oChapter 7

"Fight!" came the monotone rasp of the white android, its two spindly white arms clapping together suddenly while it's divine ivory carapace sparkled in the bright sun. The capsule itself was a small yet pristine imperfection in the vast, red desert marking the two-on-two battle of the Flueggel team vs. the Seraph team. Time seemed to freeze still as the action began, the four combatants each its own aura of frantic motion. The sun, slung high in the dry, light blue sky, had long since banished all clouds and rained its merciless rays unopposed down upon the dark rocks and vermillion dunes below.

Leon Toros charged forward in his scarlet blade liger, the heavyset feline zoid moving with swift, deadly speed as enormous yellow blades unfolded from its sides, snapping firmly into place with a stiff, metallic clank. The enormous electro-particle sabers stuck out at sharp right angles, stiffly sticking outwards. The broad, square head of the android reared as it loosed its fearsome warcry, a metallic, echoing call that seemed to rumble through him as he gazed through the orange cockpit window. The intimidating, scimitar-like blades of glowing yellow laser energy flared powerfully, leaving long, ribbon-like trails of golden light behind them, bouncing up and down to follow the creature's galloping path. Jet engines unfolded from its deep red armor, perched conveniently along the armored zoid's hind quarters. The engines ignited suddenly and greatly intensified the zoid's horrifying roar, adding a fiery, smoldering rush to the robotic howl of the machine. Blue flame rushed from the jets as the great zoid hurled itself swiftly across the desert, easily scaling the distance towards its foes. The man gritted his teeth as he bounded suddenly across the area, closing in on the two targets at hand.

Leon gripped the small, dual joysticks before him as he eyed the enemy zoids, a large, white stormsworder and a small, lightweight stealth viper painted a dull, sandy brown. He brushed a bit of his flat-top brown hair from his eyes before quickly returning his sweaty palm to the joystick. This battle had already become more than an intensity, even before the first contact of blade to blade. As he approached, the long, snakelike zoid reared its hooded head and promptly slammed itself downwards. The entire length of the smaller android suddenly disappeared in a rush of sand as it burrowed beneath the earth, easily escaping his attack. As the interesting zoid disappeared, Leon noticed a the soft gleam of laser blades attached to the head of the snake, something he had never seen before.

Leon shook his head to rid himself of this brief bafflement, moving his eyes swiftly back to his other adversary. The storm sworder's enormous jets had spewed out a torrential blast of yellow light, easily lifting the sleek, sharply-pointed flying zoid into the air. It soared swiftly in a long, banked turn, while the red liger moved at an equal pace beneath it. Leon set his jaw, his deep brown eyes in focus on the desert beneath him. He moved the huge liger in a smooth turn as it's powerful legs moved fluidly beneath it, carrying it with flawless grace. His opponents clearly were not surface fighters. One above, one below. This would be interesting.

The small, lithe form of a seemingly unarmed gunsniper leapt swiftly up a series of tall rocks at the far end of the projected arena, the agile, raptor-like zoid easily scaling a tall crest of rock and standing firmly atop it. The zoid quickly turned away from the battle as if to shun the violence involved, its tail rising up to face the involved combatants. A young woman with auburn hair and soft indigo eyes gritted her teeth, a ferocious look of both deadly ability and cool, calm collectedness shifting across her beautiful features. She seemed oddly determined even as she appeared to flee the battle itself. A fierce melee had already begun to unfold back at in the fray, but she seemed almost indifferent, casting the occasional and very brief glance in their direction.

A vidscreen popped up beside her, showing her partner Leon with a determined look on his square face. The man seemed to be out of breath, as if pushing himself mentally and physically. "I'm going to need some help here, Naomi," he began, grunting as he vigorously jerked at the joysticks before him. "This one's too fast for me."

A cool grin spread across her features as she nodded slightly, pressing a few buttons at her side, her fingers moving with swift and inconspicuous movements, obviously done a thousand times before. "Not a problem Leon, I've got your back." With a loud, heavy crunch, the enormous, sharp claws of the gun sniper sunk into place. The woman set the joysticks of her sniper in place, before quickly jabbing a red button on the underside of her chair. She bit one lip slightly as her seat slowly unfolded to a lying position, the woman turning over onto her stomach. She grunted a bit at the awkward position, shifting herself forward towards a smaller control console. She moved her arms to a pair of gunning joysticks located a bit before her face, gazing through a binocular viewfinder. The screen within it shone a soft green glow over her eyes, though the woman ignored it completely, gazing out at the chaotic fray below. The white target reticule before her shifted quietly as she moved the joysticks and heard the soft crackling crumble of the claws sinking deeper into rock; stabilizing her zoid.

The assassin herself narrowed her eyes as she scanned the area through her telescopic lens, looking through the long tail of the smaller gun sniper. Her teammate Leon could be seen jetting about with incredible agility, rushing about on his bright red liger and frantically dodging a flurry of Vulcan fire from the Stormsworder. The two seemed to be quarrelling without any sign of success on either side, Leon's ferocious lunges and the Stormsworder's pummeling strafes being mutually avoided. Naomi shook her head in amazement, watching the white streak that was her opponent. The zoid itself moved with such incredible speed and precision it seemed no one could track it. Naomi smirked gently as the stormsworder descended for another strafing run. No one, that is. But her.

"I'm getting hell down here!" came the deep voice of her teammate, the vidscreen seeming to flare in its visual intensity near her forehead, as if frantically trying to call her attention. She looked up at the square face and jaw of the young man, finding herself briefly studying him in his struggle like an insect in a jar. So far below her, beneath her godly throne. She pitied him. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and he seemed to be panting heavily, his broad arms working constantly at the joysticks. Naomi's soft, calm voice came quietly as she nodded, narrowing her eyes to maintain a constant concentration on the Pterodactyl zoid. "Almost got it...just hang in there..." she muttered, shifting her fingers toward the trigger buttons on her joysticks. The sheer urgency of the situation brought out both a frantic need for release and a terrified apprehension and quaking fear of failure. She tensed at her opponents next move, concentrating her very being into the barrel of her gun, releasing her soul into the one shot, that single strike.

The stormsworder swooped downwards like an airborne predator and let out another fierce salvo of Vulcan cannon fire. As it flew over the scarlet feline, Naomi could see the sand lift up in tall pillars from the barrage, a single-file line of the columns flying upwards in a steady trail towards the fleeing blade liger. She could hear a grunt from the vidscreen as the Liger suddenly leapt to one side, dodging the furious bombardment. She muttered reassuring words to the man as he moved, more for herself than for his sake, constantly watching the swooping predator constantly dive-bombing her partner.

The stormsworder pulled into another long, banked turn, as smoldering scarlet rune markings seemed to glow along its nose and the fronts of its wings. The bright red eyes of the graceful aerial zoid gleamed as it flipped over and began a horrifying nose-dive towards its target. Naomi started as long, curved yellow blades suddenly extended from its slender wings, letting out a roar as their glowing electrical particle energy ripped and tore at the hot air they burned through. The stormsworder itself became a glowing vermillion ball of light as it moved with incredible speed, its shape nearly indistinguishable from the scintillating aura it gave off. Naomi watched in awe, before catching herself, lowering her head as she gazed into the scope before her, letting a confident smirk wash away her fears. This stunning feat of airborne acrobatics would be its last.

Naomi felt a rush of elation as the familiar, soft beep of the reticule locking on and turning a bright green. It followed the stormsworder as it crashed rapidly downwards, keeping a constant hold on its location. It was over now, the sniper had done her job, this opponent was no more. She could almost feel the bullet smoldering in the barrel, screaming for release to soar through the sky, to accomplish its task with ruthless perfection.

This battle was theirs. Time slowed down but seemed not to matter, the bright red form of the Blade Liger seemed to creep across the desert floor, its head lethargically rising and falling with each long, drawn-out stride and the rapid descent of her opponent becoming a gradual, sluggish sinking. It was hers. The magnetic shell had only to leave the barrel. She squeezed the trigger as the ripping roar of a single, expertise shot was fired, seeming to tear itself from the zoid as it's long, segmented tail of red armored plates and a slender black barrel contracted upon itself. The kickback of the heavy shot was sweet and welcome, only reassuring that she had done her job. She had released her power, her strength, her fury and passion into the barrel and let it fly. Her shot had fired; that single, flawless action of unstoppable perfection. The stormsworder was no more. The match was hers.

"Strike Lance!" rang a deeper voice from a vidscreen which had spontaneously appeared at her left, completely interrupting her thoughts. The glowing sphere of pride, power and skill seemed abruptly torn down by those two words, shattering the world around her. The woman's eyes widened in sheer terror as a grim realization seemed to grope at her skull, burying deeply in her mind; it slowly became an unshakeable feeling of nausea. Naomi gasped suddenly as a furious quake tore through the lighter body of her zoid, the raptor letting out a terrified cry at the ferocious blow, its head being jerked to one side. The stealth viper. She had forgotten about it.

The slender brown head of the mechanical serpent surged forward with incomprehensible speed, moving like a snake performing a shockingly swift bite. Guided by a wide, cobra-like hood, and spearheaded by a pair of huge, bright-blue laser blades. The blue aura around the metallic weapons left an eerie glow behind as the vicious strike tore through the powerful leg of the small dinosoid in a single, fluid impact. The gun sniper nearly flipped over as it was struck with the immense force of the blow, its leg being torn off with a loud, ripping crunch of metal being totally eviscerated. Parts and sparks flew in all directions as the more bulky upper body of the machine flopped uselessly over on its side, writhing frantically on the hard rock surface. It's powerful leg flew sideways, skidding across the rock with an unbearable grating sound before plummeting down into the sand.

The snake recoiled from the blow, its flat, slender head raising again to gaze out at the battlefield, its glowing orange visor turning towards the desert as its long, brown form lay coiled atop the huge rock formation. The segmented, armored length of the snake seemed relatively lightweight, completely lacking any firearms and the customary supply section usually found within most stealth vipers. Instead, each brownish, jointed segment was of equal size, all connected by small assimilations of black wires and joints.

Naomi let out a frightened curse, panting heavily as her whole body seemed to ache and tingle, her hands trembling at her sides. The sheer shock from the completely unexpected strike had terrified her beyond belief. The woman cursed again, more loudly this time, slamming her fist down on the seat she lay upon, wishing the feathery sick feeling in her stomach would fade. Naomi lifted her chin after a moment and glanced up at the vidscreen. A round face gazed back at her with a glaring and infuriating grin, the eyes hidden by a smooth gray visor. The cycloptic blue lens of the visor seemed to leer at her quietly, though the man said nothing. He jerked his chin towards her in a haughty greeting, before glancing off to the side out his cockpit window, the bill of a dirtied white baseball cap poking out along the back of his neck. The man chuckled again as he glanced up at her, shaking his head yet remaining silent.

Naomi grit her teeth, groaning as she looked up at the flashing vidscreen before her, depicting the words "System Failure" repetitively in a flashing pattern. She sighed in frustration, pounding her fist again at the controls. "Damnit!" she exclaimed, moving her purple eyes quickly to Leon. Hundreds of regrets now clouded her mind, a multitude of "I should have" and "Why didn't I". The glaring statements seemed to overwhelm her, and all she could do was look on helplessly at her partner's struggle. He was still luckily fighting, though she could see nothing out her cockpit window but the yellowish rock her zoid lay upon. "..Leon, I'm out," she said quietly, a defeated tone in her voice, not even hearing the soft, breathy curse from her teammate.

The woman panted softly with the sheer excitement of the previous events, still finding herself in shock. That was the first time she had been ambushed effectively, the factor of defeat was much more than a surprise. A harsh blow to the ego, to say the least. Her only hope now was that Leon could find victory. The Flueggel team had not yet been defeated in the Class "A" league of the zoid battle federation. They couldn't let it happen, it was simply impossible. It was all up to Leon now, she thought wistfully, finding herself almost meditatively watching him through the vidscreen.

Leon panted heavily as his zoid was exerted to its full potential, moving swiftly across the desert, dodging large rock outcroppings as they flew by. Having barely survived the last lunge, he knew he had to prepare for the next attack, and in this way found his only chance. The enormous liger moved swiftly up a small series of steplike platforms of the heavy rock, using the many miniature plateaus as a bounding method of ascension. The loud, howling roar of his airborne adversary intensified exponentially as his fearsome saurian opponent closed the distance with blinding speed. Leon could feel the heat of his own zoid's efforts as it drove itself up the columns of stone, continually struggling towards ascension. He could hear the rapid hum of the particle blades as they came at him, the air screaming as it was torched within their blazing inferno.

The armored form of the enormous lion leapt up to the very top of the series of steps, still running at its top speed as blue rocket engines flared behind it. The enormous feline form seemed to tremble as it was continually forced upwards by the struggling boosters, its muscular bulk surging with each catlike, leaping stride.

Leon maintained a powerful grip on the pair of joysticks at the control console, pushing his Liger to its very limits. He could feel the massive red predator trembling with effort as it moved, experiencing its every strain and exertion as if it was a part of him. He promptly jerked the joysticks forward, letting out a battle cry and hunching his shoulders. Leon's eyes smoldered with yearning for battle as blue plates of armor on his chest and shoulders shifted place. His blade liger crouched slightly, gathering its energy before launching off from the cliff. The enormous metallic feline's bright colors shone majestically as it hurled itself from the last step, soaring through the air while its great blades streaked toward its incoming opponent. Contact was imminent. It was coming. Fast.

The smoothly curved sabres left long trails of light behind the flying beast, soaring gracefully on deadly wings of smoldering luminescence. The enormous leaping zoid moved with incredible speed, nearing the quicksilver streak of the Stormsworder. The two great machines passed one another with a loud rush of energy, a harsh, powerful impact quaking through both combatants. The bulky, armored Liger landed firmly on its feet with smooth, catlike grace, before quickly wheeling around to face its opponent. The Stormsworder shifted into a sharp turn, moving completely vertical as its majestic wings rose quietly into the air.

Leon's jaw hung slack both in astonishment and the desperate need for air. He glanced upwards, catching a sharp glint in the midday sky. A pair of sharp, glowing particle blades suddenly spun downwards through the air, the undulating roar of their spinning flight pounding in his ears. The sound ended with a loud slicing sound marking their landing. Both sunk sharply into the sand, jutting out of it in an X pattern, moments later shedding their bright glow and fading to their original soft grey.

Leon gritted his teeth in determination, watching the glow fade from the two severed weapons. His liger still felt firm and tough, as though it had barely been damaged by the sudden impact. It had occurred too fast to be comprehensible, to quickly for the passing of thought. He could remember nothing but the tremendous shock that had run through its thick hide on impact. The square-jawed man shook his head to rid himself of the feeling of nausea moving through him, his brow furrowing to concentrate on the battle at hand. This was not yet over. One last blade, one last chance. Now both had been limited to a single sword. A duel, of sorts. Defeat was not an option.

Leon jerked the joysticks forward, letting out another deep-throated bellow of intense desire for battle, watching his opponent approach. It was all or nothing. The final showdown, the ultimatum of this battle was about to occur. Leon invested all his power into one last charge, concentrating on nothing but the battle.

The zoid didn't respond. With a soft click, the joysticks moved forward, though his zoid didn't budge. Empty silence filled the air, more deafening than the roar of fury he had expected from the Liger. Having been so used to the Liger's smooth movements, its flawless and effortless cooperation with his commands, it felt as if part of him had been broken. The lack of movement seemed almost as though his arm or leg simply wouldn't respond.

The quiet, hushed and ironically light-hearted ringing tone of the "system paralysis" warning rang softly in his head, as if coming from another world. He couldn't believe it, couldn't bring himself to understand or comprehend what had just occurred. Leon found himself staring forward, wide-eyed, swirling in a torrent of agonizing confusion. Defeat? Loss? How? It couldn't be. As if in a dream, Leon watched his adversary slow to a moderate speed and quietly soar overhead again. Nothing seemed real, not even the hurried rise-and-fall of his chest as he gasped for breath, the cold sweat forming on his forehead. The judge's vidscreen abruptly appeared before him, the white form of the android seeming to leer at him through eyes that weren't there. Its loud voice suddenly broke his thoughts, bringing in the cold, hard reality like a wall of concrete as he soared down towards it. Well, he thought numbly to himself, at least it broke his fall.

"The battle is over! The battle is over!" came its droning, artificial speech, so dry and devoid of any form of vernacular or accent that it became almost like a synthetic language of it's own. The crackly, monotone drawl had once been an optimistic sound to his ears, an upbeat congratulations on his next victory, but on this day it was the grim omen of his loss. The change was both astounding and deeply unsettling. "Leon Toros' Blade Liger and Naomi Flueggel's Gun Sniper are unable to battle! The winner is... the Seraph team!"

Pytch quietly rolled his head on his shoulders as a chorus loud fleshy pops emanated from his neck. The familiar voice of the judge brought yet another victory. Pytch chuckled to himself, exhaling as he did so. All too easy. The sniper had been far too involved in her own self-assured perfection to see him coming, and "boom!" down she went. Simple. Easy. They were all this way.

He let out a soft groan, yawning almost lethargically as he moved the stealth viper downwards from the high rocky peak it had climbed. The long serpentine zoid moved with fluid motions as it seemed to flow over all obstacles, its slender form gliding through the sand as if it simply swum over the land, its undulating movements carrying it swiftly forwards. The broad hood of the stealth viper was adorned with two bright green triangular markings, though their origin and purpose could not quite be discerned.

The elongated machine glided smoothly over to the starting point of the match, moving across gaping craters and dips in the sand caused by the huge Blade Liger's many jumps and skidding maneuvers to escape its opponent's gunfire. Pytch laughed a little to himself, taking a quick glance over at his partner's Stormsworder, The Silver Fury. The Blade liger had never stood a chance.

The smoothly shifting snake moved with soft surging motions, its long body leaving an endless zig-zag trail in the soft sand. Its movements seemed almost hypnotic in their effortless fluidity, both silent and quick. Pytch glanced upwards, his eyes, though concealed by the blue-tinted visor, locking onto a small viscreen to his right. He continually glanced back and fourth from the vidscreen and the cockpit window, his voice coming softly. "Schala," he started, watching the slender face of the red haired woman who glanced up at him. The shocking power visible within those eyes still haunted him, though they had been partners for years now. Before he could say another word, the woman's incisive gaze had already read him through.

"You're going for a slither again, aren't you?" the woman said, squinting her eyes at him a moment before letting a brief grin alight her bony features, one so characteristic of her friendly, understanding nature it drew the same smile on his own lips..

"...Well, yeah..." Pytch found himself muttering, the man scratching his chin in an almost nervous manner as he glanced up toward her again, a confident, almost arrogant look beginning to crystallize in his dark pupils. "I figured I'd go on patrol, you know... check things out." Pytch took a moment to remember the discussion he had had with the Liger's pilot before the match, the spark it had set off deep within him. "Before the battle Leon mentioned some pretty fishy stuff was going on down in San Pirea. I want to check it out. If there's a single Backdraft involved, I want him."

"Go where your heart tells you, that's what I always say," the woman responded, her shy smile being tentatively carried along her thin lips. She shook her head to rid herself of her old maxims and epithets, a smooth rusty-colored ponytail flipping over one shoulder. She restrained herself enough to quickly revert back to the previous subject, inwardly admonishing herself for trailing off. "I'll take care of the winnings and Federation official stuff, and then I've got a night shift a the Pier. See you tomorrow...And Pytch?" Schala seemed to shift her weight a bit, the shy woman casting her gaze back up to his as she chewed her lower lip.

Pytch looked up from the rectangular windshield again, raising both eyebrows and lifting his chin, his overconfident stare nowhere close to disappearing. "Yup?"

"...Be careful, they're dangerous." Her voice seemed hush and tense, though this had little effect on the untouchable overconfidence of her partner.

Pytch found himself laughing out loud, open-mouthed and bouncing-shouldered. Did he laugh so loud to convince her, or to convince himself? He could tell neither. The man ran his thumb across his chin a moment, before grinning up at her. "Of course! I've been hunting those bastards for months now. Needn't worry. I'm a-"

Her soft voice cut him off, this time edged with sarcasm. Green eyes rolled in their sockets to show her disdain for his ridiculousness. "A warrior worth a thousand, I know, I know..." she mumbled, shaking her head. The man's arrogance was infallible, though his kind nature did occasionally shine through. The woman seemed to bounce a bit as the Stormsworder touched ground, and reached up to a small switch. With a quiet click and movement of her finger, the vidscreen disappeared.

Pytch gave a haughty chuckle, nodding firmly before shifting the white cap atop his head to better fit his head. Brown hair stuck awkwardly out from it's sides and back, as if the dirtied cap was struggling to contain it, a long bushy tangle rising up beneath the brim at the back of his neck. Shifting the dual joysticks of his control panel sharply to the left, he felt the awkward slithering motion of his zoid change abruptly, moving itself into a seemingly unguided turn. Pytch forced his joysticks forwards in a sharp motion, his powerful arms slamming them downwards with one fluid movement.

The cockpit jarred suddenly before slamming down into the sand, a rush of yellow abruptly flushing out all other color. The sand seemed to churn and flow about on its own, flowing around the tangerine visor of the StoneHammer as it tunneled its way deeper and deeper under ground. Pytch sighed a bit, leaning back in the cockpit as he smirked to himself. This had been a quick and decisive victory. Perfect. Just the way he wanted it. He crossed one leg over the other, heaving his heavy tech boots settling against one another, their cyan-tinted LED patterns giving off a gentle glow about his feet. The fight had gone better than planned, another A-rank team defeated. Now, he thought, for an adventure.

Dr. Layon squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, the huge man looking meek and mouse-like as he was furiously scolded, his bovine gaze moving downwards to the jet black, polished table before him. His beefy fingers quietly shifted places over in over on the faultless surface, as if attempting to feign interest. Alteil repeatedly read off a long series of statistics and losses acquired during the "escape." The scientist's dark eyes had softened considerably, averting in a submissive manner to avoid the raptor gaze of the Backdraft commander. Alteil's heavy jaw continued to repetitively shift as he spoke, scolding tones rushing from between his thin lips like a harsh torrent of scathing contempt. His head bobbed as his neck-length, gelled-back hair moved obediently in unison, absorbing what little light was dimly emitted from the luminescent orbs embedded in the dark ceiling.

"One heavily armed Buster Gojulas unit, Seven-hundred-and-fifty automated Demantis security drones, an assault squad of Ten Godos...completely destroyed!" bellowed the much larger man, Alteil slamming one haevy fist down onto the table. The two collided with a fleshy thud which failed to echo and instead died, stifled in the revolting humidity of the meeting room. He blew a heavy gust of bluish smoke form his nostrils, which flared violently like that a raging bull. "Preposterous! Impossible!" came the furious blades of his reproach, the man's face almost turning red with fury. The man ran his fingers through his deep grey hair, streaked with long ribbons of wavy white staying stiffly gelled backwards before fanning out awkwardly at the back of his head. He read the report through again, scanning over it with his dark gaze before looking back to Layon. "..This is a disgrace to the backdraft. One of our most important missions to date, and your insolence has managed to interfere so much that not only was there an intruder, but this intruder managed to escape with the Ultimate X!"

Layon cleared his throat nervously, feeling the chilling, unified gaze of the entire group watching him. The catlike, incisive stare of Miss Sarah, the overbearing and condescending daggers emanating from the eyes of major Palta; even through his strange, W-shaped mask which overcropped both cheeks. Despite the barrage of angry looks constantly coming his way, Layon found one gaze bothered him more than most. Ignoring the rapid speech of the Commander, her looked to the dark corner of the room. A cold, chilling stare emanated from that shadowy crevice, the broad-shouldered form of the previously introduced Mr. Casage.

The man's features were amplified considerably in the dim lighting, making his sharply hooked nose and slanted face all the more threatening, eyes shadowed by a prominent brow ridge. A powerful chin still failed to crop over the heavy, stiff and erect collar rising up full circle around his neck and up to his lips. The heavy trenchcoat attached covered his entire body, save his hands occupying a pair of heavy grey gloves. The man's chilling, silver-eyed gaze watched him, unblinking and unwavering, a steady look haunting in its intent. Layon found himself squirming again in the heavy chair, looking back up to Alteil to try and distract himself from the man's fierce hatred.

"It is still imperative that the Backdraft acquires the Ultimate X. Having sought council with the Elders already, I have found they wish us to pursue it."

Layon perked up slightly, the domelike head of the man rising on his shoulders as he puffed out his chest, his tacky red tie shifting a bit upon the purple dress shirt at his breast. He would do anything to shed the contempt of his superiors. "Sir, if you give me another chance, I could most definitely acquire the Ultimate X for you. It would be an honor to redeem myself and present the Backdraft with the ultimate prize."

Alteil's gaze grew even colder as he took a long drag from the heavy cigar between his thin lips. The tip of the cigar flared a violent red before dulling again. Alteil's stare stayed on him, a furious glare piercing the other large man to the very bone. Layon lowered his eyes again, utterly devastated by the power in his stare. "No such thing will happen, Layon. We both know an Ultimate X is lightly armed when it is first found, and would not have the power to break through the Armor of the Gojulas you were asked to pilot. Yet," he continued, taking a moment to heave a bit of an angered sigh, exhaling another great cloud of thick, sour-smelling smoke. "You managed to have the Gojulas completely destroyed."

Layon shook his head, the short hair seemingly plastered to his scalp failing to move, its brown tone seeming more of a dull black in the dank room. "No, that's not true, Sir.. I was hit from behind, and luckily I managed to eject just in time."

Alteil scowled at him, his mouth drawn low on his angled jaw. "And I wish you hadn't had the time, Doctor." He scoffed over his words, before double taking back to the pleading man, letting his eyes take in his bovine features. The smoldering cigar in his lips bounced gradually as he spoke more intensely. "..What? You say you were hit from behind?"

Layon bobbed his head quickly, still averting his gaze and wringing his meaty hands nervously at his chest. "I believe it was a Gun sniper, sir, from what I saw.. it was using what looked like a Shadowfox Vulcan... and the MKII cannon from a modified Iron k-"

He was cut off abruptly by Alteil's commanding bellow, ringing loudly through the small, black room. "So you're saying this intruder had an accomplice?"

"Yes sir," muttered Layon, scratching his chin slightly in order to feign any possible morsel of relaxation.

"...Then it is more than a priority that both the intruder and accomplice are destroyed, yet the Ultimate X must be safely acquired. Dr. Layon, until further notice you are suspended to the Whale king, you may not leave." Alteil nodded calmly to himself, before turning his head to one side, speaking backwards over his shoulder. It was time to call out a more potent method. He needed that Ultimate X. He needed it now. The council itself breathed down his neck, he had little time. "Commander Casage," he began, his stoney features hardening all the more.

The tall man stalked out from the shadows, the footfalls of his heavy boots striking the ground mercilessly as he moved. He stood upright and gigantic, his daunting form dwarfing even the seated Commander. He watched the man for another word, not quite responding.

"I will assign you to the task of regaining the Ultimate X, Mr. Casage. You will kill the accomplice and if need be, kill the intruder. Is that understood?"

The silent man nodded quietly, snapping one thickly muscled arm upwards in a firm military salute. His hand rose with astounding speed, flat and fingers extended, saluting the council before he promptly turned on his heel. The intimidating soldier quickly moved out of a small door to his left, walking at a surprising clip for his size.

Casage wrenched his jaw quietly as he walked, his sharp, dark gaze tracking down the endless, repetitive length of the hall. Greyish-blue lights cast a soft glow over the dark walls, moving by constantly as he walked, the orbs flashing opalescent light over his heavily coated form as he moved. His arms swung quietly at his sides as he thought, holding his chin high. That Layon was a scum. A weakling, a deluded fool who deserved nothing but death. Had he the authority, he would have had the man disposed of at the first sign of his insufficiency. Doctors... what good is a man who can think, but cannot fight?

He, Zackary Casage. He could think. He could fight. He was a professional. None could come close to matching his skill at the job. Casage twitched his fingers in his gloves as neared the hangar bay, continuing along at his steady pace. He yearned for the hunt, the chase. His prey was slowly eluding him, slipping away with very step. It didn't matter, he thought quietly. His catch was inevitable. There was no escaping Casage and his Dark fox. He was death, and his target was marked. The intruder was as good as dead, the Ultimate X in Alteil's hands.

The man's powerful black eyes quickly shifted towards the corpulent form of a leisurely guard relaxing in a swiveling chair before the security gate's controls. The obese man started suddenly at the sheer, horrifying potency in those dark orbs. He let out a mouselike squeal of panic, doing his best to cover it with a manly cough as he leaned forward in his chair, the black button-down shirt shifting as it stretched laboriously over his bulbous stomach. Casage came to a slow halt at the gate, staring quietly at the thin, almost invisible seam between the two heavy, stainless steel doors. The pig before the controls was not worth his concern or his contempt. He was nothing.

The Security guard frantically flipped a few switches on the wide console before placing one pudgy finger on a reddish button and pressing it several times. His urgency continued for the gate to open, the man rapidly assaulting the button with a full-armed strike as the doors began to part. He could wait no longer for this horrifying figure to disappear, to return to the soft sinecure he loved so dearly.

Casage smirked softly as the heavy square doors parted, the large man quietly entering the dauntingly huge hangar. What had been the muffled thuds of his heavy military boots had soon become an echoing strike, careening about the room, saturating it from its broad expanse of floor to a nearly incomprehensibly high ceiling. The room itself was a gigantic pentagonal prism, filled with row after row of powerful zoids; all wearing the deep black official colors of the Backdraft team. Glistening dark magnum paint of heavy weapons set off a faint, glowing reflection from the heavy neon lights on the ceiling. The man continued at his brisk pace, moving out into the center of the wide floor, walking between the two long, seemingly endless rows of battle machines. The Whale King's carrying capacity had not to impress him; in fact, it was positively astounding. A long line of ebony Rev Raptors, followed by a pair of shadowy Zabats. The man shook his head quietly, his gloved hands twitching at his sides as a enormous line of MacCurtis seemed to roll by, the black-and-purple machines standing at the ready for their deployment. The might of the Backdraft was truly displayed in its enormous stockpile of zoids, the sheer bulk which were completely awe-inspiring.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of pacing, completely losing count and interest in the daunting fleet of Zoids, Casage smiled a predatory, deadly grin as he spotted the deep black Shadowfox. The sinister zoid was standing crouched beside a pair of Iron Kong MKII's. The incredible bulk of the mechanical primates towered over the lithe, armored form of the Shadowfox, yet he knew they were more than dwarfed when compared to the power of the smaller machine. The aura of death and immense destructive power seemed to heat the air around the great fox, easily drawing attention from the two much larger Kongs. The Zoid itself looked quite vulpine in nature, sharp edges and spiky points jutting backwards throughout its pitch black armor in an aerodynamic yet aesthetically pleasing pattern. Tall, triangular ears stood from the back of its slender head, sharp teeth in thin, neat and tightly-packed rows lining the zoid's mouth. The ferocious zoid was a high-tech "present" he had received from Backdraft in return for a few people the group had wanted to "speak to". Having worked for the Backdraft for quite a time, this heavily-customized Shadowfox was more than a worthy gift, easily restoring his faith in the group.

Casage grunted as he heaved himself up onto the ebony metallic outcropping of the zoid's streamlined ankle armor, quickly scaling the zoid itself in a few husky jumps. A small, square hatch in the side of the deadly zoid slowly opened with a smooth, soundless motion. The huge man swung himself inside with a surprisingly agile movement for a man of his size, his bulk seeming light as a feather as it disappeared into the side of the horrifying zoid. The assassin moved into the luxurious cockpit seat of the Dark Fox, easily flicking a switch on the front of the Dark Fox's control console, revealing a small blue button. The man looked unnervingly at home in the cockpit, quietly readjusting his gloves before he began. The skill and seriousness he used with his profession was more than apparent. With a brief downward glance he quickly pressed the button, slipping his hands around the dark, gleaming joysticks at the controls.

The zoid roared to life with the contact of his hands, the fox rising from its crouched position as the atrophied parts groaned their displeasure. The sudden motion came with fluidity in its abruptness, the graceful zoid stepping out of the long line of other great machines. The many sharply jutting metal plates of armor shifted beneath the form of the fox as it walked along, its heavy feet impacting the floor repeatedly with weighty thuds. Each smooth shift of the zoid's legs let out a airy, mechanical whine, the sound—though soft—echoing mercilessly through the silent hangar.

Casage set his heavy jaw, causing thick tendons by his cheeks to flex and bulge outwards slightly, further exemplifying the rock-hard sloped shape of his face. The man moved the zoid toward a gigantic, slowly opening black hatch at the rear of the Whale King. The roar of the hover repulsors shuddered through his ears as the bastion struggled to remain airborne with its enormous girth and monumental cargo of zoids. The cargo bay slowly opened in the back of the Whale king, revealing the cool, still night air, sheltered from the sweltering heat of the merciless sun.

The professional gazed through the two diamond-shaped "eyes" of the fox, bright red-tinted windows framed and glowering between a pair of sharp, pointed ears and a slender muzzle. The zoid reached the end of the Whale King's hull, gazing down the open ramp to the dark forest below. Tensing its powerful legs, the zoid lifted its head towards the sky, letting out a fierce, mechanized howl which echoed throughout the gargantuan cargo hold of the Dark Whale, its haunting reverberations sending piercing the foggy night air. The black plates of armor jutted sharply backwards along the zoid's shoulders and back, its needle like tail going straight. The nimble form of the fox suddenly rushed forward, galloping smoothly across the gleaming black ramp as it sunk towards the ground.

Casage's unrelenting gaze watched calmly as the zoid took a sudden leap, jerking slightly in his seat. Bringing his sharp chin downwards slightly, the high, starched collar of his grayish uniform covered his mouth up to his sharp, hooked nose. The Dark Fox abruptly plummeted through the air into the misted abyss below, the trees choked in a thick fog approaching like an ominous wall beneath him. Zi's two moons seemed to glower down over the still night like the dual green eyes of a nighttime predator. The darkness enveloped his zoid as he left the hangar completely, only the soft howling of the wind against the Dark fox could be heard, a lonely, soft whine. The intimidating man failed to even blink at the rapid descent through the air, the seeming helplessness of a plummeting war-machine.

The Dark Fox impacted the soft earth with an astonishingly smooth landing, hopping forwards a few times to rid itself of excess momentum. What was to be a savage and lethal blow to the light zoid had been warped with one expertise maneuver into a stunning feat of acrobatic skill. The zoid began to stalk through the forest, its great clawed paws silent despite their relative bulk. Casage forced the stealthy zoid into a steady sprint forward, watching the many trees fly by as his incredible zoid weaved its way through the forest. The hunt had began, he could taste it. The weak would fall.

The fox moved through the woods as if it was one with the darkness, a ghost amongst the wooden pillars around it, it's glowing red eyes bouncing up and down as it moved. A pair of small missile boxes swayed a bit, firmly attached to the zoid's flanks, a large laser Vulcan at its top swiveling to scan the black oblivion it rushed through.

Casage reached up and dragged a small eyepiece down to rest before his right eye, gazing through the transparent yellow square to make better use of the Fox's night vision sensors. The inky black nothingness he had previously squinted at soon became a green, churning mass of life, of true vision. Through the viewfinder he watched a flock of nightbirds suddenly lift up from the trees, scattering into the forest. The trees themselves were grayish-green monstrosities, forming a complicated and imposing labyrinth in which he played minotaur.

The many trees moved past with great speed as his zoid weaved its way through them, dipping and dodging both to avoid gigantic branches and leviathan trunks. It's armored, powerful legs pumped vigorously as it moved, its feet barely touching the ground for a fraction of a second before kicking off again. Despite the extreme darkness and rough terrain, the incredible zoid moved with rapid precision and agility, almost as though it were simply flying. Casage gazed out upon the foreboding blackness around him, giving a haughty smirk. The darkness was his medium, his world, his universe. He was god. He could not be stopped.

The man's overshadowed eyes suddenly widened as his zoid came abruptly upon a clearing, a spacious, seemingly endless expanse of sand coming so unexpectedly that it made him lose his composure for a moment. The mercenary sat up in his chair, tensing at the controls, the dark fox doing the same. The stealth zoid skidded to a halt, before crouching on its legs, the heavy plates of armor pointing backwards like menacing ebony blades. The heavy Vulcan at its top shifted on its turret, instantly locking onto the form in the darkness. His heavy white eyebrows drew downwards sharply, causing his eyes to narrow into dark slits. Casage quietly pushed viewfinder away, still transfixed on what he saw. He had found his prey.

There before him, nearly 100 yards away, stood a golden sabre tiger. The majestic feline zoid stood calmly upon a tall rocky cliff on the beach, its form reared up as its emerald eyes gazed toward the sky. The great tiger was bathed in soft, cascading beams of greenish moonlight, hauntingly illuminated by the ominous green orbs which hung low in the night sky. A heavy double-barreled gun turret sat barely attached to the seemingly scarred belly of the zoid, a large patch of which was still unarmored, revealing many semitransparent whitish wires. The wires themselves seemed to glow with the moons' elegant jade, looking almost like the newly spilled viscera of the zoid from some gruesome wound. A tall, stocky man with burly arms and a thick black vest could be seen at the side of his Saber Tiger, his heavy camouflage pants tucked messily into combat boots. The man pushed a welder's mask before his eyes, then bent downwards, bright blue light suddenly splashing from the damaged spot on the zoid, sparks flying about into the black oblivion of night.

Casage could no longer hold in his urge, his need. The hunt had begun, and it would await him no longer. The first kill of the night. The fresh start. His eyes narrowed on the man and his zoid, a gaze like fierce daggers seeming to tear through the night towards him. Casage abruptly started his zoid into a dead sprint, the lithe Fox bobbing up and down as it silently surged across the beach towards its prey. It was time.