knees as he huffed and puffed, trying to get used to having lungs and being alive again. His blue feathers were damp with sweat, and his eyes were wide with lingering fear and shock. “So we got one of those newfangled reformers, huh Fox?” He mumbled under his breath as he stood himself back up. “Thanks for not telling me about this, asshole. Of course you wanted me thinking I’d be dead forever. Fucking morons…” The pheasant looked around for his clothing… thankfully, all of the clothing he’d taken to breakfast this morning were resting on top of the bench in the center of the pod room, neatly folded, boots sitting on top. The thought that one of the people who had watched him get swallowed without a care, maybe even the one who swallowed him, had left this there as a token of generosity made Falco feel sick.
 
 
Falco’s green eyes nervously darted around as he made his way back up through the bowels of the ship, wanting nothing more than to return to his quarters and scream into his pillow for a few hours… maybe take a shower or two. He was in an entirely new body, and yet he still felt… filthy. That smug bitch, one who wasn’t even as old as him, had stuffed him down his gullet and churned him up like he was nothing but a piece of fried chicken. As he wandered the halls, McCloud’s digestive system was probably finishing him off right now; he might even be a fat turd swimming in the Great Fox’s sewage tank already. The mere thought of being a pile of fox dung was very, VERY disturbing to someone as self-important and arrogant as Falco, and the abruptness of it’s occurrence had rendered him pretty paranoid that it could happen again.
 
 
His fears were confirmed in the worst way possible as stumbling out of the ship’s break room came Fox McCloud. His outfit was the same as it was at breakfast, but disheveled and ill-fitting. A sizable potbelly was squished into his flightsuit, his hips were at least three inches wider, and his asscheeks had grown to become the size of watermelons, jiggling like gelatin beneath his bushy tail. His eyes were reddened, and he had a goofy smile on his face, which, paired with his seeming inability to properly navigate his surroundings, seemed to imply he was drunk.
 
 
“Wait… oh fuck…”
 
 
“H-Hey, Flacko! *hic* Found the liquorsh an’ beerh you’re keepin’ under your bed! Good *hic* shtuff, quality…”
 
 
“Fuuuuuuuck…”
 
 
The avian quickly realized what must’ve happened. Fox found the secret booze stash he was keeping in his quarters, and judging by his behavior, he drank most of, if not the ENTIRE thing. Falco was equal parts dumbfounded and horrified. Once the captain sobered up and realized what had happened and how it had happened, he was going to be very, very unhappy with Falco for breaking team policy. “You tashte fuckin’ good, *hic* Fucko… maybe shince you shouldn’t *hic* really have thish drinks, I’ll s-shign you up for more ration shervice… *hic*” he slurred as he walked up to the pheasant, getting right in his face, much to his panic. “L-Listen, get away from me, g-get the hell away from me, you-”
 
 
URRRRRAAAAPPPPP!!!!
 
 
A hot, stinky belch blew over Falco’s face, burning his eyes and covering his face with his own slimy, half-digested feathers. “Uuuueeeeeggghhh, Fox!!” he exclaimed in disgust, shoving the drunken captain away from him, accidentally causing him to turn around and fall flat on his stomach, all while he laughed boozily.
 
 
FRRRRTTTT!!!
 
 
Another eruption of gas came from Fox, this time from the other end, rippling the taut green fabric of his suit. By now, he was giggling incessantly at his own flatulence, and Falco was becoming nauseated by the overwhelming stench of his own melted corpse. He whimpered as he bleached scraps of feather and bone from his face and just, swiftly retreating from the room. He rushed down the hallway, desperately looking for his quarters, and soon finding them! Or so he thought.
 
 
“S-Shit, wrong room-”
 
 
Slippy’s eyes shot upwards, peering at the tasty-looking reformed bird that had just seemingly materialized in his doorway. Mouth already watering, he set the book he was reading down and turned his body slightly to face Falco more directly. “No, don’t worry, this is the right one!” he cheerfully replied.
 
 
“W-Whuh, what do-”
 
 
FWIP!
 
 
The sticky tongue that struck Falco’s chest felt like a cannonball caving in his torso. In the few seconds he had before the inevitable recoil, he stared down at it, dizzy with confusion and horror, and reflected on his situation. He had been tricked into making himself Star Fox’s emergency rations, meaning Fox, Slippy or Peppy could make dinner out of him if they so pleased. He had gotten eaten, humiliated and digested by his superior, who then belched in his face. And worst of all, the fact that his illegal booze stash had been uncovered meant that, combined with his new status as a preything, his reputation was in complete tatters. He’d gone from the Lylat System’s greatest pilot to the punching bag of Team Star Fox. He was food now. He was emergency rations. This was his life now.
 
 
“F-Fuck…”
 
 
The long tongue shot back, and Falco Lombardi was dragged along with it, straight towards the fat frog’s wide open mouth.
 
 
Star Fox would be eating good for the considerable future.