Okay, I know it's been a while since I last did this, but this is just the
refresher course: I do not own Zoids, the various pre-existing characters
of the zoids universe, several acres of land on the moon (or the large
military installation that might be found on/beneath said acres of land on
the moon) or certain of the things I am due to be putting into this next
chapter, a fuller list of which will be found at the end of the chapter.
Remember this, there'll be a test on it right at the end of the story.
Right, that's most of the legal nonsense out of the way, and yes, this is yours truly, Mercenary Pen The crowd goes wild. Thank you, Thank you, nice to know that I'm at least partway appreciated.
Also, thanks to Steam Detective, and...wait for it...other people for reviewing recently, notably TXLonestar. Welcome TXLS, to the award ceremony for people who review my non-participation fiction. And the award for the best new reviewer of the week goes to TXLonestar. Okay, now, to answer a few enquiries that have recently been made, the reason that Garth has been quite this successful is that he used to go down the arcades and put himself in the various zoid simulators there, although he's due for some really tough matches relatively soon, I swear to you. The rest of his seeming proficiency comes from the sheer potential of the Dragowing itself, although he has not yet unleashed anything more than about 50% of its full potential.
Now lets get on with the story shall we.
Chapter Eight: A brief interlude.
Garth slipped out through the back door of the bunker when he was certain no one was watching. He was wearing a leather jacket, jeans, combat boots and a black T-shirt proclaiming across its front "Punks not dead". His hair, unlike usual, was gelled up into the three inch spikes of a Mohawk, rather than the flat, sensible hairstyle that he usually wore in combat situations. Outside he flung himself over the motorcycle that he had but recently bought, revving up the engine before he got underway. Then, in a flash, he was off ducking under the tail of a Gunsniper that was just returning from its zoid battle earlier that day, (A/N The team had lost and had been forced to sell their Gustav to make ends meet.) very soon he was roaring through the industrial estates on the outskirts of Geigolos, the wind in his hair, although, given the amount of gel in his hair no one would have noticed the wind by looking at it.
Finally he arrived at his destination, a grimy looking pub, whose signs announced that a popular covers band, the Effects, were due to be playing here tonight. Although it was true that the majority of zoid pilots had little interest in Music at all, with an even smaller percentage of those that were musically interested having any interest in Punk rock, Garth was one of the few zoid warriors who consistently bucked this sort of trend, not through deliberate action but through coincidence.
Walking inside he found that although the gig wasn't due to start for another hour or so, the building, which was cleaner on the inside than it was on the outside, was already half full with interested listeners, most of whom were chatting amiably and drinking, despite their intimidating appearance.
Near the stage that had been set up for the evening stood two people who might as well have been ghosts for all the fright they gave him, it was none other than his two colleagues, Jake and Adrianne, wearing clothes that made them blend in with the crowd, each wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Their hair however, was arranged differently than his, Jake demonstrating his skinhead while Adrianne would not have suited a Mohawk anyway. "Hey, Garth you never said you were coming out tonight," Jake shouted.
"Neither did the pair of you," Garth replied, "in fact neither of you said that Punk was your scene, otherwise I would have talked with you about it."
"We wouldn't have missed this gig for the world Garth," said Adrianne, "this is literally the place to be seen tonight."
"You know dudes," began Garth after they had covered the basics of why they were all here, "in battle it's a bit cumbersome to use our first names when talking, and call signs by name of zoid can be a little too easily mistaken sometimes, perhaps we ought to create official call signs within the team."
"I see," muttered Jake, "point taken, I've been wondering why you've taken so long to respond to some of my hails in the last couple of battles. Perhaps if each of us takes, say, one of the four mythological elements as a call sign, you know earth, wind, fire and water. How does that suit you?"
"I'll think about it, dude," Garth promised.
At that moment the band arrived on stage, entering under blackout to fill spotlights that flickered on as they reached their positions. The concert began, the band starting off their set with a cover of "Soul Doubt" by NOFX before breaking into "Million Miles Away" by the Offspring. The crowd went wild, the evening passing by as the guitars of the band pumped out riffs that you could feel, meaning that even if deaf people had filled the audience they would have experienced something.
During the concert Garth found himself jostled by a group of youths, all wearing the same motif on the back of their leather jackets, that of the Hellfire syndicate, an organised crime syndicate which practically controlled the underworld of the Guylos empire. Fed up with being continually jostled, Garth grabbed one of the toughs surrounding him, holding the guy off the floor by the collar of his leather jacket and said, his voice little more than a snarl, "tell your friends to give it a rest and go home!"
"Why don't you tell his friends yourself," came a voice from behind him, "now put my man down and turn around slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."
Turning around to face the man behind him, Garth let go of the man he had been holding, letting him drop slowly to the floor. In front of him now stood a man wearing exactly the same clothes as the toughs that had surrounded him, his skin so pale that only his dark eyes-Garth could not tell their colour in the dark here-gave him away as something other than an albino. This man's hair was non-existent apart from a closely cropped beard and moustache, both of which were a light brown in colour.
"Good evening, young man," said the man, his facial expression belying the civility of his voice, "Now we have to arrange some retribution for your actions, but I am a sporting man, and I do believe that you are a professional zoid pilot, so I'm willing to make a wager with you. You will face off, alone, against myself and four of my zoid pilots in a zoid battle, using a zoid selected from our collection, if you win, we'll let you off, if you lose we get to take your own zoid."
"What are the alternatives?" asked Garth.
"Either you agree to our little wager or we beat you up a bit here and now, it's your decision," the man replied.
"Okay, I'll take the wager," said Garth looking around at the toughs who had him surrounded.
"Right, come with me then, let's get this done here and now."
He was escorted outside.
Hey folks, its MP back again, and for English readers, that stands for Mercenary Pen, not Member of Parliament. Can Garth Meyer do anything but get into trouble? Has he bitten off more than he can chew this time? Will he manage to keep his zoid? Find out in the next chapter of Dawn of chaos.
Also, here comes the fuller disclaimer that I promised: As well as not owning zoids, I do not own punk rock, nor do I own any punk rock bands. Most especially I do not own either NOFX or the Offspring, nor do I own any songs that they have written, e.g. those mentioned above.
Warning, more legal type junk here, but I probably need to stick it in anyway. Ducks as thought police walk past
Moreover I must take the time now to warn you that Punk rock is very offensive and remarkably subversive. I cannot recommend such to anyone who is easily offended, indeed the band NOFX have at one time been investigated by the FBI for supposed incitement against the office of the president (really it is not the office they have problems with, just the man in the office). MP signing off.
Right, that's most of the legal nonsense out of the way, and yes, this is yours truly, Mercenary Pen The crowd goes wild. Thank you, Thank you, nice to know that I'm at least partway appreciated.
Also, thanks to Steam Detective, and...wait for it...other people for reviewing recently, notably TXLonestar. Welcome TXLS, to the award ceremony for people who review my non-participation fiction. And the award for the best new reviewer of the week goes to TXLonestar. Okay, now, to answer a few enquiries that have recently been made, the reason that Garth has been quite this successful is that he used to go down the arcades and put himself in the various zoid simulators there, although he's due for some really tough matches relatively soon, I swear to you. The rest of his seeming proficiency comes from the sheer potential of the Dragowing itself, although he has not yet unleashed anything more than about 50% of its full potential.
Now lets get on with the story shall we.
Chapter Eight: A brief interlude.
Garth slipped out through the back door of the bunker when he was certain no one was watching. He was wearing a leather jacket, jeans, combat boots and a black T-shirt proclaiming across its front "Punks not dead". His hair, unlike usual, was gelled up into the three inch spikes of a Mohawk, rather than the flat, sensible hairstyle that he usually wore in combat situations. Outside he flung himself over the motorcycle that he had but recently bought, revving up the engine before he got underway. Then, in a flash, he was off ducking under the tail of a Gunsniper that was just returning from its zoid battle earlier that day, (A/N The team had lost and had been forced to sell their Gustav to make ends meet.) very soon he was roaring through the industrial estates on the outskirts of Geigolos, the wind in his hair, although, given the amount of gel in his hair no one would have noticed the wind by looking at it.
Finally he arrived at his destination, a grimy looking pub, whose signs announced that a popular covers band, the Effects, were due to be playing here tonight. Although it was true that the majority of zoid pilots had little interest in Music at all, with an even smaller percentage of those that were musically interested having any interest in Punk rock, Garth was one of the few zoid warriors who consistently bucked this sort of trend, not through deliberate action but through coincidence.
Walking inside he found that although the gig wasn't due to start for another hour or so, the building, which was cleaner on the inside than it was on the outside, was already half full with interested listeners, most of whom were chatting amiably and drinking, despite their intimidating appearance.
Near the stage that had been set up for the evening stood two people who might as well have been ghosts for all the fright they gave him, it was none other than his two colleagues, Jake and Adrianne, wearing clothes that made them blend in with the crowd, each wearing a leather jacket and jeans. Their hair however, was arranged differently than his, Jake demonstrating his skinhead while Adrianne would not have suited a Mohawk anyway. "Hey, Garth you never said you were coming out tonight," Jake shouted.
"Neither did the pair of you," Garth replied, "in fact neither of you said that Punk was your scene, otherwise I would have talked with you about it."
"We wouldn't have missed this gig for the world Garth," said Adrianne, "this is literally the place to be seen tonight."
"You know dudes," began Garth after they had covered the basics of why they were all here, "in battle it's a bit cumbersome to use our first names when talking, and call signs by name of zoid can be a little too easily mistaken sometimes, perhaps we ought to create official call signs within the team."
"I see," muttered Jake, "point taken, I've been wondering why you've taken so long to respond to some of my hails in the last couple of battles. Perhaps if each of us takes, say, one of the four mythological elements as a call sign, you know earth, wind, fire and water. How does that suit you?"
"I'll think about it, dude," Garth promised.
At that moment the band arrived on stage, entering under blackout to fill spotlights that flickered on as they reached their positions. The concert began, the band starting off their set with a cover of "Soul Doubt" by NOFX before breaking into "Million Miles Away" by the Offspring. The crowd went wild, the evening passing by as the guitars of the band pumped out riffs that you could feel, meaning that even if deaf people had filled the audience they would have experienced something.
During the concert Garth found himself jostled by a group of youths, all wearing the same motif on the back of their leather jackets, that of the Hellfire syndicate, an organised crime syndicate which practically controlled the underworld of the Guylos empire. Fed up with being continually jostled, Garth grabbed one of the toughs surrounding him, holding the guy off the floor by the collar of his leather jacket and said, his voice little more than a snarl, "tell your friends to give it a rest and go home!"
"Why don't you tell his friends yourself," came a voice from behind him, "now put my man down and turn around slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them."
Turning around to face the man behind him, Garth let go of the man he had been holding, letting him drop slowly to the floor. In front of him now stood a man wearing exactly the same clothes as the toughs that had surrounded him, his skin so pale that only his dark eyes-Garth could not tell their colour in the dark here-gave him away as something other than an albino. This man's hair was non-existent apart from a closely cropped beard and moustache, both of which were a light brown in colour.
"Good evening, young man," said the man, his facial expression belying the civility of his voice, "Now we have to arrange some retribution for your actions, but I am a sporting man, and I do believe that you are a professional zoid pilot, so I'm willing to make a wager with you. You will face off, alone, against myself and four of my zoid pilots in a zoid battle, using a zoid selected from our collection, if you win, we'll let you off, if you lose we get to take your own zoid."
"What are the alternatives?" asked Garth.
"Either you agree to our little wager or we beat you up a bit here and now, it's your decision," the man replied.
"Okay, I'll take the wager," said Garth looking around at the toughs who had him surrounded.
"Right, come with me then, let's get this done here and now."
He was escorted outside.
Hey folks, its MP back again, and for English readers, that stands for Mercenary Pen, not Member of Parliament. Can Garth Meyer do anything but get into trouble? Has he bitten off more than he can chew this time? Will he manage to keep his zoid? Find out in the next chapter of Dawn of chaos.
Also, here comes the fuller disclaimer that I promised: As well as not owning zoids, I do not own punk rock, nor do I own any punk rock bands. Most especially I do not own either NOFX or the Offspring, nor do I own any songs that they have written, e.g. those mentioned above.
Warning, more legal type junk here, but I probably need to stick it in anyway. Ducks as thought police walk past
Moreover I must take the time now to warn you that Punk rock is very offensive and remarkably subversive. I cannot recommend such to anyone who is easily offended, indeed the band NOFX have at one time been investigated by the FBI for supposed incitement against the office of the president (really it is not the office they have problems with, just the man in the office). MP signing off.