Chapter 3: Backdraft: Enter Zack Casage

Khalsin sighed, standing firmly on his ratty tennis shoes his grey eyes scanning briefly over the frayed black shoelaces. The bamboo rod of his fishing pole rested lazily over one bony shoulder, held steady by a white-knuckled fist, concealed by the stretched material of a fingerless glove. The bright blue sky was clear of all clouds; it seemed as though a great azure curtain had swept over the heavens. Khalsin drew the thumb of his free hand across the tip of his straight-pointed nose in a habitual motion, recalling how he missed the carefree, smiling nature of the wayward clouds, those which reflected so accurately his own mindset. Drifting into this sentimental digression, Khalsin caught himself immediately, shaking his head for a moment in an effort to revert his attention to the present. He had to keep a straight face, accept his loss head on—now was not the time to be childish. The young pilot leaned his head from side to side to work out the kinks, wincing as tense muscle let loose a chorus of sinewy snaps. His thin, pale lips pressed tightly together as he glanced over the large Saber tiger ahead of him, feeling the bittersweet mixture of hatred and respect spreading a tingling heat across his bony features.

The enormous zoid stood majestically in the bright sun, scarred with scorched streaks of black and a gaping wound on its chest. Sparks still poured from the great crevice, the remains of many semitransparent cables and wires dangling out in a tangled mess. Somehow, Khalsin thought, this managed only to enhance the terrorizing effect of the deadly zoid. It was the pilot inside, however, which he dreaded to meet face to face. Not this time; not after such a defeat.

A door in the side of its muscled torso opened, an equally burly figure heaving itself outward. The soldier-like mercenary dropped down into a crouched position, rising to his full, daunting height as he brushed his calloused hands together to remove the sand. Khalsin made note that his opponent also appeared fatigued, though more likely due to the emotional burden of his winnings. He held a great respect for the man, an old foe of his since his early days as a zoid pilot. Knowing the man as he did, he knew that Ryke would feel shame for what he had won; he was as honorable a soul as he had ever known. The bear of a man wore baggy green camouflage pants and a grey, button-down shirt. Smokey shirttails hung out behind, sloppily-fastened buttons coming to a halt just below a disheveled collar, revealing a narrow expanse of his broad chest; bronze, tan skin glistening with the sweat of the intense battle. His skin was bright red, as if hardened and toughened by the constant sun and rough sand. Ryke brushed his hands briskly on his heavy pants, kicking the sand from scuffed leather military boots. Khalsin looked away, squinting as the heavy sun reflected strongly off of the thick buckles lining up the sides of the combat boots, piercing his eyes like a sharp, white hot needle. He blinked away the stars before scratching the back of his neck and his feet shifted idly in the sand. It already felt awkward, his loss, the shame of such a boisterous wager. The bright sun's rays had most abruptly shifted from a benevolent, comforting warmth to a scathing heat that seemed too much to bear.
Scratching his head idly, the young man gave an almost obligatory shrug to feign composure and started off to meet his opponent, swaying slightly as he walked, the heavy bamboo fishing pole bobbing up and down in line with his right shoulder. He began to nervously rub at the back of his neck, holding out his other hand as it was promptly engulfed by the beefy paw of his adversary. Ryke shook his hand thoroughly with great vigor and a slight, apprehensive grin, nodding his head in feigned approval. "A great match, boy. You've certainly improved quite a bit. I'm impressed, to say the least."
Khalsin pursed his lips, averting his eyes momentarily, before returning his free hand to balance the fishing-pole on one shoulder. "I guess I still need more practice. It's all good, I'm…uhh, back to selling fish." He chuckled at this irony, dropping his hand back to his side as he squinted one eye shut to block out the sun, his other eye squinting up at the bear-like figure of his opponent.

Ryke shrugged as well to fill the awkward silence, shifting his feet in the sand for a moment as if to pass more time; the meeting was an uncomfortable one, to say the least. "Hm, yeah. Back to that. Before you know it, lad, you'll be back to zoid fighting, trust me." He nodded inwardly, more to assure himself than Khalsin. "Anyway... Pleasure doing business with you, Khalsin. We'll meet again, yes?" He struggled to sound positive, hopeful, unphased; anything to not let his sympathy through.
Khalsin forced himself to grin, nodding firmly as his grey eyes met the deeper brown of the larger man, a flicker of their usual, electric intensity barely visible within their smokey irises. "Of course, sure thing... You just wait." The touch of attempted cockiness seemed to fail as he heard his voice crack slightly at the statement; a high note which left the two stewing in the sheer tragedy of the moment.
Ryke's harsh raptor gaze softened a bit as he patted the younger man's shoulder, clearing his throat to fill the silence, or perhaps in worried preparation for speech. "If you ever need anything, just swing by the mercenary guild and ask, huh?" The labored attempt at making empathy a masculine construct came through quite clearly. Through it all, the big man's eyes read quite clearly: "I'm so sorry."
Khalsin nodded again; unable to withstand the constant flow of pity for his loss. It was almost worse than the loss itself; like some further acknowledgement which only exacerbated whatever shame or embarrassment came his way. He wanted to be the only one regretting, letting his failure harm the mind of another made it even worse. He swallowed in an effort to dispel the choking sob at the back of his throat, then turned, ambling off across the beach. He watched the ground—rumpled sand, shaped smoothly and exactly to the undulating forms of the waves—heaving another sigh as he sauntered along, though through his rushing thoughts he could still feel the sympathetic gaze of Ryke locked on him. He glanced back a moment, raising a flared, deep violet eyebrow. Ryke grunted gruffly as if to reassert his manliness and feign indifference, quickly averting his gaze over at the new zoid in a frantic attempt to hide his concern. Khalsin could see him do his best to "inspect" the new vehicle, scratching his chin in a show of contrived consideration.
Khalsin turned back again, relieving the mercenary of his askance gaze, instead continuing his steady gait down the length of the beach. He rolled his shoulders vigorously backward, wincing at the sound of crackling sinew, wiry muscle being relieved of great tension onset by the earlier battle; not to mention the awkward conclusion and conceit of his zoid. Thinking back to minutes before, the heat of embarrassment and regret burned into the back of his mind; Khalsin soon found himself speeding up the pace of his steps. Ryke could be seen behind him walking at an equally hurried pace in the opposite direction, towards the damaged Saber tiger. Both men strived for escape from the shame, that bittersweet rush of emotion that blossomed in the hearts of both combatants after an honorable battle; though neither truly wish it, one must lose, one must fail.

Khalsin's lupine gaze searched the beach before him; more for a mental distraction than anything else. It was a long, stretching expanse of smooth sand, continuing outwards almost endlessly. Golden dunes of sand seemed to continue in a smooth curve, the cool water constantly at its side. Far in the distance beneath the searing, merciless glower of the sun, Khalsin could spot a tiny black excursion out onto the water. White foam crashed up against the distant form, mixing a bright, unsullied white into the deep, calm green of the sea. The Romeo City pier. The name itself mustered old emotions within him. The joyous daily routine of fishing, the endless hours spent waiting for a catch, the sheer joy of his first tackle. Peering quietly across the vast distance and quickly sweeping these memories aside, he continued to move. Khalsin could just make out the forms of the dozens of fisherman and beachgoers bustling about, surrounded by a constant whirlwind of ravenously hungry seagulls. He knew the sheer annoyance caused by the birds. Thinking back and allowing the almost pesky memories to come flooding back again, Khalsin could recall numerous occasions at which his day's catch—or some of it—had been artfully pilfered from his line by a desperately squawking gull. The creatures were utter nuisances, pesky and irksome at their best; but little could be done about them. As a child, he remembered, he would often throw stones at them, but a gull was far too fast for such a juvenile plan.
Khalsin jumped in surprise at a sudden noise which drove him instantly from his thoughts. An abrupt crack, a light, airy, yet sickening crunch that sounded just beneath his right foot, muffled by the sand. He carefully hoisted one grey tennis shoe from the sand, peering tentatively down under his foot as it rose, afraid of what might lie beneath, but compelled by uncontrollable curiosity to discover. Khalsin gave a dismissive shrug at the sight of a crushed cockleshell, chuckling breathily at his own foolishness. He continued his steady, rapid clip towards the Romeo pier, beginning to cheer up slightly. Not all was lost, that was more than clear. His memories had served the best of purposes; they had revived his spirit and showed him the life to which he returned. He could start renting an apartment again, now that he couldn't live on the Warshark. That was easily done. Things seemed to fall into place in his mind; he noticed this happened often, and he found it quite interesting. The mind would always go to great lengths to find solutions; but always do so introspectively. Moving back to his thoughts about his new life, Khalsin smiled at the thought of the plush comforts of an apartment; a large improvement over the cold metal floor of a zoid. Besides this, with all the Zoid fighting he had been doing, he hadn't been able to go out fishing, and he greatly missed many of the friends he had made doing this; lonely and salty old men who had spent all their lives on the wharfs. Always friendly, never talkative. It was a comfortable, reliable life, devoid of unpleasant surprises. He would fish, go to market, continue his studies of the martial arts, simple as that. And yet…

Somehow, despite all his efforts to comfort himself, he found this new life empty. It lacked something, he couldn't tell what. Something he longed for, an element he had now found essential for his being. But what was it? There was some intensity that had now been lost; like the bolt of lightning which so often flared up within him. Khalsin shrugged this off, though he continued to pry at the thought in the back of his head. He continued to let his thoughts drift on, carrying off on whatever stray tangent they could find. His feet did the work, his mind could simply wander.
- - -
The dank room smelled strongly of cigar smoke in the dim, weak lighting of the luminescent orbs embedded in the low ceiling. The choking scent strangled the nostrils with its thick, hot and oily odor, seeming to penetrate the very skin and leave one feeling grimy and foul. The stocky man at the front stood with an intimidating, hunched stance, a cigar gripped firmly by his burly lips. A strong, rocklike jaw protruded from his sharp, heavy features. The man was like a mountain in every manner, thoroughly muscled, large in size, his eyes piercing and dark. Grey hair—about neck length—was combed backwards in a smooth, wavelike pattern, streaks of a lighter shade mottling any solid color. These pallid striations indicated some age, but the man had obviously aged gracefully, with a stocky, well-built body, broad shoulders and a powerful chest. His deep grey eyebrows were straight and thick, fully accenting the dark and incisive gaze beneath them. Thin lips remained tightly closed around the large cigar as he watched the others around him, his fists set—in an intimidating, apelike posture—on the stainless steel, rectangular table. His broad shoulders, adorned with massive violet epaulets, were hunched slightly to accommodate the positioning of his thick arms, giving his massive frame an even more foreboding appearance. The cigar gave a swift bounce as his lips abruptly shifted, smoldering ash tumbling from the tip of the brown shaft, tumbling slowly to the ground and settling in a tiny pile on the previously spotless metallic table.
"The council of seven has requested our gathering here today for a reason. That reason is one we have all known in the past, one we know all to well. We are here to search, as we have been for quite a time." The tension in the room was incredible; no audible sounds were emitted, even breathing seemed laboriously quieted. The council of seven was a group of high-end lobbyists, very powerful individuals, headed by one in particular, titled the "count". This prestigious fellowship formed the financial and administrative front of the Backdraft group; true tycoons of organized crime. These leaders were currently displeased with the Backdraft's performance, and all of the attendees knew it. Not so about the search itself, but its location. Alteil could easily predict the questions coming his way, and would dispel the before they could form; save himself a bit of time. "It has come to the attention of Backdraft researchers that an Ultimate X was buried somewhere in this vicinity. Luckily, this time it is located on land, allowing us to reach the site with our airborne fleet. Excavation and construction personnel have already begun the process of setting up the dig site." He found himself imagining the count's surly approval; a fleeting, tight-lipped grin and a promotion barked out in a dry voice. Finally, he would achieve the power he longed for; this was his chance, his one opportunity at garnering the favor of the council and reaping what benefits that might entail. But-now was not the time for such thoughts; the zoid first to be found; and this would be no easy task. Clearing his throat in a pause, Alteil shifted his weight from one leg to the other and let his intimidating stare sweep across the gathered personnel. It was time to choose his words more carefully; this mission was his most important yet.

Before he could speak, another did. The energetic, pre-adolescent voice of a younger boy of 12 rang out as Alteil's sharp gaze was instantly drawn to him. The boy had wide, innocent eyes, equally dark as the huge man across the table, but carrying a more carefree kindness towards their surroundings. His skinny frame wore a kind of odd jumpsuit, reinforced with white, custom-fit pilot armor, fitted in a thick vest over his torso. He leaned back, propping his feet up on the table and tilting his head to one side, his ruffled black hair shifting along with him as his haughty tones echoed through the previously silent conference. "I don't see why we need another Ultimate X. We'd be fine with one, wouldn't we? I mean... why not leave this one for someone else? I could use some better opponents."
Alteil wrenched his jaw, casting a furious glance to the woman beside the boy, taking that brief moment to examine her, his hated rival. She was beautiful, despite Alteil's general dislike for her. She had long, deep violet blue hair which, thoroughly tamed, hung down straight to her shoulders, uniform length save a few well-trimmed bangs. This motif of verticality was exaggerated by the long, thin and delicate crystal earrings dangling loosely from her earlobes. Her pewter gaze was marked by two light blue stretches of eyeshadow protruding from the outer corners of each eye, adding an exotically intimidating aspect to her cool, calculating stare. She wore a chaste, high-necked pink turtleneck shirt with a blue blazer over it, leaving very little skin exposed. She had an air of pure authority about her. The woman caught Alteil's glower, turning quickly to answer the boy's inquiry. Her rock-hard gaze seemed to grow soft as it focused on her charge.
"Vega, it is crucial that backdraft has possession of as many Ultimate X as possible. This way, we will be able to achieve our cause with greater ease. The Ultimate X is a crucial tool to this cause, its power is a great expediential factor in conquering the zoid federation and achieving dominance over the global tournaments."
Vega paused a moment, the sarcastic young boy sticking out his lower lip before raising an eyebrow and throwing his arms in the air, returning his feet to the floor as his high voice filled the room again. "What! Expediential factor? I don't care about any of that, all I want is a good oppo-"
The woman cut him off, resting one dainty hand on a white-padded shoulder to restrain him, stony gaze still only mildly reproaching, yet gentle as before. "And you and the Berserk Fury will do all you can to help us acquire the Ultimate X, wont you?" She tilted her head to one side calmly, her scarlet lips pressing together in a stern yet motherly and authoritative manner.
Vega groaned childishly, nodding as he set his hands in his lap. His submission to the woman's orders was clear, but inwardly he had not yet stopped his fussing. The young boy wrenched his underset jaw quietly, staring at the table with his youthful gaze, now soured by his blatant protest to the situation.
Alteil set his jaw for a moment, before continuing his address to the shady fellowship, sweeping his dark, searing gaze across their ranks. The bear-like man's deep voice was stern and restrained with a sort of high-profile discipline, beneath which lurked menacing power. "Our goal is to keep complete control of the excavation site. We will need a great amount of security to ensure complete protection of the site itself. This is why you two were asked here," he started, nodding his head towards a pair across the table. The first was a man close to his stature, while the one beside him was pale very thin, with slicked back, greasy blue hair. "Doctor Leyon, Major Palta. You two have been assigned to defend the excavation area. I'm putting you in charge of security; the Fuma team and all security squad units will answer to you."
Dr. Leyon was a heavyset man with a thick, egg-shaped head, surrounded by bushy and unkempt hair. He clearly had a pitifully receding hairline, despite the relative thickness of the furrlike brown all about his skull. Heavy sideburns shot down from infront of reddened ears, framing his sharp, angled jaw. Thick, bushy eyebrows accented his deep-set, widely spaced eyes, dull and bovine, yet carrying a certain intelligent glint discernible deep within their amber stare. He wore a heavy grey trench coat, his broad shoulders spreading its front open widely to reveal a faded blue dress shirt—splotched with old coffee stains—and a tacky red tie dangling helplessly over a massive chest. Leyon gritted his teeth, pursing his thick lips into a concerned scowl and protesting meekly; both elbows splayed out against the metallic table.
"With all due respect," he began, clearing his throat nervously, not wanting to meet the eyes of the older man who towered menacingly above him. "I... isn't the location of this project a bit dangerous? So close to a heavily populated area. The Romeo city police force, mercenaries, bounty hunters... it will be very difficult to keep the perimeter secure."
Alteil nodded sagely; here was the question he'd expected and prepared for. He looked up, glancing towards one shadowy corner of the room, his penetrating gaze seeing tearing through the shadows as the corner of his square mouth twitched upwards in a confident smirk. "You're correct, Leyon. It would be a challenging task to maintain complete security in a high-populated area, especially one near the mercenary capitol of Europa. This is why you and Major Palta are being provided with ample supplies for your endeavor.. In addition to our 3 Godos patrol units and twenty automated Demantis squadrons, you will be provided with a Buster Gojulas," his low voice carefully annunciated every word, making sure all was heard and promptly understood; there was no room for mistakes. "And, should a challenge too big for such forces arise, I have for you a sort of... Trump card." The smirk widened to an uncontrollable, almost maniacal grin, as he extended one massive arm toward the shadowy corner of the room.
"May I introduce to you Lieutenant Casage. He is a new associate of the Backdraft group, and one of our best pilots to date." As the words rang through the ears of the assembly, an intimidating man with a tall and broad-shouldered build emerged from the deep-shadowed recesses of the square conference room. The man's massive, powerful figure emerged into the dim light in a heavy navy blue military coat, covering his entire body from a high, starched and clean cut collar to thick flaps which ended near his ankles. The great military trench coat was buttoned down the far right side of his chest, accompanied by a lone pocket settled conveniently at his side. Large hands, concealed in light brown leather gloves seemed neatly restrained at his sides, hanging from sturdy, muscle-bound arms. The menacing figure had a strong, overhanging brow which seemed to smother thin, grey eyebrows. Above this was a slanted forehead with shock white hair, shaped into ruffled spikes at the front and next fading slowly into smoothly combed grey hair, cut incredibly close to the skull. Despite the color of his hair, the man looked to be middle aged at most. A smoothly featured, tan face showed few signs of wrinkles, but was kept at a constant, demeaning scowl. The man's powerful jaw and snubbed nose gave him the intimidating look of a true soldier, a machine of war with little concern for anything but his orders and himself. His penetrating, deep green gaze flitted quickly about the room, appraising each and every face in the council with a chilling stare, a swift inspection. The man's perceptual awareness was daunting, it seemed as if he knew the thoughts of the others simply from his acute scowl. The rounded collar moved up just below his chin, hiding the bull neck that so obviously matched his enormous frame.
"Lieutenant Casage is one of the world's leading zoid pilots. He chose to join the backdraft in return for one of Dr. Leyon's Shadow Foxes. Now that this has been most graciously provided, along with the weapon customizations of the zoid, Mr. Casage has promptly made himself one of our top agents." Alteil nodded, his dark eyes meeting those of the intimidating man beside him, before returning to the assembly. "Dr. Leyon, Major Palta, should you be forced into a situation requiring more strength than has been provided, I'm sure Lieutenant Casage would be more than compliant with your requests."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Khalsin hummed methodically to himself, a wistful grin spreading across thin, pale lips as he finally reached his destination. It was low tide now, late in the afternoon. The sea had long since receded far back from where it was; leaving in its wake a legion of flotsam and rubbish; seashells and tangled masses of glistening seaweed scattered about as far as the eye could see. The ancient wooden pillars of the pier were now exposed from their watery covering, heavily encrusted in muscles and barnacles. Yellowish kelp drooped from the massive banisters like a furry brown mantle, glistening with moisture in the setting sun's red glare. The dockside had become more peaceful than he had seen it three hours ago; the seagulls had desisted from their incessant calling and scattered flights to a more peaceful and lethargic lifestyle. The birds could be seen lined up along the dockhouse, sitting in small groups as if in a squawking vigil to the setting sun. Khalsin's dull grey stare was drawn instantly to the comforting radiance of the sun, a huge, glowing pink orb, its sharp rays staining a once blue sky to a warm lavender. Clouds far in the distance stretched in thin bands across the sky, reflecting the sun's colorful display. Khalsin heaved a sigh of sheer awe, transfixed on the sheer beauty of the skyline, extending in endless majesty before him.

As he continued to walk, he could see a stocky, short man in an apron turning a small sign on the front of the Pier house from "Open" to "Closed", flipping the cardboard square in one effortless twist of a chubby forearm. Khalsin could hear the clattering of dishes inside, a startling racket which seemed to open a new well of recollection in his reminiscent state of mind. Khalsin let out a breathy chuckle as he remembered the occasional "on the house" meal he'd receive there, having been a well-loved regular, the poor beach-urchin with the funny hair and dimpled grin. The pilot stopped before the pier, letting his dull grey eyes scan the rickety building as he continued to indulge his memory, basking in the ramshackle montage of events that was his past.

Without warning, a huge rush of air and a deafening crack preceded the deafening roar of jet-engines overheard. The sheer magnitude of the sound tore him from his thoughts, while a gigantic gust of wind did the same to his feet, ripping plastic umbrellas from tables on the Pier's deck. They scattered, hurtling wildly through the air, many plummeting from the pier to the soft sand with a chorus of muffled thuds. Glancing up in shock, Khalsin used his hand to shield his eyes from the turbulent swirling of the sand. Only 30 feet above the pier a huge Whale King zoomed by at full speed, tremendous rocket engines spraying blue light outwards from the tail. The gargantuan, hovering transport vehicle, soared by with astounding velocity, its tremendous engines riling the sand into furious little vortices, whipping grains against his skin. The leviathan black monstrosity was long and slender, but tall, most akin to the shape of a gigantic, mechanized sperm whale; but easily several times the size. Large fins at its sides served as wings, as the entire jagged length of the monstrous zoid moved along at a thundering, slow pace, as if its enormous bulk were nearly impossible to keep airborne. The protruding tip at the upper part of its trapezoidal nose shone a bright green, apparently to signal its arrival; but to where? Khalsin could barely make out a gigantic, glowing green eye at the machine's head which returned his awestruck stare, before the massive metallic zoid had disappeared. The thunderous roar of the zoid's engines was all that remained, fading slowly beneath the gentle crash of waves and the occasional cry of a wayward gull.
Khalsin took a hasty glance back toward the ramshackle pier, his heart thumping in his chest from the sheer surprise of the ship's passing. With a soft grunt he clambered laboriously to his feet, looking bewilderedly about for his fishing pole. He found it lying awkwardly on the grey, faded wood of the pier, then snatched it up and hastily returned it to its position across his shoulders. Khalsin looked up at the long streams of steamy condensation left behind by the zoid's engines, examining the faded, cloudy lines with a sort of distant scrutiny, while behind smoky grey-blue eyes his mind spun in a vortex of excitement. Khalsin shifted the bamboo pole from his shoulder, bouncing it idly in one gloved hand, while he shifted his weight from knee to knee, all the while keeping his piercing gaze locked on the sky. Without warning, he broke into a run toward the forest, his legs pumping vigorously as he followed the distant rumble of the whale king's titanic turbothrusters. And it was so; things had become clear that fast. He had realized what it was this new life lacked. Curiosity lead to adventure, it would tear him from his old life. It was now he allowed it to be his guide, to shepherd him into the unknown, the thrilling frontier of possibility known as the planet Zi. Adventure had sat patiently dormant his entire life. He would keep it waiting no longer.