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.
