DISCLAIMER I don't own zoids, I do own Trey, his neighbors, the old guy, and those two in the Molga. Well, his neighbors are a bunch of deadbeats so you can have 'em. My first fic, please be forgiving. But please note, Trey is a moron. He's adjusting to society, so be prepared for a guy freaking out over a gas station.
I zipped up my duffel bag, pulled on my jacket, and jumped out my second story window. I landed on my feet and kept running. So this was it, I was running away from the most isolated town on Zi. I shrugged my bag higher on my back and cut through an alley between a bunch of houses and a warehouse. The moon was nowhere in sight, it was a cloudy night. About two blocks away from my destination, I saw a group of people outside a house. They were my old neighbors, the old computer specialist, the school program designer, that old woman who got money for identities she stole off the Web. The rest I couldn't recognize. The guy who owns the general store was holding a box of explosives. I didn't have much time then. The old guy said they'd start at sunrise.
In a few minutes of running I was at the old house next to a rented warehouse where I had spent most of my time for the last ten years. I typed in the code on the front door, walked through the living room and the kitchen, out the door into a large makeshift hanger containing boxes of parts, and tucked near the door was a zoid. Covered in dirt and rust, no paint left, but when I turned on the main lights it's tinted eyes glinted at me. A Lightning Saix. I heard a car speed away outside, he hadn't waited to say goodbye. At least he has a head start on the townsfolk. I took a deep breath and reached into my pocket, pulling out a card-sized remote and tapping a square. The ancient zoid creaked onto it's stomach, it's cracking cockpit hinging open to reveal a dust free seat and panel. It hadn't been ridden in decades, no wonder it's not dusty. I hopped onto the old leather chair. I'd been wanting to do this all my life. Why wasn't I cheering. I clicked the card again, the door of the hanger slid into the ceiling. I pulled down the cockpit and locked it. I typed a code onto the ancient keyboard and the lights flickered on. Soon I felt the beast rise to its feet. I grabbed the controls gently, and pressed forward. The zoid limped at a good pace out into the night. Yes, it limped.
It was truly beyond repair, a trophy. I adjusted some dials to an easier setting and the limp became a weighted power walk. I closed the door with my card, and looked back at the glass of the cockpit at my reflection. Brown hair straight down to my bangs, some peroxide streaks going through it. Gently tanned skin, a jacket that used to be black suede but was reduced to light brown felt. Jeans worn to the point of being gray. Old borrowed boots. I tore my eyes back to the desert in front of me. My name was Trey Brand. Well, it was now. I had been born in a town in the middle of the desert that revolved around people with nowhere else to go. People who had made a bad reputation for themselves, so they flee to a little suburb in the deadest area on the planet. My father was a business man who was caught doing deals with a Backdraft member. My mother was married to him at the time, and followed him here. I was never noticed in this place. Every person was in their own world, in their own misery.
My folks used to take out their inner rage on me, just hurt me to the point they could be happy with themselves. No, that's not why I was running off. You see, when I was about 7, and was bleeding from a beating with an expensive high heel, I wandered around my neighborhood in a daze looking for something to cover the cut with. A man grabbed my hand, took me into his house, and gave me first aid, dinner, and a hat to shade my eyes from the sun. He invited me to come over the next day to get my bandages changed and to hear a few stories. I was there every day for a decade. He taught me about a place outside this town, he gave me a decent education instead of the old textbooks children were given by their exiled parents. He told me about one thing I never could hear enough about. Zoids. Giant metal animals that battled for glory, honor, the right to live a happy life. He told me of the organized battles after the fighting was over. He told me about the breeds: cats, foxes, dinosaurs. I thought it was a fairy tale until he showed me the one he owned and once piloted. A Saix.
Not just a standard Saix that you see police units in, the same Saix that was the first of its kind to reach something called the S Class. He never took it out of the hanger he had made, he just showed me every day how each control worked, how the zoid moved, what to do if whatever happens happens. He taught me how to be a zoid pilot without ever setting foot in a zoid. He told me about every battle he had been in. Every secret, every trick. For years this went on, teaching me about the world and the rusting zoid. About a week ago the townspeople started talking about my mentor. He didn't belong. He moved here willingly, he wasn't a criminal or a fraud. He never told me what he was doing here, or why he retired from the battles he lived for. The people decided that destroying everything he owned would be a good answer. You see why these folks are sent here? Well, they could have been louder. The old man started packing right away. He was going to order a Molga to come out here and pick up his Saix, but for some reason he wanted me to take it to the closest major city and stay there. I found out later the paths were guarded; this was the only way to get this thing out in one piece.
It used to be the fastest Zoid in its division, but for some reason he never let me in on this thing could only go about 40 MPH. I think it had something to do with the supports. If I tried to go full speed this thing would fall apart. So it would take a few hours for it to reach a city that was just around the corner. It was my first time in a zoid, I wanted to go round jumping and shooting off particle guns, not limp to the nearest garage. The cockpit was like a second home to me, I knew how to make this thing run on walls. Well, if it could run. It's like getting a toy without batteries. I reached over and tapped what looked like a dinner plate, it flickered onto a green screen showing a triangle in the very center. Hm, the radar. I looked at the other side. Okay, main and secondary guns, boost, and a few buttons that used to work weapons that had long since fallen off. I looked at the steering wheel device in my hands and noticed a switch on the side. I flipped it and laid back, at least the cruise control still works. You know, being in a zoid is like being on a boat, you're moving up and down but you don't notice. Then again, I'd never seen a lake let alone a boat so this was trusted from my mentor.
I reached into my handed down bag and retrieved a candy bar form the side. Actually it was a protein bar, my home town didn't have any luxuries. Well, it's more of a center for the exiled and emotionally distraught. Come to think of it, I'm the first kid to leave there. Most of the other kids are with their parents moping about a business merger. And they'd be there for centuries I guess. Now, at the time that I was riding in that old zoid I didn't realize what I was getting into. I was going from a camp to a full fledged city. It was like winning the lottery. But I, being an innocent novice, had no idea the wonders of a gas station could offer. Food, gas, and drinks in the same building? For two hours I laid back watching the sun rise in that Saix. Maybe this was what a zoid pilot lives like. A trusty zoid, traveling, the rock of paws trotting the turf. Suddenly a pained beep emerged from the barely running radar. I saw a red dot approaching on my right. I looked out, and low and behold there was a Molga, dragging a hover sled with the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I knew the exact model and type just from what the old man had told me.
"Blade Liger MJ."
It was custom painted aquamarine. Now, the first thing I thought was that this wasn't what I thought it was. The old man hadn't seen a battle in years, they've long since moved on. It turns out the old man had forgotten to teach me about television. This ocean colored cat, and even its little green Molga, were the most beautiful Zoids I'd ever laid eyes on. Considering I had only seen the Saix, this was an easy statement. I could see a tiny figure piloting the worm, probably on cruise control just like I was. Suddenly a blink came from my panel. An intercom, I forgot about that. I pressed a green square and a female face popped up on panel.
" Nice Zoid. . . I'm not being sarcastic, it looks like a classic. . underneath the rust! Ha!"
She had black hair, a fake tanned face, and huge earrings.
"Sorry, it is a nice model though. My dad collects those older ones. You find it in the scrap yard and scam the guy?"
I blinked. This girl talked faster than my whole household did in a year.
"Um . . . yeah, it's one of the older LS versions . . . the gun is probably a vintage, but it runs. Well, limps anyway."
The glowing face nodded.
"Why are you running anyway? You should get a trailer for a statue like that thing."
". . . Um. . . I'm not sure either; I'm moving it for a friend."
"Suddenly the girl's face was a mess of black hair; she was turned around, talking to some one off screen. Then she flipped back to the camera.
"You're headed to the Bay right?"
". . .Well, I'm goin' toward a big city."
She laughed. She thought I was cracking a joke.
"We got room on the trailer, hop on!"
At the time I didn't know you were supposed to stop a trailer before loading, I found out later this girl was just a bit light headed at times. I swerved over and hopped onto the trailer rather accurately, some rust flaking off the legs of the Saix. This was my first major feat as a pilot. I jumped out of the popped open cockpit, shimmied down a front leg, between the Liger's paws and over the connecting cable into the back hatch of the Molga, where another dark haired girl watched with her jaw dropped.
". . . you're insane. . . "
It wasn't until a month later I learned I was prone to impossible stunts, feats of strength, and the little things I did became eye catching in the outside world. Now back to standing on the cable like a tight rope and jumping into the Molga hatch. I expected to see a storage room, the back of the zoid was covered so it could be used as a storage area, and this wasn't a combat zoid. I found a living room like area with a small kitchen tucked to the side.
"My mom is an interior designer, my dad's a zoid junkie, do the math."
This un-named girl led me to the front to meet the more familiar un-named girl.
"You sure know how to pick 'em Riz, this guy jumped off his zoid, ran on the trailer and walked on the cable like a circus act."
". . . wow . . . are you like a stunt guy? That would explain the totaled zoid."
". . . um . . . it's not mine . . . and the name is Trey, Trey Brand."
I spent the next ten minutes telling them my life story. At the time, I thought it was perfectly normal. I mean, I was kind of ignorant back then. I didn't know why they were letting their jaws drop. Or why they kept hugging me afterwards. I barely remember the hour of questions; at the time I didn't know I was a Cinderella story. Before I knew it one of the girls was forcing food on me, feeling my arms to see if I was malnourished, and I was avoiding contact at all cost. I didn't discover dating until a year after I left home. I found out the girl with no common sense was named Riz, the other was her cousin Clara, they were going to the city to check out a new zoid for Riz, Clara had her Liger on the back next to my shameful looking saix. I mean the old man's Saix. It seemed Clara shared her father's interest in old Zoids, she knew about my mentor and his zoid that they were dragging behind their hovering home away from home.
Now, when I look back on this I realize any guy would kill for this to happen. Thankfully, I slowly gained common sense and views as I traveled. Now, I know you want to hear about my zoid life and the phenomenon known as Team Reckless. Well, just go read a magazine then. This is the inside story.
Author's Note
This is my first posted fic, sadly. I know it may seem a bit char-orientated, but the next chapter will start to revolve around zoids and pilots, and less about this guy in particular. If you're wondering about how he keeps impressing people, it ties in with his background; I am a sole hater of Mary Janes/super powered char fan fics. So no, this future team isn't going to trash the Blitz Team to show how awesome they are like the fics my friends talk about writing. Hence why this guy has spent his life working and training to just use a zoid, not become a champion. But if you want to keep hearing about Trey, then say so in the reviews. And the thing with him and the cousins is purely for humor, this guy is too innocent to even think of that. Flames welcome, my first fic, and I thank you for reading.