Pseudo-Prologue
"What are you doing?!" A young fourteen year old asked, strapped down to an armchair and ineffectively struggling against the leather bindings that restrained his hands and feet. Surrounding him were several other individuals in chairs, yet each of them had slumped heads and motionless bodies. Nobody was making a sound, and deafening silence filled the room that appeared to be an empty void save for the single white flickering light bulb that hung from the ceiling and illuminated a dark figure standing before him.
On the boy's left was an asian boy his age with blonde hair that was messily spiked, his body about an inch taller than the horrified teen next to him if they were standing up. As the figure lifted his face, the boy shouted in outrage from the chair.
"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM!"
"Shut it you," the figure said before his arm shot out and painfully smacked the boy across the face. Leading to him giving a pained hiss as the unknown individual chuckled to himself. He was wearing a simple black long sleeved shirt and jeans, nothing out of the ordinary, but the single black flat-billed cap he wore on his head was casting a shadow that hid his face from view. His hands were brown, the exact same skin tone as the boy with misty eyes from the painful sting of his strike.
"Unbelievable," he muttered as he inspected the messy haired boy's youthful face. It was nearly flawless, with prominent cheekbones and thin lips that made him briefly think about the sort of asian models that he'd see on magazine covered.
Taking one more look around the room, he noticed how much the single captive boy stood out among the other three Japanese young men that was surrounding him. As he went over to the next one, his back was turned to the teen as they still tried to struggle against their restraints.
This one's hair was jet black, and considerably older than the previous one he had inspected. He appeared to be in his early twenties, not to mention considerably taller than the others at a height of six feet tall. His hair was long and straight, framing both sides of his face until the figure tenderly reached out and briefly parted his locks.
"And you were so powerful...so much strength and presence wasted on a cliche." The figure's lips were formed into a frown as they shook their head, removing their hand and allowing the young adult's hair to fall back in place until he knelt before his final guest.
Dark hair highlighted with blonde, this individual was much more muscular than the previous man while still being younger. Sixteen years old, and snuffed out just before the true prime of his youth. The figure tilted his head and lifted the motionless teen's chin, fully registering all of the similar features that he shared with his two brothers. Admittedly, he closely resembled the eldest brother the most in the figure's own opinion but that was likely due to already having the opportunity to go through the full stages of puberty. Placing their hand on the middle child's thigh, the figure pulled himself up to the caramel skinned boy and sucked his teeth while shaking his head.
"What?! You got somethin' to say!?"
"As a matter of fact I do…" The figure clenched his teeth as he lurched forward, causing the boy to flinch as his hand reached out and landed on the top of his head. Specifically his hair, that dark hair that he would always see in that stupid nameless fade.
"Unbelievable….un-freaking-believable…"
"I swear the second I get out of these you're dead! What did you do to Amaya? I swear if you killed her too-"
"Just shut up already!" The figure's voice resonated throughout the room as his hands reached up and began rubbing his temples. Even hidden by the shadow, his face was contorted and his nose wrinkled in an expression of obvious disgust and agitation.
" 'I'm not gonna rest until you pay for what you've done!', 'My friends are gonna find you and you're gonna pay for this!', 'You'll wish you were never born when Agito and Akira are done with you!', sheesh I can feel myself nearly imploding from the amount of cringe I'm imagining coming out of your mouth!" His teeth were gnashing as his hands suddenly slammed onto the arms chair, his face getting close enough to the boy's that they were able to make out more features than before.
"Solstice...a much better name than Grimm, unfortunately a complete waste. You made that name given to you into a complete joke!"
"What are you even talking about? I chose that name for myself."
"No Rashard," the boy's eyes suddenly widened at the sound of his name, "you didn't."
As the figure turned his hat around, Rashard saw a face before him that caused his heart to briefly feel like a piece of lead in his chest and his lungs to constrict much tighter than the bindings surrounding his body. His lips were trembling, and within his eyes were a combination of both unbridled fear and genuine confusion.
"You're...m-me?"
"Not exactly…" the figure muttered, dark brown eyes glaring down at the boy. The figure was the spitting image of Rashard but older, with neatly trimmed facial hair along his jaw and across his upper lip. His face was also much leaner, with visible features in his cheeks and jawline that were hidden in Rashard's. He toward over the young man and tightened his grip on the arms of the chair before he relaxed and backed away for two steps.
"I don't get it...how could you be me? Are you my dad or something? I was orphaned-"
"Good lord what was going on back then," the man muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Who, who are you?"
"Doesn't matter. What matters is that you are gone. You are nothing more than the product of an immature complete power fantasy that had little to no forward thinking or development whatsoever! You had no substance, no growth, hell, you were created after everything interesting had already happened to you. And the solution? Completely ludicrous! Electric wristbands that reset years of training and effort into that of an amateur? And you're friends, oh sweet merciful buddha your girlfriend! There isn't enough time in the world to unpack that tragedy and living stereotype. And your brothers...your oldest brother especially...such a pity that they were wasted potential." The figure was now sitting in a chair, causing Rashard to blink a few times to clear his vision because there wasn't one there before. He wad his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced together as his gaze briefly softened. His right hand reached behind his back and suddenly drew a gun, immediately causing Rashard to violently struggle against his bonds.
It was of no use, as the figure was careful to ensure the chair was properly bolted to the ground. His face completely expressionless as Rashard had begun to panic, already beginning to scream and plead with tears flowing from his eyes.
"No! No! Please don't! I didn't do anything!"
"And that right there's the problem," the gun was cocked with a sigh as the figure closed his eyes, completely unresponsive to the fourteen year old's screaming and wailing.
"You didn't do nearly enough...and what you did do was an absolute mess. It's time for a change and for you to join the others."
It wasn't long before Rashard had stopped struggling, only silently sobbing as his head hung until his chin was touching his chest. His posture was almost indistinguishable from the three surrounding him.
"I don't wanna die...I don't wanna die…" his whimpers were barely above a whisper, and the figure softly shook his head as he pressed the barrel of the gun to the top of Rashard's head.
"This isn't death...this is growth. As you are now, you sit here as nothing than the evidence of a failure that is difficult to look back on. But you were also the beginning, the start of something great. A progress and introduction that lead to years of discovery and advancement. You may not have gotten the chance to see it, but you will. You will.." His lips pulling on the right side into a small smile, the figure's index finger rested against the trigger of the gun.
Upon further inspection, the gun the figure held within their hand was not an ordinary handgun. There was some sort of seal along the side of it, a sigil of an open book with blades crossed that had several words written along the barrel:
5 years of reality
"Once you were a Phoenix..." The gun fired with a single squeeze, a spark of golden light briefly flashing from the muzzle. Oddly, Rashard's head did not even flinch from the impact. Instead, every muscle simultaneously relaxed as his breathing came to a stop.
The figure pulled the gun away, revealing the lack of any sort of wound as he stepped back to observe his work, how all four men were now completely still and held up only by the restraints locking them to their chairs.
"Now, you'll be reborn as a Canary."
Zamir woke from his bed violently sitting up in a cold sweat, his chest heaving as the darkness surrounded him in his room illuminated solely by the light of the moon. He buried his face in his hands as he attempted to get hm breathing under control, closing his eyes as he slowly inhaled and exhaled. Feeling his heart rate gradually fall back into rhythm, he glanced around his room and tried rubbing the sleep out of one of his eyes and squinting through the dark. He didn't need the lights on in order to remember that tools were everywhere in his fifteen by twenty foot room, his bed taking up the vast majority of the back wall as he looked at the deactivated 25 inch television set that sat on his oak dresser. At the foot of his bed was a two level set of racks that acted as his closet, while to his immediate right was a desk that also acted as his nightstand. It held his clock, his lamp, his laptop, but it also doubled as his workstation. As the vast majority of it was taken up by a pair of ATs that he had just dismantled about…
He glanced at the clock and ground as it was four o'clock in the morning.
"Can't even sleep for more than three freaking hours…." he yawned as he laid back down onto his bed, once again telling himself that he'd clean up all the tools and parts from the ground in the coming afternoon. He really didn't have time to lose any sleep, his rider was expecting his ATs to be primed and ready when he came by. It was going to be another long day, one that he couldn't handle surviving off of just three hours of rest.
"Damnit…" he muttered as he rummaged around in his pillowcase, reaching between the two worn pillows held within to pull out a remote control. With a single click, the television blared to life and caused him to hiss in agony as the bright blue rays felt like fire in his cornea. He hid behind his forearm as he quickly switched the settings to turn down the TV's brightness, thankfully already having the volume low as the most sleep inducing program he could think of was on: the news.
"Local authorities are still unaware of the culprits of the string of robberies that have been occurring over the past three days. Local residents are claiming that the offenders were seen escaping authorities on Air Trek skates, illegally modified if I might add." A feminine voice said, one that Zamir already knew belonged to news anchor Monica Moore. He'd fallen asleep to the sound of her voice for years, and even with his eyes closed he could get a clear picture of her face. Lightly tanned with subtle powder and eyeliner, a soft pink coat of lipgloss, and a white button up shirt with a gold locket hanging from her neck that likely held baby pictures or something.
"Civilians should remain vigilant in Vermillion District, and if there is any word to the identity of these culprits you can give tips at 1-977-6…"
The television had already begun to fade into the background, turning into empty noise as Zamire felt himself once again fall into the warm embrace of unconsciousness. His snugly fit black nightcap warming his head as the cool breeze from the ceiling fan circulated throughout the room. As he slowly fell back into his slumber the final image within his mind was the massive decal on his ceiling above his bed of a witch riding a double sided wrench in the middle of a black circle. The background of the witch's upper half was red with black mountains and two black stars, while below the witch's legs the background was purple and had stylized black letters along the bottom that took Zamir a few tries to decipher when he had first joined the team: Tool Toul To.
"When you've found
A different point in your life where the roads meet,
A different strike in the drum of your heartbeat..."
Zamir sleepily sang to himself, his voice a soft tenner as he settled back under his blankets. His back turning to the door as he curled into the wall with the soft glowing from the television at his back.
"Oh woah…
Just pray that hope will be there,
'Cause freedom is forever…."
His voice soon faded into the soft and steady breathing of sleep, finding himself once again in a state of simultaneous weightlessness and serenity as the darkness pulled him into its embrace before once again giving way to dreams. As he found himself once again soaring above the clouds with the wind rushing past his face and blowing through his hair, he saw a golden bird flying in front of him.
It was small, just barely big enough to stand in the palm of his hand. He attempted to chase after it, but no matter how much he willed himself to go faster the golden bird would always maneuver just beyond his reach. He chased and chased, but could never catch it. As he pursued the bird in a nosedive towards the ground, he felt his fingers just briefly touching the tips of its tail feathers as they neared the ground below.
They were on a collision course towards a scrapyard, and he knew that barreling into that scrap metal at the speed he was going meant he wasn't going to be able to dig himself out. Despite the risk of a mountain of metal and garbage falling on top of him, he just had to catch that bird. Something within him needed to catch it, and he refused to let himself stray from his goal when it was just barely within reach. Just moments before they could reach impact, Zamir swung his arm forward and grabbed the bird, angling himself to sharply fly straight just as a deafening crash resonated behind him.
With a quick glance back, he was the last flaming tail-feather of some massive bird being buried by the mountain of garbage and metal. It's fruitless struggles to get out only served to bury it deeper as its cries were muffled by the pile of rubbish. Zamir forced himself to stop and stared in shock at the mountain that now covered the once mighty bird, looking down at the golden creature that he gently held in his palm.
The bird's eyes, unlike the rest of its body, were pitch black. The bird's head slightly cocked to the side as Zamir arched an eyebrow, now wondering what the heck he was supposed to do with the bird now that he'd caught it.
"Well, I don't suppose you have the faintest idea of what's supposed to happen next?" Zamir chuckled as he held the bird at eye level, still careful to avoid crushing it in his grasp. When the bird's chest briefly swelled as it prepared to either sing or say something, a roaring alarm suddenly thundered in Zamir's ears.
"GAAAAGHHHH!" Zamir's arms and legs immediately flailed, managing both to punch the wall and push himself off the bed still wrapped in his pillows and with a hard thud as he fell on top of his backpack and shoes. He hissed as he rolled onto his back, a hand over his stomach where his textbook had collided with his lower intestine.
The bright yellow nova of lights caused him to place his arm over his eyes, and he looked over at the door to see the culprit of the rude awakening. A young man stood in the doorway with a megaphone in his left hand while the right was holding his stomach as he laughed against the door frame.
"Not funny Joel," Zamir grumbled, his black night cap being knocked askew and showing his thick puffy black hair that was uneven from sleep.
"Nah nah, it was fucking hilarious!" Joel said still giggling. The hispanic teen was already dressed for work, wearing a pair of sweatpants, a tank top, a denim jacket, and a pair of gunmetal grey ATs. His one strap book-bag was sling over his shoulder and from the floor Zamir could see the edge of the Tool Toul To sticker from between Joel's fingers.
Those bright green eyes scanned Zamir's rom before they closed and Joel gestured around with the megaphone, "You really need to clean this place up bro."
"It's organized chaos." Zamir grumbled as he sat up, lightly glaring at the young man before he simply sighed and let his back rest against the side of his bed. "You could've just called me you know."
"Sure, but then I'd miss my daily morning laugh quota."
"That's what YouTube is for."
"You can't enjoy a sight like this behind a screen bro, it's gotta be witnessed firsthand."
"Whatever…" Zamir reached up and pulled himself to his feet, grabbing his pillow and weakly hurling it at Joel who ducked out of the way. Popping back up and causing his curly light brown hair to bounce back in place as he shot his friend a smirk.
"Better luck tomorrow Zamir. See you out front," Joel gave his friend a two fingered salute before his AT's whirred to life, grabbing the waist of his jeans as he appeared to moonwalk out of the doorway.
After hearing the common room's door shut Zamir groaned and began stepping around the tools littering the ground and picked up the pillow.
"Why the hell do you keep letting him in here?!" he called out the doorway, shutting it before he headed over to the clothes rack in order to get dressed.
"Because, hearin' you scream like a girl in the morning is fair dinkum hilarious! Now get yer ass up an' let's go already ya c*nt!" Of course Mindy let him in for a quick laugh, she just couldn't resist having a hand in any sort of activity that would lead to either Zamir being embarrassed or agitated. Bonus points if she managed to do both.
"Yeah yeah just let me get dressed first," Zamir called out, pulling off his pajama bottoms and starting to look through the clothes on the rack for something worth putting on.
"We're also stopping at Maccas!"
"Hey Zee, think you can spot me again?"
"You better not get anything that ain't on the dollar menu if I'm buying!" Zamir pulled on a pair of maroon jeans and slipped a black button down on his arms before he went over to the full length mirror next to the door.
He pulled a pick off of his nightstand and looked in the mirror as he started to pick out his hair, attempting to even out his afro before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his hair tie. Holding it in his teeth, he gathered his hair in a single hand before grabbing the elastic band and tying it off in a puff at the back of his head. He took in his appearance as he buttoned up his shirt, the light stubble on the end of his chin that was the fruit of 18 years worth of growing, his dark brown eyes, the athletic build hidden beneath his tank top he gained from running around with his knuckle-headed friends, and the tip of a scar just peeking out past the collar of his undershirt before he connected all but the top two buttons. Sure it was more wrinkled than what he expected, but he wasn't dressing to impress anyone today.
He briefly let his hand run down his face, feeling one or two slight abrasions of acne that he'd have to take care of later when given the chance. He really needed to careful about touching his face after working on air treks from now on. When he was satisfied, he picked up his backpack and removed the books in order to exchange them for tools. Once he was done, he placed the ATs on his desk inside and clipped a smaller square case to the front of his backpack just in case he would need to work away from the desk.
At the foot of his bed sat his own pair of ATs, though unlike his friends' these appeared to be nothing more than high-top black leather shoes with white soles and black laces. One look at the bottom though would reveal the ball bearing mechanism made into a pattern around the heel and ball of the foot, a much more subtle design than the skates his friends employed. The ball bearings were currently retracted into the soles for easy transition from riding to walking, causing the shoes to add about an inch and a half to his relatively average 5'7. Bending over, he slipped the shoes onto his feet before pulling the tongues of the shoes with a twisting motion.
The ball bearings lowered and the pressure system hummed to life along the bottom of his feet, allowing Zamir to roll sideways back in front of the mirror without changing his position. His outfit came together quite nicely, and it was supposed to be a cool day today. He pulled down one of the hats hanging from the edge of his clothes racks and placed it on his head, opening up the back to that he could fasten it beneath his puff of hair. The hat was dark blue with a stylized V emblem with horns on either side for the Vermillion Vikings AT team.
"Another day breaks to a new sense of reason," he glided over to the door and placed his hand on the knob, turning back and getting one last look at his room. For some reason, it felt almost like he was seeing everything for the first time. Like he was looking at his old belongings and place of rest with a brand new perception. Though just as suddenly as the moment struck him, it left as he simply shrugged.
"And another mind wakes to the light of a vision." One quick turn later, and Zamir was gone for the day with the soft click of the lock closing the room off from the outside world. The Television still on and giving the morning news to an absent audience.
Author's Note
To those of you that don't know, I wrote a story on this site years ago called The Legacy of The Mighty Kings. I looked back at the reviews and saw that I had two positive reviews from readers even after years of not updating. One of them was from a friend I had met irl before I moved away. Looking back at my work, I couldn't do anything but see how naïve and unrefined my writing style was when I was younger. Not to mention how people genuinely thought that it was a good story and how much of a shame it was that I couldn't see it through to the end due to life getting in the way. The Air Gear fandom has been quite…empty for some time. So I'm not even sure how wide the audience I'm writing to is around this time. Regardless, I want nothing more than to do much better than my first try. And this little pre-prologue is me turning away from the past and looking towards someone new. I have evolved both as a writer and as a person since Legacy of the Mighty Kings, so I will be leaving that story up as a sort of monument to where I used to be in my head and as a writer. I hope you enjoy Zamir's journey, and I would appreciate hearing your feedback and review.
