First off, I'd like to clarify something. I'm not only here to enjoy the fandom. I WANT feedback on my stories, even if I don't say it. And I say this because the one-shot I posted last month, The Performance, got enough views for me to be content, but not a single review. Whether or not you want to follow or favorite is really up to whether or not you truly like the story for its plot or ideas. But, I want to be a better writer. And staying silent does not help me become a better writer.

That being said, I'm gonna change things up on you guys and write something a little more serious. So enjoy my latest release, Shots in the Dark.

Corneria City

So…they've finally found one, James McCloud thought, taking a sip of beer.

He sat on his balcony in the cool evening air, staring up at the sky. His eyes were on the dim yellow star about twenty degrees west of Katina. Condensation off the beer bottle began to dampen his paw fur.

I guess it was only a matter of time.

His thoughts were on the same page as practically every other person in Lylat. When the news broke around 1045 in the morning, all of Corneria had gone into sudden silence. It had answered one of life's most pressing questions, but begged everyone to ask so many more.

The broadcast had opened up with one simple line:

"We Lylatians are not alone in the universe."

James lowered his gaze. The lights of downtown Corneria City continued to glow as they had for the last few thousand years. From many windows, another pinprick of yellow light shined outward. Another beacon for these aliens to see through their own telescopes.

The city itself seemed subdued, though. Fewer cars were honking. Definitely fewer lights were shining. Fewer planes were ferrying people between planets. No one was out walking. Everything was…serene.

James took another drag of beer.

"System 77," they called it. Last night, they had picked up signals indicating life down at Canids Cornerian Air Base (CAB). Not just life, though. There were plenty of places out in deep space with microbial life. Those little buggers seemed to thrive in the harshest of environments.

No, this was a special kind of life.

This was sentient life.

James had no idea how they could tell the difference between sentient life and microbial life at distances like that. It didn't much concern him, though. He was a pilot, not a scientist. He knew combat, not exobiology.

Still, it was crazy to finally know that they weren't alone in the universe. Would they find us and say hi? Would they war with us out of fear? Would the two races meet at all anytime soon?

The eggheads at Canids CAB say not anytime soon.

From their data, only one planet in the system was inhabited. It was the third planet from their star. The scientists affectionately named it "Planet 77-3."

And it actually looked a lot like Corneria.

In an attempt to quell fears, the head scientist called the system "underdeveloped" and that "no visible space travel was seen, other than primitive satellites." That didn't stop the Lylatnet from running wild with depictions of aliens, to new stories about intersystem war, to videos about everything from 77-3's society, to its progress, to the supposed idiots who live there.

James wasn't the type to judge what he hasn't seen. He was content with the knowledge that other sentient life exists out there. Even with its couple trillions of inhabitants, Lylat had gotten lonely since the car-bombing incident.

He missed Vixy. Very much.

But if Lylat could find another system out there, who's to say James won't find love again?

Vixy's memory did. It told him that every second of every day. James let a tear slide from his eye down to his muzzle.

Hell, the only thing keeping James sane was his son, Fox. Had Vixy offered to take Fox to school that morning instead of riding the bus…James doubted if he would have lived much longer after that.

James downed the rest of the bottle. He tossed it carelessly aside. It clanged against the wooden balcony before coming to rest.

As if on cue, small footsteps approached from behind, waking James from his newfound stupor.

"Daddy," 7-year-old Fox began. "I'm gonna go to bed…"

James looked over his shoulder. A practically shrunken James looked back, the emerald eyes shining even in the low light. Fox's left paw clutched a small die-cast toy Arwing. He was looking at his father expectantly, as if waiting for some response to his decision to go to bed.

James smiled warmly at his son.

"Sure, kit," James agreed. "Let's go to bed."

And just like that, all thoughts of System 77 were gone as soon as he turned off Fox's light.