Chapter 9: A Beginning and An End.

Khalsin fiddled idly with the tip of his bamboo fishing pole, leaning against it partially while his partner continued her redundant discussion with the huge vidscreen before her. The ZBC official had been interrogating her for nearly an hour now, constantly requesting registration codes and passwords, bank accounts and mail addresses. The wealth of information he desired was more than he believed either of them knew even about themselves.

Having listened only partially, Khalsin noticed the quick-thinking woman at his side had fabricated the majority of the information, as some of the questions truly had no answer; or else an answer they didn't want getting out. Yet alas, the infinite hail of inquiries carried on without sign of pause nor break, a remorseless exchange of information; a one sided one, no less. Of course, the pilot thought to himself, he made this seem much worse than it really was.

Boredom was a thing of its own creation, in some strange, ironic manner; and to him it was the greatest of agonies. Combat, it seemed, was all that could occupy his mind. All else seemed trivial, grey, and shaded. When one had truly fought, experienced the fury of battle, one could see nothing else in the same light. When there was not this possibility of death or injury, there was no reality. Khalsin rubbed the back of his neck as he thought; realizing out of the fray he did little but think to himself. The dreamy state of peace outside the "arena" provided room only for self reflection. Boredom became a haunting friend that simply would not leave. It was capable of both manifesting on its own and, even worse, enlarging itself into a miserable emotion. Huffing softly at the prospect, Khalsin shifted his weight to the other side, looking about the area in a desperate attempt to distract himself.

The two pilots stood at a street corner in Romeo city, facing a large booth with the ZBC insignia printed across its back. The screen itself housed a stern frame within it, the head and shoulders of a Commission official, the man's austere features barely shifting during his quick bursts of bland speech, but rather remaining tense and almost robotic. A pair of high cheekbones and a smooth, almost indistinguishable jaw were all that could be discerned of skin below a large, opaque white visor which surrounded the mans head in an almost turban-like fashion. Khalsin found he recognized this style of almost angelic whiteness to be characteristic of the ZBC robotic judges and their capsules as well. The repetitive and insipid tones of white and the man's voice forced him to look elsewhere, seeking some form of entertainment to end his suffering.

Khalsin briefly eyed the surrounding buildings and streets, mottled with zoids and various palm trees, letting his mind wander a moment at the beauty of Romeo city. It was hardly a city at all, in his mind, but a beautiful utopian metropolis; a paradise. Zoid pilots frequented the area, interesting machines were in no shortage. Even now as his partner continued to absorb the dawdling, monotonous droning of the registration official, a pair of scarlet Heldigunner lumbered past, the long, beautiful forms of the unusual zoids undulating with their smooth movements, thick plates of armor shifting with each motion of a stubby leg, clawed feet scraping the metallic pavement as they sauntered along. The lizards themselves slid by uneventfully, huge blaster cannons swaying on their backs, the sound of their thudding metallic feet gradually fading into the distance. Khalsin shook his head suddenly, his spiked hair shifting as he tried to rid himself of his mind's evanescent musings. He was part of the team; it was his job to register as well. Khalsin forced himself to stare forward at the vidscreen before his partner, and at least attempt to take a more active role in the proceedings.

"How long has your team been together as a functioning group of members?" inquired the demanding voice of the official, the man gazing out from behind a white visor suspended by a matching helmet, the rest of his intricate ivory garb awash in the glowing white background behind him.

Khalsin quirked one flared violet brow, jerking his chin forward slightly as he leaned the large bamboo shaft of his pole against his shoulder, smiling a bit and shifting his ratty grey tennis shoes on the dirty cobblestone beneath him. "Just a bit less than a d-" he found himself abruptly cut off by a sudden glare from the taller woman, the thief shaking her head slightly. She cleared her throat, ice cold eyes smoldering against the harsh glow of the angelic and pristinely white holoscreen. "Just a bit less than two months now." The young pilot bit his lip slightly, bouncing the bamboo staff against his shoulder, feeling the gentle contact of the wood as he tried to recover from the woman's stare. He obviously had little place in the discussion, yet was urgent for the time to pass more swiftly at any cost. The sound of the man's voice came again, breaking his frantic thoughts with little trouble.

"Alright, and your team's requested name?" This he could answer.

"The Scrapper Team," Khalsin announced proudly, a slight grin shifting across his stony features and tempting a line of dimples to appear along his cheeks. He could hear a soft grunt of approval from his companion, a nearly inaudible noise that had barely brushed his ear before it had ended, making him almost wonder if he had heard it in the first place.

"Very well," continued the official, a strange air of authority and judgment about him, something straddling the line between arrogance and an austere sense of duty. Either that, Khalsin thought to himself, or a nasal problem. "You'll have to bring your zoids by for a closer inspection… especially the uh….Emperor Crab. That model isn't listed on our database; custom models require a great deal of verification. Anyway. We'll see if you meet proper regulations. You can get your Zoids inspected at the ZBC outpost in San Pireas. Should you pass inspection, welcome to the Zoids Battle Federation League C."

Khalsin felt a rush of excitement flow through him, causing that underlying bolt of ferocity within him to flourish in a burst of energy, his yearning for battle becoming almost unbearable. He gave a soft nod, the passion within him holding his voice back, as if clinging to it with clenched fists of restraint. The pilot could feel his own fists trembling as they clenched around his fishing pole, his excitement at the threshold of uncontrollable. Tolei, luckily, spoke for him, seeing the awkward excitement dancing in his grey eyes.

"Thank you, director." The woman muttered, though her ice cold eyes were concentrated on the male beside her, locked on his slender form. The telescreen quietly clicked off, the white figure being replaced with a deep blue screen, the white emblem of the Zoids Battle Commission emblazoned in its center, the letters "ZBC" separated beneath it by a pair of oversized periods.

Khalsin cleared his throat theatrically for a moment, turning towards his partner and quirking one flared brow, hoisting the bamboo staff to rest casually against his shoulder. "Back to San Pireas then, huh?"

The woman gave a husky laugh, nodding as she exhaled slowly from the tension of talking with the official. She rubbed her forearms briefly, tightening the armored gauntlets around her fingers and groping firmly at he air to tighten them about her fingers. "Can't stand talking to those officials, you're doing that once we get to the station. I'm done with those hardasses…Christ. Don't give you a bit of slack. You owe me one for all the shit I made up right there."

Khalsin's dimpled grin came again at this, the pilot already slowly walking towards his Zoid in an idle fashion, unable to control his eagerness to depart. He turned back towards her a moment while his shoulders shook briefly with a breathy chuckle; grey eyes shifting briefly over to her. He seemed awkwardly tense, as if incredibly eager to get going, though he tried to cover his quiet, almost underlying and addictive urgency with a relaxed and extraneous shrug of the shoulders. "Sure," he said, still backing towards the huge, deep-red zoid behind him, the crustacean juggernaut towering over the few other zoids seated on the pavement. "I'll talk to them next time, but lets concentrate on getting there first, I mean, I've never seen anyone so slow."

Tolei scoffed at the prospect, the thief turning on the heel of her heavy tech boot and patting the blaster strapped around her thigh. "Christ, boy, you'd better watch what you say." She jaunted coyly, a wry grin perking up her black lips, a dark swath of hair overshadowing the right side of her face. "I might just get a little target practice…"

The younger boy started slightly before playfully shaking his heavy staff in her direction, a white-and-red bobber bouncing quietly at its end. "Hey, save it for the battle, hot-shot."

Tolei stifled a chuckle and let out a snort then marched off towards her gun sniper, her chilling gaze bouncing suddenly from her partner's jocular stare to the glowing orange visor of her zoid. The saurian machine stood quietly tensed, its mouth slightly open as it awaited its pilot; its bright orange markings appearing more blatant when drowned in the azure background of a deep blue command wolf at its left. The startling canine zoid stood by with a pair of light photon rifles mounted on its back, its light armor plating well polished and glossy. The two photon cannons pointed forward from a rectangular turret, their barrels hovering just a few feet back from the wolf's tented, angular ears. Shifting her gaze downwards, Tolei could see the Command Wolf's lightweight armor plating covering its nimble legs, still finely polished and painstakingly buffed; obviously a cherished and pampered zoid. Atop one large, cobalt shoulder plate lay a man in a flamboyant trenchcoat of a nearly equal color. The two split, diamond-shaped tails of the cloak trailed down to the back of his knees, contrasting a ragged pair of black pants and a two deep brown leather boots. The periwinkle coat cut off at the shoulders, displaying a pair of metallic, engraved rings coiled firmly around the pilot's biceps and contrasting fair skin. Tolei's gaze idly glided its way towards his face, before the bandit started quietly and looked away, an angry scarlet blush emblazoned across her features as the man's mahogany gaze was locked firmly on hers.

Raising one black-gloved hand, the mercenary jerked his head towards her, a calm and barely detectable grin moving across his thin lips. "Like what you see, cupcake?" His soft, haughty tones rang into the cool coastal breeze of the city with a clear and bombastic annunciation, yet also bore some miniscule idiosyncrasy which tweaked a thread of recognition at the back of her mind. The bandit glanced up at the pilot for a moment, her chilling gaze taking in the man's slender face and shoulder length, sandy brown hair, neatly settled about his neck. "…Hunter?" she muttered, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. "Ah!" came the man's caustic sarcasm in a wave of mock-excitement, delicate eyebrows shifting upwards. "So she does know me." He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head calmly to one side, his dark brown eyes gaining a surreptitious sparkle of curiosity. "So what're you doing around here, Val? What brings you to the fair winds of Romeo city?"

Tolei stuttered a moment at the question, turning almost white with fear as she struggled fabricate an explanation to cover up the darker events which had occurred since their last meeting, nearly five years ago. "Well I'm…" Tolei clawed through her mind for a solution, a rational cause to be in the area. She could feel the answer biting at the tip of her tongue, as cold beads of sweat formed along her browline. It was there, yet somehow she couldn't put her finger on it. Thousandths of a second passed like long, agonizing hours while the events of the last two days rocketed at her like a speeding eighteen wheeler. The woman the rigid fear within her suddenly wiped away with sudden, cool confidence. Wham; she thought. Struck. "I'm just joining up with the ZBC actually…becoming a zoid pilot." She exhaled quietly in relief, realizing for once that she no longer had to lie. Such fabrication had become a reflex, furiously imprinted into her brain by year after year of practiced. Tolei bit her lip at the thought; she had become an seasoned liar. Eyeing her old friend, Tolei tried to tune into his words, still shocked from her brief mental lapse. The abrupt solution was so unexpected it seemed an even greater relief than the prospect of honesty with which it had come.

Brad, previously recumbent atop his zoid sat up in surprise, heavy brows rising up in one fluid movement, his face a picture of feigned shock, hands shifting smoothly to his knees. "Valentine! A zoid pilot! Whatever happened to 'that's not for me'!" Hunter's grin seemed to widen at the prospect of his old friend in such a profession, before recalling his own good fortune and raising his chin towards her a moment. "'ve you got a team? I'm well along in that profession myself. I finally found a team and decided to settle with them.."

Tolei haughtily crossed her arms over her chest, the woman tapping one glistening chrome tech boot at the pavement as she leaned back against one sturdy metallic leg of the Dusk sniper. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Big change, huh? I guess I sort of had a… change of heart, that's all." The woman ran her lower lip through her teeth nervously, resisting the clawing thoughts which brought back that ominous past which loomed above her, seeming to gnash its teeth in anticipation of its every opportunity to haunt her. She quickly strove to answer his second question, trying to force the memories from her mind once again. "Yeah, I've got a team, too. We're a duo for now. Just talked to an official and now we're goin' to get our Zoids registered… I cant believe how much crap we have to go through just to do some fighting." her brow twitched in annoyance at the prospect of all the paperwork to come, the bandit shaking her head softly.

A soft smirk seemed to penetrate the man's solid features, his eyes narrowing. "I know the feeling; I'm up here to grab some reward credits for the Blitz team's latest win, then I'm headed back to the hover cargo." "Blitz team?" mocked the bandit below him, chuckling as an overhanging lock of her dark hair bounced slightly before her eyes. "Didn't know you pansies were playing football." The mercenary slid quickly off the shoulder of his zoid, landing firmly on his feet and shrugging passively. "I didn't make the name; it was the boss's choice. ..Hey, I bet it's a damn lot better than yours.."

Tolei grunted in protest, raising an arm and playfully flexing it, two small plates of purple metallic armor gently clicking together as she winked proudly. "No one beats the Scrapper team. Soon-to-be Class C champs."

Hunter's surreptitious grin came again, the male nodding as he slipped his hands into his pockets, his hushed voice sounding again. "Good luck to you guys, then." He glanced over at the ZBC headquarters behind him, his brown eyes briefly scanning over the huge white complex. He soon looked back towards his compatriot, giving a terse nod. "Listen, I'll catch you later. That prize money's calling my name." Turning on the heel of one tall boot, the mercenary walked off quietly, the pointed tails of his sleeveless blue coat swaying quietly in his wake. The woman smiled and nodded in concordance, her frigid gaze watching him saunter off before moving abruptly upwards. She started as a hulking crimson form immediately blocked the sun from her view, her partner's gargantuan crustacean war machine facing her with its single, boomerang-shaped purple eye, a wide visor though which its pilot surveyed his surroundings.

The bandit scowled at the huge, intimidating machine, quickly climbing one powerful leg of her zoid. She huffed quietly at the sound of a loud, ringing tone from inside the zoid, an alarm alerting her of an incoming hail. The pilot pried open the orange cockpit visor of her zoid, climbing inside and seating herself in a comfortable black chair, feeling a semicircular headrest instantly conform against the back of her skull. The woman's hands slipped easily around the smooth reddish joysticks at either side of her chair, feeling her zoid suddenly roar to life beneath her. The visor shut, as statistics flickered quietly across its transparent orange surface, along with a small square screen depicting the face of an irate Khalsin. The younger man seemed distracted, having lost interest in his previous hail, staring intensely through the broad violet visor of the Emperor crab while he impatiently awaited her response. The interior of the cockpit could barely be seen around him, the soft glow of a few circular, bluish lights casting their soft radiance across the man's pale features. Tolei chuckled a bit, running her fingers through her hair as her zoid began to gradually creep forward, its tail waving from side to side as it awoke from its groggy slumber. The woman quickly looked up to the vidscreen, delighted and eager to break the silence with a frustrated growl.

"I cant stand these bastards. We have to –register! Why can't we just duke it out already? I'm itching to do some scrapping." Tolei folded her arms behind her head as her zoid bounced impatiently on its feet, seeming to share the sentiment. Tolei wrenched her jaw softly, her cold eyes shifting back to the vidscreen as she studied the pilot's features. The man's lupine grey eyes glanced towards her a moment as he shook his head, his strange, spiked hair waggling comically along with the movement. "I know what you mean, its goddamn ridiculous." The pilot squinted one eye a little, before chuckling and looking in her direction again, a wry grin spreading dimples over his sharp features. "We got more action from the backdraft…maybe we should just head back there?"

Tolei forced a smile, nervously glancing down at her controls a moment, her hands fidgeting idly with their reddish joysticks as she cleared her throat. "Heh… y-yeah…" she stuttered, her voice wavering fearfully, before trailing off into an uncomfortable silence. She closed her eyes for a moment, glancing off to the side as the eerie hiatus in speech sank like a dark and foreboding blanket over the two. Khalsin could be seen with an increasing look of concern contaminating his usually stonelike features, the pilot's flared violet eyebrows drawing downwards. "…Hey, what is it with you and the Backdraft? I wouldn't think a bandit to get this upset about a single theft-job. What's the deal? Is there something you're not telling me?"

The woman tried to speak, yet no sound passed her scarlet lips as they strained for speech. She bit her lip and looked down, a long, hooked lock of ebon hair shrouding her features. She finally looked up again; her eyes having melted into soft, teary pools of deep sadness, the woman's lips quivering. "Nothing…I just…don't worry about it. It's a... a long story…" the woman set her jaw quietly, letting her gaze sink to one gloved hand as she struggled to look busy while tightening the armor-plated gauntlet, her fingers groping mercilessly at the air to tighten it's vinyl black skin to a more snug fit. At the same time, she thought, her mind groped for some way out, some scrap of dignity or credibility to hold above herself like a shield. The woman stared into the palm of her hand, her chest rising and falling irregularly as she struggled to contain her tears. Her partner's eyes widened a moment, his right eye twitching nervously as he swallowed at the presence of another awkward pause, bowing his head quietly and deactivating the vidscreen.

The screen dissipated with a soft, whirring click, leaving the woman in silence. She took a deep breath, before returning both her hands to their joysticks, lifting one again for a moment to wipe her eyes. Tolei shook her head softly as she leaned the smooth, metallic controls forward, feeling the electric bounce of her saurian killing machine's nimble steps. The zoid's head, also the cockpit, leaned forward and sunk slightly as the raptor entered a more suitable and natural posture for walking, its clawed feet moving slowly beneath it. Each step was accompanied with a loud, solid thud, the sound of its heavily endowed feet as they struck pavement. The woman's fists tightened around the controls, causing the black material of her gauntlets to creak in abject protest. The waves of intermittent discussion had caused a massive wave of tension to flow over the duo as they prepared to leave the city, considerably bewildering them both. She hated the emotions that had come fourth so soon, she hated what she had done to herself, and what she had done to others. Her past wouldn't leave. How long could she go on like this? She had to move on, to forgive and forget. It was long ago and behind her now.

The woman took a deep, preparatory breath and hailed her partner by flicking a small switch, watching as the vidscreen instantly popped up before her. She could see her companion's gargantuan crab lumbering up ahead, the zoid's heavy claws tucked in near its mouth as it moved in a leisurely, lateral scuttle.. The pilot looked up at her quietly, raising one oddly shaped eyebrow. "Yeah?" came his unnaturally instant and concise reply, his jaw nervously clenched.

She narrowed her eyes after a moment of what she hoped appeared to be thought, turning her head to look at the slender pilot as he nimbly manipulated his controls, the massive zoid eagerly complying with his instructions and scuttling its way down the wide, concrete city street. Looking back to her partner's expectant eyes, the woman's eyebrows drew downwards in question. "Hey, how're we getting back to San Pireas anyhow? I'm not really sure of the way."

"Oh, I take it you aren't from around there. No problem, I've been around the area, and I know a few paths we might be able to take. That aside, we'll just have to wing it with my beach sense, you know, stay level with the shoreline… I'm still not used to going on land."

Tolei quirked at his leisurely reply as she leaned the dual reddish joysticks forward, feeling the lithe form of her raptor move beneath her, its head bobbing alertly as it trotted in tow with its larger compatriot. The woman shrugged, before a playful and idealistic grin played across her darkly shaded lips. "What do you say we do a little beach hopping, then? I'm sure we could go port-to-port and get there pretty fast." she smirked, chuckling at her own brainchild conclusion, her snowflake irises transitioning smoothly to settle on her more ardent companion.

Entering a bustling intersection, Khalsin gave a firm nod as he quickly transitioned the crab to move outwards towards the coast, his hand jerkily yanking the controls to the left. The quick shift in direction triggered an outburst of chaos, as a few oncoming zoids stopped dead in their tracks, skidding to a halt to avoid the irrational movements of the tanklike walker. Khalsin completely ignored the yellow shield liger and its irate pilot as he was repeatedly hailed, his excitement growing by the moment while his zoid plummeted down a smaller sidestreet towards the Romeo City Harbor."…Beautiful, I didn't even consider that. We could make it to San Pireas in a couple of hours, no less. Beach hopping it is, then." The pilot bobbed his head in earnest praise, tilting his head to one side as he watched a projection of the area to his zoid's right side, using this as a windshield to cope with his zoid's unusual movement patterns.

The bandit quickly gave a lighthearted "peace" sign with her fingerless-gloved hand, urging the raptor to quickly slip through the consternation her partner's larger zoid had wrought amongst the other traveling machines, the nimble gun sniper galloping its way through a mess of parked zoids. She chuckled as she increased her velocity to catch up to the scuttling behemoth, shaking her head at the wreckless zeal of her associate. The man's excitement had easily gotten the best of him. The feeling was mutual, she thought to herself. A new life, a new start, was a truly great thing.

Peering vigilantly out through the transparent cockpit window of the zoid, she studied a view of Romeo city through the eyes of her android as it traveled swiftly past. There was a cluster of high buildings, no skyscrapers, yet, though there did appear various houses, shops, hotels, and even a zoid parts shop she had insisted upon visiting before contacting the ZBC official. Not a particularly fruitful expedition, she bluntly recalled, as the store was simply a junk shop of worthless everyday parts. It was variety that she sought, rare weaponry. Tolei gave an inward shudder at the origins of her two more notable weapons, the 30MM Vulcan and the MKII rifle. These glittering prizes paid grim witness to the strife and horror of her old life, bearing testament to what she had once been and done. There was no pride here, only haunting memories.

Tolei forcefully urged the nervous thoughts from her mind, a feeling like shutting a door in the face of an angry pursuer. Her old life was over now. It was time to move on, to start anew, to redefine who she was. The woman swallowed quietly as her surroundings seemed to swirl back in around her, the light scent of the nearby ocean drifting into her nostrils along with the oily yet comforting scent of heavy machinery. The harbor had just come into sight, a small cabana-style building with a long concrete dock stretching outwards into the endless blue abyss of the eastern ocean. Tolei narrowed her eyes slightly as she cleared her throat, gently releasing her pressure on the joysticks and feeling an achy tingling spread up her wrists. The woman wiggled her fingers quietly, suddenly realizing that her hands had been tensed fast in an unconscious effort to restrain her emotions. The woman made a sour face, glancing back out at her new surroundings, seeing the Emperor Crab come to a gradual stop, obviously in awe of the same sight.

A few palm trees surrounded a strange lot for zoids, located directly behind the "Romeo City Pier", a squat building covered in seagull-dung, still obviously frequented by the winged vermin, who swiftly cut through the air with their powerful wings and echoing cries.

The slow, tidy and light footsteps of the raptor began again as it walked smoothly past several other interesting zoids, a gleaming black gordos, a dull yellow pteras, and of course, the strikingly unusual design of her comrade's zoid. Tol ei raised an eyebrow, her penetrating, cold gaze idly studying the enormous craft. She had never before seen such a model, an ingeniously created ground-based gunner; modeled specifically after a crab. The majestic zoid was quiet large and squat, obviously maneuverable and stable, making it ideal for precise gunning, yet speedy in a lateral direction; designed for utter perfection in strafing. The crest at its front cropped upwards like a decorative mark atop a Samurai's kabuto, an intriguing feature on an already mysterious zoid. Where had it come from? She had seen the two of them fight before. They looked as if they were meant for one another, as though they had been together a very long time; fighting, almost, as one. The boy's mysterious origins were interesting, though incredibly distracting, she now noticed, realizing she had been ignoring repeated hails from her partner's vidscreen.

Tolei flipped a small metallic switch off to her left, glancing up at the hovering, projected panel which appeared before her. Khalsin cocked his head a little, running one hand back through his spiked, deep-violet hair. The pilot smiled as a pair of flared brows quirked upwards, his distinctively loud voice sounding. "Right then. This is the harbor. Not a bad place, hm? They've got great home fries there." The young pilot paused awkwardly a moment, his hyperactive zeal instantly overriding any sliver of appreciation he had once had for the area. A light of excitement danced in his smokey, lupine eyes, lighting up his sharp features. "How about we hit the beach? I'm itching for that first match."

Khalsin kept his eye on the projected first-person view of his crab's path before him, nodding without a word. He had become immersed already in desire to depart. The huge crab neatly overran a small banister separating the beach from the zoid lot, its heavily armored, multi-jointed legs carrying its squat form smoothly over any obstacles. The scarlet, armored crab continued without pause, lumbering its way down towards the sandy dunes. The huge, crimson zoid seemed, if anything, at home on these huge, endless waves of white sand, its eight legs maneuvering it cleanly and precisely parallel to the heavy banks of thick beachgrass. His partner's gun sniper followed curiously at his rear, the lightweight machine jogging along behind it, the pair of large firearms mounted on either side of its back bouncing along with its segmented tail, jarred by each springy stride. The reptilian predator seemed uncannily graceful in its movements, its mechanics absolutely identical to that of an actual raptor; each smooth step incredibly natural and balanced, somehow not deterred by the pair of massive guns mounted on its back.

Their heightened pace set, the two started off towards San Pireas, an awkward convoy of strikingly different zoids and pilots. Khalsin set his jaw habitually, a thick band of muscle bulging slightly just behind one high cheekbone, the fisherman glancing off into the distance using the zoid's projected "windshield". He calmly scratched his chin before looking to another hovering, semitransparent panel to his left. Tolei's face turned suddenly towards him, the woman's snowflake eyes expectantly locking on his. Khalsin promptly spoke, his eloquent annunciation ringing out in the dull tones of his voice. "Do you see that little outcropping in the distance?"

Tolei blinked in confusion, squinting with immense concentration on the vermillion-tinted horizon in the distance, trying to discern what her partner had indicated, yet seeing nothing. She shook her head quietly, a hooked lock of ebon hair swinging in tandem, just in front of her right eye. Tolei swept her frosted stare over a few large, rocky bulges in the distance, appearing at her distance as a cluster of tiny black specks. "No… I don't think so.."

Her partner raised one flared brow, looking back as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, swaying quietly in the smooth, curvaceous form of his cockpit seat, moving with the gradual rocking motion of the dunes. He pointed one finger, more for himself than for her, towards a tiny grayish imperfection in the endless sandy shoreline, tilting his head to one side to better judge the distance. His grey eyes narrowed suddenly, while he seemed to wrench his sharp jaw in idle concentration. "Look down past that… sort of cliff formation…you should be able to see the white of the waves crashing against the outcropping."

Tolei paused a moment, before nodding quietly. "Yeah…I see it…" she muttered, before her clenched features burst into an excited grin. The pilot jerked her dual joysticks forward suddenly, causing her raptor burst into a sudden gallop, overtaking the squat emperor crab and moving past it, kicking up a spray of sand with every fleeting saurian footfall. "Alright, lets speed this up! Going this slow that'll take forever!"

"Hey!" cried her partner as his armored behemoth fell abruptly behind, its bulkier form easily outraced. "Slow down!"

The bandit's gruff laughter echoed through his cockpit as her zoid raced off ahead of him, the fisherman growling as he urged his zoid on, struggling to keep up; its massive, crimson frame gradually lagging behind. The slender frame of the raptor danced gracefully off ahead of him, its powerful legs working vigorously beneath it. Khalsin smirked quietly as the two raced down the beach; finding an interesting contrast between their hurried and enthusiastic venture and his last melancholy stroll down the very same beach. Had so much really changed? The fisherman's grin only widened at this, his smokey grey eyes sparking. Yes, yes they had. He could feel the same ferocious electricity burning within him, that pillar of red lightning, of sheer zealous rage toward success. As he had before, he would heed its call. This was their time.

-

Pytch scowled quietly through the neon titian windshield visor of the Stonehammer as black, thick soil constantly streamed by. A few whitish, mundane lights threw an irritatingly bright and raw light about the cockpit, illuminating the pilot and his controls. The burly man sat nearly recumbent in the ratty brown cockpit seat, its fabric lining badly frayed and ripped in places. The cockpit itself was relatively unkempt, perilously disorganized from the constant and frenetic use of the machine. A pair of tarnished, once silver joysticks accompanied a narrow control module, littered with various switches and buttons of various colors, a few digital indicators flickering intermittently as statistics blinked across them. The small, trapezoidal cockpit was littered with empty cans of Dr. Pepper, the deep burgundy capsules strewn about the place with the frequency and placement of leaves in a forest.

The man took a labored swig from another cinnabar can, grunting softly as he downed its contents in moments. The upper part of the pilot's face was hidden by a gleaming, white visor, the opaque device bereft of features save a wide, horizontal black groove in its center and a blinking green light in its upper right corner. This elongated lens expanded and contracted with the movements of the two whitish slabs of heavy plastic at its top and bottom. A dirty, faded white cap sat backwards upon his skull, a flood of messy brown hair following its tattered brim down the back of a heavyset neck.

Pytch shook his head in boredom as he stared forward at the earth churning and heaving around his zoid, the serpent's rapid tunneling allowing for swift and covert travel during his regular, self-appointed "patrols" of the area. Aimlessly tossing the drained Dr. Pepper over one shoulder, the man straightened a bit in his seat, leaning forward as the seemingly ancient chair creaked its displeasure beneath him. The cockpit was eerily silent under the earth, drowned out by the rushing, dull hum of the soft soil brushing by, and the occasional heavy thuds of a rock or boulder colliding with the fuselage. An odd calm settled over him and his zoid, the same as it always did twenty meters beneath the surface. There was something about the sound of millions of tons of silt rushing by that made the mind wander. This inane roar gave this travel an irritating tediousness, but its speed and lack of rival traffic made it essential. Still, he thought, purging the land of evil had never been quite so boring.

Shifting his head a little, the pilot cast his gaze to a hovering cyan screen, the ghostly display bobbing slowly up and down off to his left, a spectral panel depicting a 3D image of the Stonehammer viper, the serpent rotating slowly to give a full view of its unique structure from all sides. "Stonehammer Viper" flashed quietly at the top of the screen, while scattered statistics flitted rapidly beneath the image in a monotonous, glowing white text.

Suddenly, the muffled roar of thick silt grinding against the zoid's powerful armor disappeared with a soft, airy whoosh. It's peculiar hum was replaced with a peaceful rushing, almost like that of water, a gentle and relaxing sound of a substance near liquid flowing. The pilot glanced upwards in surprise, the dull visor hiding an alarmed and curious gaze. Where once murky soil rushed past, a sea of undulating, stark white sand flowed about the zoid, aridly dry yet fluid in nature.

Pytch dragged the pair of ragged silver joysticks back towards himself, as the burrowing serpent suddenly lurched upwards, the soft groan of its powerful and muscled body straining against the sand resonating through the cockpit. A soft, airy tone sounded from the control panel, as the word "ascending" flickered in stenciled white letters across the cyan display panel. Within moments, the swirling vortex of pallid sand disappeared, bringing on a rushing glare of intense sunlight. The scintillating and sudden brightness of the beach surface blinded the man for a second, as the broad black gap running horizontally through the center of the visor closing to a narrow slit.

The beach spread out before him, slightly tinted by the bright orange shading of the cockpit window, a wide and beautiful expanse of glimmering sand; littered aimlessly with seashells, yet clear of any unsightly flotsam. The two whitish halves of the visor opened and closed gradually with a muffled, mechanical whirr, adjusting to the variant levels of sunlight while the pilot stared in stupefied awe at the nuance of nature's beauty appearing before him. Waves crashed lethargically against the beach, a calm, heavenly scene as compared to the raging storm which had ravaged the area the night before. Pytch busily shifted the controls as the serpent glided smoothly and gracefully down the beach, the elongated android moving like a sidewinder, its undulating movements casting it gradually through the sand in a lateral fashion, its wide, intimidating hood casting a deep black shadow over the space beneath it.

Hazel eyes eagerly scanning the beach, the pilot continued along the massive sand-bars while a small turquoise cross shifted about in his vision, in line with his gaze. The visor, attached to a pair of metallic circuits pressed into his temples, locked its scanning mechanism in sync with his gaze, its crosshairs in perfect concordance with his pupils. Sweeping his stare along the sparkling beaches, the pilot scratched his chin, disturbing some overgrown stubble from a scattered and awkward resting place atop his rounded chin.

Pytch started in both surprise and excitement as he sighted a sudden imperfection in the sand; tall, jagged rocks jutting sharply up at a skewed, diagonal slant. The dark rocks contrasted their white surroundings with an eerie chiaroscuro effect, instantly attracting his attention. The bluish crosshairs locked firmly on the rocks, before suddenly turning a bright red, blinking crisply. Pytch scowled in concern, dark shadows forming around the man's pallid lips. The reticule blinked several times, text slowly appearing near the bottom of his line of sight. "Zoid core signature detected. Zoid Model: Unidentified. Registration #: Unidentified."

Just below this, another line of text appeared. "Heat signature detected." Pytch's eyes widened in terror as he neared the rocks, finding many of them to be badly crumbled, the tall stone monument riddled with scorched holes, as well as several long paths of disturbing grooves dug into them, presumably by claws. The scratch marks were deep and scattered, as if some desperate and gargantuan beast had fled in terror up the side of this rocky giant. The Stonehammer viper gradually slowed to a halt, gliding along the sand as it neared its destination, its pilot more and more horrified as he viewed the shattered, gigantic outcropping.

The pilot's hazel eyes stared in terrified shock as he looked over the battered stone, astonished at the depth and frantic distribution of the many raking scars along its granite bulk. Such fear, such exigency, such frenzied panic was visible there that he could not help but shudder at what must have come to pass. The small target reticule hovered against the rocks as his gaze failed to waver from their horrifying mutilation, the zoid now settled at the base of the formation, its broad hood, decorated with a pair of long, bright green triangles, hovering ominously over a pile of crushed stone beneath it.

The cyan cross in his vision blinked red suddenly, more text flitting across the lower half of his vision, this time blinking several times; the text glowing blatantly. "Unusual Heat signature confirmed. Switch to Infared setting." Pytch scowled as he felt a chill run down his spine, the man's hands going cold. A heat signature? Life. A victim.

He quietly reached one hand up near his temple, twisting a small dial located on the visor just beneath it. The circular indent rotated a single degree, before clicking softly into place.

The man's vision was flushed suddenly with a descending wall of blue, which gradually overlapped the beach. What was once a full color, precise and clear environment had been swathed in sloppy color with few visions, a dim outline surrounding each object as it had been for. A bright rainbow of neon colors indicated heat sources in the area; a color-coded presentation of any heat source in the vicinity. The bewildering display took a moment to focus, its texture considerably more grainy than its previous setting. The white sand had become a green layer of scorched earth, radiating heat showered down from the merciless sun. Glancing down at his hands, orange-and red layered silhouettes of what they really were, glowing quietly as they wrapped around a pair of emerald joysticks, heated slightly from their contact with his body. Pytch looked up the rocks, deep red with the heat gathered from the sun, eyeing an orange shape which lay atop them. The shape lay motionless, oddly distorted and twisted beyond recognition. Was this glowing, blurry object a man? Pytch could feel the hair on the back of his neck slowly rising, a tingling sensation of terror and excitement trickling down his spine, setting off a prickling numbness in his extremities. He had searched for crime, and had found it at its worst.

Pytch rushed suddenly to his feet, wrenching his jaw nervously as he reached to his temple, setting his visor back to its normal setting. The bewildering nuance of heat-signatures and bright colors dissipated instantly, replaced with the more familiar, full color view of the dull, cluttered interior of his zoid. The man's heavy auburn boots kicked aside and crushed the scattered cans of Dr. Pepper as he paced quickly to the rear wall of the cockpit, hastily snatching the glossy black shape of a SPAS-12 shotgun from a small rack on which it had been mounted. Gripping the long weapon by its top in one beefy hand, he punched a small red button near the control console, gruffly yanking back the firearm's extendable stock to snugly press against his shoulder. The dull, smokey gloss of the weapon held a threatening tone as it glinted softly in the dim light of the cockpit, its dual barrels extending downward perhaps three feet towards the ground.

Rising slowly to an upright position, the cockpit windshield emitted a low hum as it cleared its pilots exit. Holding the gun's thick stock firmly against his shoulder with one hand clenched firmly around its handle, Pytch placed one palm on the edge of the cockpit wall, quickly swinging his bulky form over the edge and towards the ground.

With a single, loud thud, the heavy man landed on both feet, his bulky brown boots mercilessly striking the white sand. A heavy pair of deep greenish-blue cargo pants wrinkled messily about the boots, the left pantleg crammed forcefully inside one boot, the other sloppily dangling out as its round brim covered the entirety of a complicated web of laces. The loose pants were riddled with pockets of almost every size imaginable, mounted at seemingly random locations about the man's legs. A black fleece jacket hung open, held asunder by the man's broad shoulders, its collar standing erect at either side of a solid neck. The parted ebon jacket revealed a deep turquoise t-shirt, a stark white shield emblem inscribed across the chest, a pair of familiar inverted green triangles placed inside it. The surrounding jacket's sleeves had been crammed forcefully up past the elbows, bulkily crumpled up to provide space for a pair of massive black leather gloves. These thick, armored gauntlets were studded with tiny metallic disks, glinting sharply in the area's intense sunlight.

With a loud, ominous crack, the heavy black shotgun cocked, its grooved gunstock shifting as it locked a pair of massive shells into place. The man's heavy gloves creaked as they tightened around the gun's solid metal frame, tightly clenched in preparation. Pytch quickly slung the huge rifle up against one shoulder, supporting its great metallic bulk there as he began to quickly scale the rocks, using one free hand to continue his ascent.

The pilot scowled as he stood on a large boulder nearly halfway up the slaughtered rock formation, gently stroking the gauntleted fingers of his free hand down a thick, jagged groove left behind by the same enormous claws, still in awe at what could have caused such destruction; even more at what would cause a pilot to try something so insane. Before its imminent destruction, he could guess the formation had once been nearly vertical…the zoid's climb had clearly been a desperate one; a frenzied scramble for life. The man grunted as he heaved himself up along the rock, thick, round eyebrows furrowing just above a watery hazel stare. The man reached upwards, before his gauntleted hands clasped around a jagged edge on its top, using this hold to hoist his body upwards. He rose jerkily onto the undamaged top of the monstrous rocks, gradually rising to his feet from one knee. Pytch gasped in horror at the slaughtered carcass before him, a black and charred mess of zoid parts, the hulking alloy frame of a grotesquely murdered zoid strewn viciously onto its side. From this massive wreckage, Pytch could barely discern the slaughtered corpse of a Sabre tiger. It's massive metallic frame was eviscerated almost beyond recognition, a grim and horrifying sight.

The great, feline zoid's head faced towards him, its shattered gaze eyeing him with haunting emptiness. One green eye was slightly intact, a large crack traversing its ovular panel. Where the other eye should have been, there was only a great, gaping charred hole, white translucent wiring dangling out in ragged strips. The creature's powerful jaw hung slack at once side, completely detached, the tiger's huge teeth warped and disfigured, bent in various directions due to a harsh impact with the ground. One massive foreleg lay broken in two on the ground, the same wiring scattered from between its severed joints. Twisted metal stuck out from gruesome gaps, from which limb after limb had been brutally torn. A monstrous dual photon cannon leaned awkwardly against the creature's collapsed fuselage, its thick, double barrels bent outwards at sharp angles. The zoid's torso was heavily scarred by deep, fatal claw wounds, which seemed to have torn straight through the predator's sturdy armor. What looked like massive, titanium ribs stood out from the tiger's side, giving it an uncanny similarity in appearance to desert carrion. A few curious seagulls could be seen perched like vultures along the series of thick, ominous ribs, the enormous black arches casting a horrific, clawlike shadow across the ground.

Pytch held the heavy shotgun by its stock, his fingers tightly clenched around it as he stood in awe of the wreckage. Slowly, he began to walk across the plateau of rock, making his way through the charred wreckage. As he approached the tiger's massive torso, the gathering of seagulls screeched hoarsely in protest at the intrusion, but retreated summarily with a few heavy flaps of a wing. The sound of the ocean washed through his ears, silent and distant during the low tide of late afternoon, adding a halcyon tone to this silent grave. The pilot wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm, knowing not whether it was from fear or the intensity of the setting sun. The small cyan reticule shifted quietly amongst the wreckage, scanning with astonished horror the destruction that had been wrought. Pytch allowed the torpid rush of the waves to calm his breathing, to wipe away the tingling dread which still clung along his spine. Just as he felt his muscles unraveling, the trembling horror of the moment beginning to fade, he heard a soft, nearly undetectable sound off to his right.

A hoarse, pitiful groan rose from the wreckage of the tiger's fuselage, followed by a series of faint, hoarse coughs. Pytch felt his fingers turn to stone around the SPAS-12, his eyes widening beneath the smooth, white visor. He quickly rushed over to the zoid's fuselage, his heavy boots crushing rubble beneath thick rubber treads. Moving beneath the massive tiger's ribs, he could see the tattered form of a man crumpled up against the long, metallic frame of a robotic spinal column.

The pilot of this wreckage was a bull of a man, a few inches taller than Pytch himself. His muscled form was oddly strewn on the ground like a ragdoll, his legs twisted slightly and sprawled out before him, contained in a pair of dark camouflage pants, stained black and glistening with blood. A powerful upper body was barely covered by a badly torn dress shirt, its color inconceivable due to the immense amount of gore obscuring its remaining scraps. The badly wounded man stared at the armed pilot looming before him, one eye closed tightly due to a massive, swollen purple bruise just above it. His remaining eye, a deep brown in color, watched the emotionless visor with a look of grim determination, the man's bluntly curved nose and heavyset jaw giving a stern look to his features. The man let out a labored, gurgling breath as some blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, his tan skin gaining a slowly paler hue.

Pytch moved quickly to the man in a state of horrified shock, moving almost woodenly as he kneeled down beside him, placing one gauntleted hand on his broad shoulder. "…I guess.. it wouldn't be a reasonable question to ask if you're alright…" came the voice of the younger pilot, a distant tone of revulsion failing to be hidden by the feeble attempt at humor. The wounded man stifled a laugh, before coughing heavily, the raking convulsions causing his entire form to quake, his shoulders rising and falling with each desperate breath. The single brown eye stared straight into the solid, black gap between the visor's halves, its raptor gaze penetrating the device, moving straight to Pytch's astonished hazel stare. His lips moved quietly, the man's jaw working vigorously beneath his skin as blood from his mouth became forcibly entangled in unshaven stubble about his chin. He struggled for words, though only hollow breath emerged. After a few moments, the man's voice broke the strained silence, emerging ragged and soft. "…so.. someone did find me…" he paused to cough heavily, the large man's heavy brow furrowing as he stared into the visor again. "it's good to have some company.. Dying alone can be such a chore… I've been at it for hours now. What's your name, kid…? Who was it that found me here..?"

Pytch swallowed quietly, struggling to hide the grief and sympathy in his voice. "Pytch Secave…"

The man did his best to feign a soft smile, snorting softly in approval. "Huh. An honor to meet you. My name's Ryke…Ryke Sanuko. Pilot of the Lightning." The man's smile widened into a grin, revealing his bloodstained teeth, his head still leaning lopsidedly against one of the Lightning's many titanium vertebrae.

Pytch was aghast at the man's seemingly calm demeanor at a time like this; his wry humor and such casual conversation at a time of imminent death displaying an incredible strength of both character and will. Unable to speak, he simply stood in silent mourning of his companion's approaching demise, a wavering gaze staring in awe through the ivory tech visor locked to his temples. To fill this emotional silence, the middled-aged pilot spoke again, his shoulders shifting slightly as he attempted to change his position, wincing in pain as a result.

Ryke's hoarse voice rang out again, a heavy undertone of rigid determination endowing it, yet the enfeeblement of his condition weighing upon it with a greater influence. "You…you a pilot, Mr. Secave..? Tell me about yourself.."

Pytch swallowed heavily, maintaining his kneeling position as he heaved a quivering sigh, before looking up, daring to meet the man's single auburn eye, confronted with a gaze of undeniable strength. Was this man serious? He seemed to take no thought in his last words, but to take the biggest pleasure from minor chit-chat with a youthful stranger. Pytch set his jaw before he spoke, nodding softly in response. He would honor this man in his death. His voice sounded clearly and concisely, falling with no small welcome upon the ears of a dying man. "I…I pilot a Stealth viper. Part of the ZBC federation. I fight with the Seraph team, League A."

The wounded man gave a hoarse chuckle, smiling at the prospect as he struggled for breath, his iron will forcing him to continue, placing immense effort in his struggle to speak. "A league… yes.. I spent time there when I was younger. Now I s…" he gave a heavy cough, a bead of black blood trickling down the side of his mouth, leaving a glimmering crimson trail amongst thick, brown stubble. "spend most my time as a mercenary…" he took time for a heavy, labored breath, the middle-aged man's head swaying slightly on his broad shoulders. "Three days ago, I was down south… I fought my first official battle in a long time there.. with a fisherman boy who frequented the spot. Always there, he was, from a young age. An orphan, I'd guess..I never really got to know him. Khalsin, that… was his name. Damn good pilot, that boy…" the man's voice trailed off as he was again forced to rest for air, his heavy chest rising and falling with a deep, echoing wheeze. He rose up slightly against his slaughtered zoid's spine, his functioning eye blinking slowly at his companion. "He was about your age… not a very big guy… but by golly he could fight... he wanted to become a zoid pilot in the ZBC federation. My lord, he was intense." The man's speech seemed erratic and slow, wayward at best. His mind was elsewhere, clearly, basking in old memories of the life he had lived. Without pause, he simple continued, though his younger companion listened eagerly. "Won his warshark off him in that fight; ruined me to see him so devastated. I crushed his dreams, you know?" he glanced up at the emotionless visor of the younger pilot, his clefted, jutting chin quivering. "Broke my heart. I had to take it, but I couldn't watch him crash and burn like that…."

Pytch stared at the man in respectful silence, bowing his head slightly as sweat beaded around the thick, elastic band of his filthy white baseball cap. He couldn't bring himself to respond to the man, couldn't find the words to tell him. How could he commit his own thoughts to be the last words heard by so honorable a warrior? Easing his helpless struggle once again, Ryke continued to speak.

"Say, Mr. Secave.. could you do me a favor..?" Pytch nodded quietly, a heavy, painful lump rising in his throat, locking out any sound. "Could you get the kid's warshark back to him…? Its.. its at the San Pireas harbor. T-tell the harbormaster that I sent you, he'll let you at it." Pytch bobbed his head again, his voice managing to squeak past the sadness that strangled his vocal chords. "Yes sir, without a doubt. I'll do it…"

Pytch met the man's gaze for only a moment longer, before looking away, unable to bear the tremendous tragedy of this warrior's passing. Staring at a heavy chunk of metal to the man's side, his original thoughts of shock and curiosity began to creep back into his mind. He spoke again. "Ryke…"

The mercenary gave another throaty cough, his bulky form quaking with its tremendous strain. "Yeah..?" Pytch's round, thick brows drew downward as he forced himself to look at his companions massacred body, taking in the blood, the honor, the strength and sheer will in those eyes. "What.. what happened to you…"

Ryke sighed heavily, his head lolling gradually backwards as he casts his rusted-iron stare towards the blue sky, watching the puffy white clouds drift by in cheerful ignorance. "I knew you'd ask that question, Mr. Secave," he began, swallowing dramatically as his neck undulated convulsively with the movement. "One thing you must learn in life… if you don't learn anything else, is that everyone has a time, and when it comes, it comes…" he paused again for breath, his mouth hanging open as he gulped down the fresh sea breeze, bringing it by the lungful with him to the grave. "A warrior, good or bad, will meet his fate on the battlefield. If he is lucky. I was this fortunate. One must spend his life fighting against the foes that haunt him. You cannot run from evil. You must fight it, win or lose, to the death. My evil caught up with me, I guess you could say…"

The younger pilot found himself enthralled by the man's words, unable to speak as he at his bloodsplattered face, hanging tenuously on the edge of every word as it emerged, his mind savoring every moment that remained of this new acquaintance's life. As the dying warrior continued, he held his breath, afraid to miss a single syllable. "It was a ghost that finally caught me… there's no doubt in my mind. There was no humanity in those eyes…" Pytch blinked quietly, swallowing as a horrified sinking feeling slowly entangled his insides. "Eyes…?" "Yes…" came the man's husky, labored speech, his lips working laboriously to loose each word as it came. "Those red eyes… dead and devoid of any emotion… it was… a killing machine.. nothing less. It came from nowhere, and knew or understood no precious morsel of mercy…all in its path was destroyed. I was here… repairing the lightning from a nasty wallop that boy had dished out during out battle… when it came. It took me by surprise… could only have been a ghost…a demon…pure evil…"

Pytch could feel his heart pounding his chest, his hands icy cold and trembling as they clung to the comforting weight of his shotgun. "But…how.. how did you-" he was abruptly cut off by a shrieking crash, the sound of grating metal and straining hydraulics. The single, auburn eye snapped wide open as it gazed at the sky, the man's voice becoming distant and emotionless, its low tones ringing loud and clear through the peaceful midday air. "It has returned." Trembling, the younger pilot rose to his feet, panting in terror as he cast his gaze over the rock outcropping to the space below. With an exasperated gasp, his eyes met a sight that made his blood run cold.

The Stonehammer Viper lay at the mercy of a larger zoid, a heavily armored Dark Fox perched atop its helpless victim as it heartlessly eviscerated it with glowing, super-heated claws. Pinning the writhing serpent to the sandy earth with its powerful front paws, and in the process searing away at its ebon plates of armor with its claws, the Fox tore harshly at the Viper's throat with its jagged teeth. It's glowing eyes seemed to radiate a shocking level of pure menace and evil, the mechanized monstrosity tearing the zoid to pieces as its metallic fragments sparked and sputtered, oil and hydraulic steam spewing from thick tubes, the snake's obsidian blood oozing out over the once unsullied sand. The hooded head of it's victim was hurled casually aside as the menacing zoid completed its task, having rent most of the helpless zoid to pieces, strewing its black armor across the sand while its mechanical form wriggled in the throes of an agonizing death. Haunted at this site, Pytch could do nothing but stare in horror, watching the deep black zoid as it moved about the struggling, slaughtered form of its victim, seeming to search for its pilot. Red eyes scanned the area, raking its every shadow and crevice, the spiked, jagged armor plating of the canine giving it an even more ominous and threatening appearance.

Pytch started suddenly as the man's powerful voice sounded behind him, its calm, indifferent tones striking all the more fear into his heart. "It'll be looking for you right about now…the ghost.." The young man felt himself turn pale, panting heavily in fear as his heart raced, looking quickly towards the injured man, his eyes wide and terrified, desperate for guidance. "What…what should I do…?"

The elderly man stared quietly up at the ocean sky for a few moments longer, watching another smooth, cottony cloud drift by, before slowly lowering his gaze, a grim, foreboding sternness overtaking his features. His single eye burned into the cycloptic, horizontal lens of his companion's visor as his deep voice sounded in a hush, husky whisper, his bloodstained lips wrapping fully around a single word. "Run."