Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire?

A Fan Fiction by ArwingAce21

Disclaimer: I do not own Nintendo, StarFox, or any related characters, locations, etc. I'm not responsible for any pain, anguish, or other suffering caused by reading this fiction and the many senseless attempts at humor therein.

---

The grayish-white and ocean blue Arwing of Ace pilot Fox McCloud streaked through the cloudless sky like a divine messenger of death for anyone unfortunate enough to challenge it. The signature ship of StarFox was in peak condition, freshly polished and pulling high-G maneuvers that would shear the wings off an ordinary fighter like they were nothing. The other three Arwings of StarFox, seeming to appear from thin air, formed StarFox's unique diamond formation. When one thought of the joys of aviation, this was the image that came to mind. This image, however, suddenly faded away as Fox hit the power button on the remote to the television the StarFox team had been watching.

"Man, I'd give my left wing to be able to fly like that again!"

"All of us would, Falco," said Fox, placing his hand on his teammate's shoulder. "But we can't. Just face it."

"Yeah," added Slippy. "We just don't have the money. We're using our last bit right now to keep the Great Fox airworthy. We don't even have enough to gas up the Arwings!"

It was true. The times in Lylat had been peaceful, which meant Corneria's elite mercenary squadron had been out of a job for quite a while. The team had been sitting on a large couch in the living room of temporary quarters in a "Not-So-Super 8" hotel just outside Corneria City while the Great Fox was undergoing repairs nearby.

Fox, the team leader, was desperate for money-making ideas. He had even stayed up the night before watching an "at-home business plan" infomercial hosted by a wolf with roughly three gallons of hair gel on his head alone; there's not telling how much he had on the rest of his fur. Fox went as far as actually calling the 800 number at the bottom of the screen, but hung up when he realized he had to pay shipping and handling charges. As such, he was open to any ideas.

The team spent several minutes in silent contemplation, brainstorming ideas, with the exception of Slippy, who was silently contemplating the advent of a new wart on his arm.

"I've got it!" Falco suddenly exclaimed, jumping off the road kill-brown sofa he was seated on, carefully chosen by the highly paid interior designers at the "Not-So-Super 8" hotel to completely clash with the sea-sick green wallpaper. "Let's get paper routes!"

Fox stared at the avian, amazed at his sheer stupidity.

Krystal applauded and jumped up and down. Not at Falco's idea, which she thought was idiotic, but because she finally realized that she was actually going to be in this story and maybe, just maybe, play a vital role in the plot.

Slippy contemplated his wart, oblivious to the world.

The TV continued sitting there.

"What? You don't like the idea?" Falco asked.

"Actually, no. We don't like it," replied Krystal. "The greatest squadron of all time, doing the job of kids in Grammar School? I don't think so."

"Come up with a better one, then."

"I will."

"Go ahead."

"Watch me."

"Anytime now."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm waiting."

"OMIGOSH!!"

"Today plea- Huh?"

Slippy, unaware of the ongoing conversation, had shouted out in shock when his wart divided into two separate warts as he watched it. Unsurprisingly, no one paid any attention.

Krystal finally stated her grand idea: "Let's gamble away what little we have left at a casino!"

No one said anything, but the crickets began chirping. Fox began to make a sardonic reply, but the ringing of the hotel phone cut him off. "RingRingRing" were its exact words.

Falco picked up the receiver to answer, but screamed and slammed it down as a cockroach the size of a small European car ran out form under the telephone. Just another "complimentary" feature of the "Not-So-Super 8" hotel's "deluxe" rooms. Excess quotation marks cost extra.

Needless to say, the appearance of this bug prompted the members of StarFox to draw their blasters and unload on the roach. The resulting burn marks and roach juice on the carpet, surprisingly enough, made the room look better.

"I wonder who that was calling us," Fox asked after he sat down again.

"Probably a wrong number. If it's important, they'll call back," commented Falco.

"Hey, look! Our favorite game show's on!"

Krystal had turned on the television again and found a show entitled "Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire?" on one of the three "complimentary" TV channels offered exclusively at the "Not-So-Super 8" hotel, one of which is out of order, and the other too blurry to make out anything on.

"Yes!" shouted Falco. "It's 'Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire?' "

"I love this show!" Fox yelled.

Slippy, who the reader believes is in a pensive mood, thinking how juvenile it is to get so excited over a single stupid game show, is actually contemplating his warts. (All four of 'em.)

The current contestant on the show had just gotten onstage and was studying over the 100 credit question.

"Hmm, this is a toughie," Krystal thought aloud. "Which of the following has more mass? A: A Black Hole, B: A Feather, C: An Air Molecule, or D: Rosie O'Donnell."

"I agree, this is hard for the first question," Fox concurred. "I'm thinking A, but C is quite a possibility."

"And just what the heck is a Rosie O'Donnell?" Falco asked to no one in particular.

The host of the show, Reginald Phlubbin, always sporting an insincere smile held in place with approximately two jars of rubber cement, was explaining carefully the three lines offered to the contestant.

"You can phone a friend, 50/50, or ask the audience," he explained. "What do you want to do?"

"I believe I'll walk," replied the contestant.

"But you haven't even answered a single question yet!" exclaimed Reginald. "You gain nothing by walking!"

"I still want to walk."

"Okay, but that means you wasted all the time to come here, fill out an application, audition, and sit there looking like an imbecile!"

"Not to mention the two jars of rubber cement it took to glue that smile on."

"Three jars."

"Sorry."

Hey, even the author doesn't know all the "behind the scenes" secrets of a popular TV show.

"Okay then, is walking your final answer?"

"Yep, Reginald."

"Get off the stage, then. By the way, the correct answer is when D is sucked into A. That's all the time we have for today, folks, but be sure to tune in tomorrow for another exciting episode of 'Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire?' Remember, if you want to be a contestant, and you live in or plan to visit the greater Corneria City area, send in an application to P.O. Box 0010010101111000110.5, Corneria City, Corneria, Murky Way Galaxy, Universe-"

Reginald's spiel was cut off by another roach chewing through the television's electrical cable. But no one paid it any mind, because the team's collective mind was on one thing, and one thing only: Money. With the exception of Slippy, whose mind was on his collection of eight warts. You could tell that's what they were thinking because of the dollar symbols literally popping out of their eyes, which is odd, because in Lylat the credit is used. Dollars are only found on Earth. Weird, I know.

"I got an idea!" Krystal exclaimed.

"I do too!" added Falco.

"Lemme guess," said Fox. "Y'all want me to go on 'Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire' and win us some spending money."

"Exactly!" Falco was amazed at Fox's amazing inference.

"But what about the auditions and applications?" Krystal asked.

Falco patted his blaster. "This little beauty is both."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Fox and Krystal in unison.

"Hey!" interrupted Slippy. "They're sixteen of 'em now!"

---

The next day found our heroes and heroine meandering around downtown Corneria City looking for the "Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire" studio. The previous night had not been a restful one; every hour or so someone had to get up and shoot an invading roach. Finally, the morning had come along and the StarFox team set off to find riches beyond their wildest imaginations. Or at least enough to put some gas in the Arwings.

"Hmm, the studio should be just up the road a ways, past the spaceport, across the street from the 'MacDannald's' restaurant."

Falco was looking at the roadmap of downtown Corneria City, attempting to find the studio. Unbeknownst to him, however, he was holding the map upside-down. The route he just stated would take them into a rather sleazy part of town, instead of the business district.

"Are you sure, Falco?" asked Krystal incredulously. She had looked up at the street in front of them, and didn't like what she saw. "I'm pretty sure that sign up there says 'Bob's Bar and All-Nite Billiards Parlor.' "

"You're right," said Falco, looking up too. "And the sign below that says 'Honest, Upstanding, and/or Noble Citizens Need Not Apply!' "

"You idiot!" hollered Fox, looking at the map. "You've got the map upside-down!"

"Oh. Sorry."

The team did an about face and finally was pointed in the right direction (north-notheast), with the exception of Slippy, who, in contemplating his thirty-two warts, fell into an open man-hole. No one noticed his absence.

About an hour later, the gang had found the studio, but was getting hungry.

"Hey, Fox, let's get something to eat before we go into the studio," said Krystal.

"Good idea. That 'Patty Prince' restaurant over there looks good," suggested Fox.

Falco, always ready to eat, was already inside the 'Patty Prince' and ordering. He was almost done placing his order when the others came inside.

"So that's one Flopper, no pickles, and fries?" Cashiers always have to repeat everything. It's in the Constitution. (Article IV, Section II, Paragraph XCVIIM, Section Q, Row A, Seats D&E.)

"Yup, exactly."

"That'll be 23.17 credits."

"Put it on his tab," said Falco, pointing at Fox.

Fox glared at the bird, but ordered anyway.

"I'll take a Flopper Jr. and a Frostie."

"Sorry, sir, but you can only get a Frostie at the 'Cindy's' down the road."

"Okay, just the Flopper Jr. then."

"Your total comes to 34.07 credits."

"Put it on her tab," said Fox, pointing at Krystal.

Krystal growled at Fox, who only smiled sheepishly in return, and ordered.

"Gimme a Quadruple Slacker, hold the sauce."

The boys looked at her, eyes wide open in surprise. If she ate like that, then how'd she keep her awesome figure?

"What? I'm not on a diet," Krystal replied, blushing.

"42.93 credits, please."

"Put it on his tab," said Krystal, pointing at Slippy, who, incidentally, wasn't there.

"Umm, whose tab, ma'am?"

Krystal didn't answer, merely glaring at the two boys who were laughing so hard they nearly dropped their drinks. She stormed off to the table after placing a fifty credit note on the table. After they sat down, Krystal cooled off enough to ask about Slippy's whereabouts.

"Where's Slippy?"

"I dunno," said Fox.

"Does it really matter?" asked Falco.

"No!" answered all three in unison, including Falco, which begs the question: If Falco answers himself, does that make him insane? (Yes.)

Soon, but not soon enough, lunch was over and the trio left the "Patty Prince" for the studio. It was a long, arduous, trying, and any other suitable adjective journey across two sidewalks and a lane of traffic. But, through some divine miracle, they made it across alive. It was here, in front of the studio, that they made an incredible discovery. It was-

"Slippy!" exclaimed the three in unison for the second time in minutes. Yup, the lead-based paint in the "Not-So-Super 8" hotel was finally getting to them.

"Where have you been?" asked Fox.

"And what's that smell?" added Falco.

"Yeah, it smells just like your sock drawer, Falco," jested Krystal.

"And just what were you doing in my sock drawer?"

"Uhhh…umm…ah…"

"Ahem, said Slippy in a vain attempt to bring the attention back to him. "When y'all made that about face back there, I fell into the sewers. Luckily, I managed to use my keen amphibian senses to get totally and completely lost. I wandered around for a bit, and surfaced at the first hole I came to. As luck would have it, y'all were standing right here."

"Darn," said Falco. "I was hoping he was gone."

"That was rude, Falco," scolded Krystal. "Everyone agrees, but still-"

"Okay guys, enough bickering," said Fox in an attempt to settle things. "Let's head inside."

"Nooooooooooo!"

"Slippy, what's wrong!?!" Fox wheeled around to see what was the matter.

"They're sixty-four warts now!!!"

---

The studio. A large building devoted solely to a single purpose: handing out tons of money to people who sit in a chair, contemplating random trivia (Ha! You thought I was going to say "warts!") purely for the enjoyment of millions of random people who happen to be watching via live satellite TV. It was for this purpose that four of the greatest pilots in Lylat gathered, searching a large, warehouse-like room for the all-important reception desk. Then it hit them: They were in a warehouse. The actual studio was further down the street. Whoops.

Once in the correct building, our quartet quickly found the reception desk. Fox began intently asking questions of the lady at the desk like an old pro.

"Umm, ma'am, would there possibly be a chance that we, could, uhhh, y'know, like…"

"What he means to say is can we be on the show today?!?" Falco never was on for subtlety.

"Sirs and ma'am, I'm afraid- Or is it sirs and ma'ams?"
Slippy hated his high-pitched voice. It always gave folks the wrong ideas.

"Anyway, I'm afraid that you will have to fill out an application and audition first."

Falco snarled, and fingered his blaster, but was stopped when Fox placed his hand on Falco's shoulder.

"Okay, where are the applications?" Fox asked in a dejected voice.

"They're right here, but first I'll need your names."

"I'm Fox McClo-"

"Hold on a minute, aren't y'all StarFox squadron?"

"The one and only." Falco couldn't resist bragging.

"Wow, it's great to meet you! My boss, Reginald- err, Mr. Phlubbin, will be glad you're interested in being on the show. He's your biggest fan, y'know."

"Well, that's quite an honor." Fox had quite the weak spot for flattery.

"Mr. McCloud, may I ask you one question?"

"Sure, and just call me Fox."

"Okay, Fox. Just when are you planning on marrying Krystal?! Everyone on Corneria knows you two have been going out for almost two years now!"

"Uh, well, um, ah...I don't quite know how to answer that…" Fox was blushing redder than a fire engine. Unless you're talking about on of those newfangled green ones, in which case Fox may consider getting that looked at.

Krystal, on the other hand, didn't say anything; she simply wore a sly grin. Falco was trying to contain his laughter, while Slippy was busy contemplating his 128 warts. I have no idea where he puts them. It must be a huge mess, all those…Better yet, just forget all about that particular mental image. Whatever you do, don't think about it as you try to fall asleep tonight.

Luckily, Fox didn't have to stammer out a coherent answer, because, right then, Mr. Reginald Phlubbin himself emerged from his office, and, upon seeing all four members of StarFox squadron standing right there in his lobby, gave a shout of joy, and, after carefully shutting his office door, proceeded to, with extreme care, make the author end this sentence without any more commas. No, he actually ran over to the team and heartily greeted them.

"Wow! The StarFox squadron, here in my studio, trying to get on my show!"

"That's the general idea, sir," said Fox.

"Call me Reginald, Fox. So, you're wondering if-"

"If we can get on your show without applications or auditions," finished Falco.

"Well, you see, normally those are required, but for y'all, well…" he drifted off into thought.

"Well what?!?" Falco wasn't a patient being.

"Well, sure. But only one person can come on the show. Fox, perhaps?"

Fox was caught off guard, as the receptionist's question had turned his thoughts to the blue vixen behind him.

"Of course he'll do it!" exclaimed Slippy, happy to finally have a serious line in this story.

"Okay then, it's settled. Please follow me into my office."

Reginald and the boys of StarFox walked off in the direction of the office, but Krystal stayed behind. When they were out of earshot, she asked the receptionist:

"How did you know to ask that question? It's been on my mind for months! Why won't he just propose?"

"Heheh, woman's intuition, my dear Krystal, woman's intuition. I think he'll propose soon enough, just give him time."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yep. And I believe you better catch up with your group."

The receptionist nodded towards the guys across the room and Krystal bolted off after them, her mind tumultuous, and yet peaceful. Suddenly, a thought entered her mind: 'That's an oxymoron!'

Once everyone was in the office, Reginald began explaining the rules of the game to Fox, while everyone else listened intently. This session was wasted on the group, who had spent hours upon wasted hours watching the show. As soon as Reginald finished, Fox was ushered into the green room to await the show, Falco, Krystal and Slippy were shown into the auditorium and given front row seats right in front of a camera so that when Fox gets stuck on a question, they can show the looks of consternation on his friend's faces, or in Slippy's case, contemplation of his warts. (That's 256 of them now, providing my calculator still works.) Reginald Phlubbin, however, was shown into his personal dressing room so that his make-up artists could begin applying the three jars of rubber cement to his face. The author was not shown anywhere. He was simply glad that this story is being told from the third person omniscient point of view, otherwise said author would have a devil of a time keeping up with everyone.

Fox was nervous. He hadn't studied. He hadn't told anyone he was going to be on the show today. He hadn't thought that far. And then there was Krystal. It seemed like the fate not only of his team, but of his own future life, was revolving around the single show. However, Fox had bigger worries than that. The make-up girl had just had just came in and was covering Fox with powder, something he likened to being tarred and feathered. She finally left, and Fox proceeded to frantically wipe off the powder before the show began.

The studio audience was slowly trickling in. Falco, Krystal, and Slippy soon found themselves busy signing autographs, taking pictures, and generally pummeled by adoring fans. The whole crowd seemed to be full of StarFox fans, all eagerly awaiting the day's show. Soon, the lights dimmed and music began to play. It's show time!

---

"DUM-da Da-Dum-da Daaaaa Dum!"

The theme song had started, the crowd was cheering, and the clock had just struck four. Millions of people from around Lylat turned on their TVs just then to watch the most exciting game show on TV. Except for those who wanted to know about the weather. Or the news. Or sports. Or the stock markets. But, millions nonetheless were watching as the opening credits rolled and the Announcer-Guy said: "Welcome to 'Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire?' where anyone, even a complete ditz like you, can actually possibly maybe win some actual money! Here's your host, the man with the immovable smile, Mr. Reginald Phlubbin- Huh? Dude, what happened to your face?"

"Sorry Announcer-Guy, my make-up girl forgot to buy more rubber cement. I have to go natural today."

"Sorry to hear that, Reggie."

"It's Mr. Phlubbin to you, intern. Now go away!"

"Okay, see ya, Reggie."

"That son-of-a…Oh! Hello and welcome to 'Welcome to 'Who Desires to Attain the Status of a Millionaire?'! I'm your host, Reginald Phlubbin, and tonight's contestant is none other than Fox McCloud of StarFox fame! Come on out here, Fox!"

The crowd erupted into wild and frenzied applause as a powder-covered Fox walked onstage. He made it to the "Hot Seat" after tripping over only three light fixtures and a sound guy.

"Well Fox, how're you doing?"

"I'm fine, Reginald. Ready to make us some green."

"That's the spirit! Also, I'd like to let everyone know that Fox didn't get on the show today without applications or auditions because I'm his biggest fan and because Falco has a big gun with him. Actually, he got on because today is 'StarFox Trivia Day' and all about his team!"

The crowd again broke into a wild, unrestrained applause. A camera stepped up closer to the other three members of StarFox in an attempt to get a good shot for the next section of the show: Meet the Family.

"So, Fox, who do you have with you here today?"

"Well, the ugly bird up there in the blue is Falco-"

"HEY!"

"The green dude with the cap and wrench is Slippy, team mechanic, and-"

"Fox, tell us about the beautiful blue vixen up there with the team."

"I was about to. Uhh…" Fox just experienced his first blush on national television. "That's Krystal, my good friend and an excellent pilot-"

"Did you say good friend or girlfriend?"

"Um, both, I guess."

"Hahaha, I'm just messin' with ya, Fox. Anyway, let's get down to business. You know the rules and your three lifelines. You ready?"

"Let's do it!"

Reginald began reading the 100 credit question. "Since today is StarFox Trivia Day, all the questions will be StarFox related. Should be pretty easy for you, won't they?"

"Yeah, simple."

"Is that your final answer?"

"Huh? Already? Sure, final answer."

"Correct! 100 credits, earned. Next question: How many wings does an Arwing have? A: 1, B: 2, C: 3, or D: A number equal to the exact number of Slippy's warts (512)."

"Hey, how'd you know how many warts I have?!?"

"The camera guy behind you, Slippy."

"Oh…HEY!"

"Okay… B, final answer."

"Correct! You're at 200 credits, 13 more questions 'till you get 1,000,000 credits!"

"Umm, yay, I guess?"

"Krystal, how're you feeling up there?" Reginald knew if he kept bringing up Krystal, Fox would lose what little cool he had to begin with.

"Well, I'm just glad Fox knew what his own ship looks like. Now, if it isn't too much trouble, could we actually, you know, GET ON WITH THE GAME?"

"Yow, feisty! You've got a spicy one on your hands there, Fox."

"Fox rolled his eyes. "Tell me about it."

"Next question: On which planet did you face Bacoon? A: Titania, B: Corneria, C: Aquas, or D: Uranus."

"Never heard of D before. Where's Uranus?"

"Fox! This is a family show!"

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"Lemme see here, Bacoon was the clam I turned into chowder on Aquas, C, final answer."

You're at 300 credits, excellent!"

The camera turned to Falco, who was nearly asleep. When Krystal saw they were on TV, she slapped him to wake him up.

"Huh, wha- oh. Are the questions harder yet?"

"Yep, Falco," answered Reginald. Fox is going for 500 credits now, so the questions get harder."

"Sure."

"Okay, which of the following are NOT types of Venomian space fighters? A: Borzois, B: Invaders, C: Wolfens, or D: Geraldo Rivera's Moustaches."

"Well, I'm pretty sure it's D, because I don't even know what a Geraldo Rivera is. D, final answer."

"You have 500 credits! Get the next one right and you cannot leave here with less than 1,000 credits."

The audience erupted into applause, and Falco finally woke up and began paying attention. Suddenly, a loud electronic noise silenced the crowd.

Reginald was furious. "Whose phone is that!?! The nerve, getting calls during MY sho-" Then he realized that it was his own phone.

"Whoops, excuse me for a minute here. Hello? Yes, uh-huh. Okay, I'll be sure to do that. Yep. Really? She didn't! She did? No, she didn't! She really did? Wow. She did? Huh? Anyway, I'm kinda on national TV right now, so I gotta go. She did? Okay, buh-bye."

Fox looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

"Sorry, that was my producer. He said the StarFox questions were getting tedious, so we'll have to end StarFox Trivia Day. So sorry about that, Fox."

Fox's eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped. After he picked them up and dusted them off, he reinserted them.

"But, I can still keep playing, right?"

"Oh, of course. Sorry if I misled you there. We just have to ask different questions."

"Good, let's play!"

"Okay, for a guaranteed 1,000 credits, what is the square root of 241.89? A: 21.93, B: 39.12, C: 15.55, or D: Cheese."

"What? Well, uhh, I can't rightfully say that I know. I never was much on math. I believe I'll use my phone a friend lifeline."

"And who would you like to call?"

"Peppy Hare, our retired wingman and generally knowledgeable guy."

"Okay, we'll try to connect you to him. This lifeline, courtesy of TT&A phone company will give you thirty seconds to figure out the answer. Start the clock!"

Fox desperately hoped Peppy would be there. No one knew he'd be on the show today, but Peppy was usually at home.

"Ring……Ring……Ring……Hello. You have reached Peppy Hare. I'm not in right now, but leave you name, number, and a brief message, and I will return your call…"

"I'm afraid he isn't there, Fox."

"…Unless this is Fox calling from Millionaire, in which case the answer is C: 15.55, which is actually a rounded figure. The full decimal is really 15.552813-"

"Time's up. Looks like Peppy pulled through after all.

"Wow, wasn't expecting that. I'm surprised he didn't say 'Don't worry, Fox. Trust your instincts!' like he always says."

"Vibbbbbbbbbbbb…"

"Sorry, Reginald. I got a text message. Hey, it's from Peppy! It says: 'Don't worry, Fox. Trust your instincts!' Figures."

"What's your final answer?"

"I'm going with Peppy. C, 15.55, final answer"

"You have 1,000 credits, congratulations!"

"Whoo!!!" Fox was ecstatic.

"Let's move on. For 2,000 credits, here's the next question: If a tree falls down in a forest, and no one's there to hear it, does it make a sound? A: Yes, B: No, C: Depends on the type of tree, or D: Only on Tuesdays."

The camera zoomed in on Krystal, who was fuming. She jumped out of her seat and said: "What type of question is that!?! That's a riddle, not trivia!"

"Woah, calm down Krystal!" Reginald couldn't let her get too riled up. But before he could say anything more, Fox cut him off.

"Relax, Krys. I read this one in a riddle book before. The answer is D, final answer."

"Correct! Only nine more questions, and you'll have a cool million!"

"All right, carry on."

"This one's worth 4,000 credits. Which music group recently won a major award in the category 'Best Celtic/Polka Tune Played While Riding Unicycles' with their hit single, 'Woah! I'm Losing My Balance!' Was it A: The Accordion Nomads, B: Donald and the Trumps, C: The Jolly Green Geezers, or D: One-Wheeled Wonder?"

"You mean that's a type of music?"

"Hey, I just read the questions, the nutjob writing this story makes them up."

"I think I'm polling the audience on this one."

"Okay, audience, pick up your voting devices and vote now."

Insert really annoying music here

"Uhh, Fox, I don't think the results are going to help you much."

"Why's that?"

"25 say A, 25 say B, 25 say C, and-"

"25 say D," Fox finished. "That isn't much in the way of help. However, my mother always said that if you don't know the answer, always choose C. So, C: The Jolly Green Geezers, final answer."

"Fox, I don't know how you did it, but you now have 4,000 credits!"

The audience erupted into an earsplitting round of applause over this development. Krystal was beaming, Falco was jumping up and down, and Slippy was desperately hoping the author had forgotten about the running gag over his warts. He hadn't. Slippy's got 1,024 now. Yuck.

"Fox, you just lucked out. With one lifeline remaining, here's the 8,000 credit question: What is Corneria's leading agricultural product in terms of pounds per Newton-meter squared degrees? A: Kidney beans, B: Pelvis beans, C: Capillary beans, or D: Corn, duh. (Corneria, corn, get it?)"

"Hmm, this is a toughie. I know it can't be D, because if it was a serious choice, the author wouldn't be trying (and failing) to turn it into a pun. And it isn't C, because there's no such thing as a capillary bean. But, what about Pelvis beans? Aarrgggghhh! This is so annoying!"

"Fox, you still have one lifeline left. You can 50/50 it, and see if that helps."

"Okay, go ahead."

"Computer, take away two of the wrong answers."

Fox's eyes had wandered off in Krystal's direction, hoping to gain inspiration form her benevolent expression. But when her face suddenly contorted into a cringe, Fox was jerked back into reality.

"Sorry, Fox, but I don't think Krystal can help you here," said Reginald, who was sporting a similar grimace. "The computer removed A and B, leaving you with the two you thought were wrong."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh is right."

"Hmm, what should I do? I could take a random guess, but…" Fox's voice trailed off.

"Well, you could guess, and still have 1,000 credits even if you get it wrong. Or, you could walk with the 4,000 you already have."

"It's a hard choice, Reginald, but it's still 1,000 more than I had when I got here. I'm gonna risk it."

The entire audience was on their feet, literally drowning in anticipation. Luckily, the studio had lifeguards on duty. Krystal was simply hoping Fox would make the right decision, Slippy was figuring how many supplies they could buy with 1,000 credits, and Falco was glaring at Fox with look that said "Mess this up and I'll kill you myself!"

"I'm going to say choice C, Reginald. Final Answer."

A look of despair flashed across Reginald's face as he read his monitor.

"I'm so sorry, Fox. D was actually the correct answer. Pelvis and Capillary beans don't really exist."

Fox , along with the other three members of StarFox, collapsed into his seat as if the very life had been sucked out of him.

'Great,' he thought. 'There goes the squadron's future, and my chances with Krystal. She'll hate me for such a stupid answer.'

"At least you still have your 1,000 questions."

"Yeah. Well, I guess I get to take the 'Walk of Shame' now, don't I?"

"Not necessarily."

"What do you mean?"

"Falco, Krystal, Slippy, come on stage for a moment."

Reginald stood up and stepped down from the raised platform as he said this, and Fox followed in turn. When the rest of the team had gathered, he continued.

"Fox, I'll let you go home with the full one million credits if you do but one thing."

Fox was bewildered by this statement.

"Name it," he managed to stammer out.

Reginald produced a small box from his coat pocket and gave it to Fox.

"I want you to end a national drama right here and now. Fox, open that box, take the ring out, and ask Krystal to marry you."

Both Fox's and Krystal's eyes opened as wide as saucers. Nevertheless, Fox opened the box, removed the gorgeous 24 karat gold engagement ring, and got down on one knee.

"Krystal," began Fox in the most earnest tone he knew how to produce. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh Fox! I'd-"

Huh? What happened!?! My TV screen just went blank! Cursed TV cable-chewing roaches!!! That's the last time I ever stay at this hotel!