I realized that I forgot to say that I do not own Zoids, and if I did, then the world would most likely be under my control. Too bad for me. If I do use official characters, they are the property of Grimcon Productions, or whoever creates the Zoids anime.
this is the actually the first three chapters melded into one super chapter. That I happen to like better. So. There ya go. Hopefully this inspires more people to review. And if it doesn't, maybe me attacking them with my personal shadow fox will.
Chapter 2: Entry
"You are the elite. You come from varied backgrounds: some of you from the two nations, some of you used to be on the ZBC teams, and others of you were....." The sergeant's eyes narrowed as his voice dropped to a low growl. "Mercenaries."
Everyone's eyes traveled to the small group of people in one of the room's corners, where the ex-mercenaries sat at their desks. If you couldn't guess, mercenaries were not very popular. Off the military base, several had been attacked with varying degrees of success. Four broken noses, nine broken ribs, two concussions, and uncountable bruises, black eyes, cuts, and scratches. None of which belonged to the mercenaries, of course. Most had been raised on the streets and knew hand-to-hand combat like the back of their hand—or at least as well as their Zoids.
"Even so," the sergeant continued, "many of you will not make it into this division." As he said this, his eyes flicked back to the mercenaries for a second before continuing their scanning of the class. "Simulations will be numerous, as will physical and mental testing. You screw up more than never, and you're probably gonna be off the base within the hour. Remember that in your next exercise. Which starts now."
Every one in the classroom got up and left. The true military types walked out in a semi-attention state, the ZBC pilots more casually.
"You screw up more than once, maggots, and you's gonna be packin' and off the base before dusk! Remember that, and on that happy note, get to your next exercise, worms!" one man—a mercenary—commented, in a voice that was uncannily like the sergeants. The rest of the mercenaries chuckled quietly, and even some of the Officials (nickname for normal ZBC pilots) grinned.
The mercenary that made the comment went with his assigned strike group to the Centrifuge, and waited his turn.
The mercenary was average sized, and went by the name of Bek. He wore a t-shirt and long cargo pants and had sandy blond hair. He sat slouched down in a chair by the door with his hands in his pockets and looked intently at a spot on the floor about a foot in front of him.
One of the Officials came up and sat beside him. He was tall, dark hair, dressed in a jumpsuit type thing, and looked vaguely Hispanic. "Hey, merc. Nice impression of Seňor Drill Sergeant Wannabe you did back there. What's your name?"
"Bek," he responded.
"Bek..... what?"
"Just Bek."
"No last name?"
"Not one I would really care to share."
"All right, I can understand that. Me llamo Cliff. So, what brings you to the Guardian Force to try to join this 'elite division.' Or is that something else you wouldn't really care to share."
Bek grinned faintly. "Yeah, something like that."
Cliff looked at him for a moment, waiting, but Bek didn't add anything. Then he said, "You don't talk very much do you?"
The grin on Bek's face grew. "I can. Right now I figure that if I open my mouth too much, I might get into trouble with Senor (Spanish word for Mr., but I don't really know how to make the symbolly thing) Drill Sergeant Wannabe."
Cliff laughed at that. "You're probably right. I think I'll try out that strategy for myself."
And so, they quietly waited their turn. Cliff was called out before Bek, and came out looking very dazed. He almost didn't seem to notice Bek as he observed Cliff.
"Good luck man." He started talking to Bek: "You're gonna need it. Those nuts are insane! They need to be stopped!"
Bek was called in two minutes later and was strapped to the chair by two technicians.
"Okay, we are going to see how you handle G-Forces. We will start out with the gees that you would experience in a Zoid equivalent to a Command Wolf or Shield Liger. Then, we will increase the gees until you experience what it would be like launching into space. Just for good measure." And our amusement, thought the head tech., trying not to smile too much.
"Cool beans," Bek replied. "Well, if you are done explaining, then what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road, eh?"
The technicians grinned. "Okay. Good luck." They then retreated into their monitoring station, almost bursting with laughter.
Let's see if we can wipe those dang smirks off their faces, thought Bek idly.
A voice rose, unbidden, from the depths of Bek's mind, slightly deeper, harsher, seemingly more familiar to the darkness of society: Yes. Let's.
Almost by instinct, Bek wrestled it back into its mental cage. Stay. Leave me alone. Now is not the best time for you.
The chair began spinning at that point, and Bek put his hands behind his head, trying to find a slightly more comfortable position. As the technicians slowly increased the gees to levels comparative to a Zoid undergoing violent combat/evasion maneuvers, they noted how relaxed the man was.
"Heart rate has increased by two beats per minute. No other signs of stress."
"Really?" hmmm..., thought the tech that was in charge. That's interesting. "Increase gee-forces. Let's try two gees."
Most pilots began to get a little dizzy, and started to see spots at this point.
Bek, on the other hand just started to breathe a little harder.
This man could just be another Brad Hunter... "Increase gee-forces to four gees."
"Are you sure sir? We would be skipping two phases of testing."
"I am very sure, thank you. We're just testing his limits, that's all."
"If you say so, sir."
Wow, Bek thought, these guys seem to be giving me quite the ride. I haven't felt like this in quite a few years—what a rush! He looked up, grinning, at the camera set into a bar on the chair and waved. "Hey, guys! Do ya think that this thing could go any faster?"
In the control center, everyone's mouths seemed to be broken, with how far they were hanging open. The head tech slowly recovered, and said, "Well... Why not? Keep slowly increasing gee-forces, Anderson."
"Uuuuhhh....... Right, sir."
As they kept increasing the amount of gee-forces on Bek, they became more and more amazed.
"You're sure that all recording devices are working?"
"Yes sir, just checked them moments ago."
"This is ridiculous," the head tech muttered to himself. No one should be able to endure this many gees. What IS this guy?
Now Beck was really feeling the pressure on his chest. Whatever this elephant on my chest has been eating, it really needs to stop, he thought to himself. Blood was beginning to pool in his arms and legs, and his vision was beginning to go black.
"Okay...guys...you can...stop...the ride...now," Beck barely managed to get out.
"Sir, his vital signs are in the red now."
"Okay, lets shut it down people." Holy crap. This guy is amazing. He passed this test with more than flying colors. I can't imagine how he pilots.
Cliff was waiting for him, as Bek, weaving slightly, came out of the Centrifuge.
"Wow. Do you think they'll do that again?" Bek looked slightly queasy as he asked this. ""Cause that was totally..."
"Scary as hell?" supplied Cliff as Bek trailed off.
"NO WAY! IT WAS AWESOME! DO IT AGAIN, DO IT AGAIN!" shouted Bek, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Several pilots that were waiting their turn seemed to relax, while their fellows that had gone through the torture of the Centrifuge gave Bek very odd looks, including Cliff.
"What the HELL is wrong with you?!" shouted Cliff, who had no clue why anyone would think about thinking that was fun.
"Well...probably a lot," said Bek, smiling. He was only half kidding though.
All of the pilot candidates were given bunks at the military base. Most that weren't still unconscious from the Centrifuge fell asleep quickly and slept deeply. Others slept as if they were still unconscious from the Centrifuge, though they had managed to stay conscious. A third group had been asleep since that afternoon. Since the Centrifuge, in other words.
One on the other hand didn't fall asleep that easily. And when he did, his rest was far from peaceful. In fact, it was rather nightmarish.
Blood. Blood everywhere. The coppery scent fills the air.
A man stands in a field of bodies.
Wait. The figure is too small to be a man. And the katana that released the blood is almost as long as the figure itself. It is a boy then. Blood yet drips from the blade. The boy looks dispassionately at his handiwork.
The dreamer sees from the boy's perspective. He looks around, not sure why he does not move on. His gaze finally settles on a certain figure. Through the haze of the dream, he realizes that he meant to save this person.
"Bek... help... me..." The figure collapses, lifeless, among the other bodies.
The boy looks on, wondering why he cannot feel anything for his failure. Or much of anything else.
In his bunk, Bek twists and thrashes.
Bek awoke the next morning with no recollection of what had happened in his dreams the previous night. All he remembered was that they were disturbing, and that he had found them unpleasant. He also knew that because of them he got little good sleep.
"Stupid little...monkey fraggin'... why is it always...," Bek grumbled as he got ready for the day.
The voice rose yet again: You know why.
He went to the cafeteria after getting dressed, and got himself a cup of what was supposed to be coffee. He had never experienced it before, as he had only arrived yesterday.
"Hey! Crazy joyride kid! C'mere!" called Cliff
Bek walked to the table where Cliff and several others were sitting. He sat down and took an experimental drink of the 'coffee.' As soon as it met his tongue, it was projected all across the table. A little sheepishly, he asked "Okay, who put used oil in the coffee dispenser."
"Huh. And right before the Centrifuge yesterday, you couldn't get more than five words out of the kid. Now here he is, making sarcastic comments like a whole new person. Should we start calling you Crazy-Bi-Polar-Joyride-Kid?"
"Or Bek, whatever you like." Bek absently took another sip of the "coffee" and his eyes widened. Another round went spraying over everyone else. He grabbed Cliff's napkin a split second before Cliff's hand would have grabbed it, and proceeded to scour his tongue with it. After several seconds of this, he realized that everyone was staring at him. He gently refolded the napkin and put it back where it had been.
"Eh. Sorry 'bout that."
The others at the table burst out laughing.
"Shaddup. Whoever sabotaged the coffee is gonna get riddled with holes from a Laser Vulcan Gun as soon as I get into the unit."
"Uh huh, yep, sure kid. Anyway, speaking of getting into the unit, I think we might actually get to pilot today."
Bek grunted. "In a simulator, maybe. I doubt that they are going to trust all of us with brand new Shadow Foxes. The mercenaries at least."
"True. But I hear that the GF has more Foxes than capable pilots."
Bek gazed steadily at Cliff, then said, "From now on, you shall be known as 'King of Rumors.' And speaking of names, why don't we introduce ourselves."
Regis was an Official, with matt black hair and icy blue eyes. (You guys get to imagine what he is wearing, ya lazy bums! :P ill tell you that it isn't excessively punk, insane, or things like that.) He had been on a high ranked class B team before the war demanded putting a stop to battles. In contrast to his eyes, his demeanor and attitude were warm and friendly.
Talia was a fairly attractive redhead with green eyes. She looked friendly, though not quite as much as Regis. She was an actual soldier, though she didn't share the same disgust in mercenaries as most of the rest of her soldier brethren.
Rama was a brown haired, freckled young man, or kid might have fit better. He had one of those innocent expressions that youth seemed to have. It was kind of hard to believe that he had been on an A ranked team, and had been one of the best on it.
The group of new acquaintances talked for the rest of the time they had available. Their next battery of tests began at five.
"Alright, guys. Shall we proceed to the 'Facility?'" asked Rama fifteen minutes before the test commenced, showing how academics-conscious his parents had been with the boy.
The rest of the group moaned in dismay, but got up anyway and left the cafeteria, making their way across the base to the Special Operations building. They entered the building and—
"I can't BELIEVE this!" cried Cliff as he smacked Rama in the back of the head. "THERE'S NO ONE ELSE HERE!!"
"Hey, at least we get to pick where we sit," commented Bek.
"Humph. I'd rather not have gotten here so early, and still be drinking some coffee."
"Right on brother," came a voice from the shadows of the room. "Though the... excuse they have here hardly counts as coffee."
Everyone else jumped at the sound of the voice.
"W-w-who are you?" stammered Rama, managing to recover faster than any of the others.
"If any of you make it to this unit, I'll be your commanding officer." And out from the shadows stepped Brad Hunter.
Heh heh heh. So, how do you guys like that? Review. I really would rather not get off my lazy behind to go hunt you down for not doing so.