So the latest trend in battle seems to be geometric defense. Standing in a line shooting anything that comes up on the radar. No wonder so many teams are homeless. I'd been up for an hour and reading up on the latest battle news on the Molga console. I'd gotten a few more messages, another C class Team Offer and a bank account update. Max set up an account for me a week before he signed me up for the ZBC, a zoid, a pilot license, a lifetime of teaching, and now enough credits for a down payment on a place to lie down at night. What better way to celebrate than loaf around the Molga trying to entertain myself? After doing some research on whatever the heck Team Checkmate was, I figured I might as well go to the City. I walked, go figure, and had to take a minute to adjust when I first left the Hangar.

People, tons and tons of people. Thousands of them just were hanging around the fields between the Hanger and the Residential Areas. Picnics, catch, long walks for couples. And here I am in my gray/dusty clothes trying to keep the sun out of my eyes with my hat. I left behind my jacket in favor of your standard gray shirt. When I reached the Main Square, I found myself surrounded by stores. One department store advertised a line of clothing 'exactly like official zoid pilot apparel'. Meanwhile a military surplus store provided 'zoid pilot apparel'. So there were the fans, and the real thing. Of course I couldn't shop; I had to save for an apartment. I had to leave; no way could I let myself buy something. I even took a walk through a street lined with resident complexes. Kids, pets, playgrounds, a toy store stocked with little replicas of whatever zoid a child may fantasize about.

I'd gone my whole life without a single toy or game. I had a three legged model of some Liger in my duffel bag; I found it in the trash a few years back. Technically I was an orphan, by now my folks would have forgotten about me. My dad was always grumbling about business reports and getting dressed in a suit even though he was unemployed. My mom never got over the fact they were poor and exiled. She still wore expensive but aging clothes. She used to kick me around a bit, just enough to draw blood. My dad just kept pointing out that I will die in this town. My neighbors didn't know I existed. And this little neighborhood was like on huge family. The elderly on porches discussing politics. The women working on consoles or peeking on the kids playing outside. The fathers and husbands gathered in living rooms cheering on a zoid team that can't hear them. Some of the women too, Zi was pretty equal with that kind of thing. As I was watching a couple walk two dogs I felt a tug on my shirt. I looked down to see a kid about ten or so with a curious look on his blond face.

"Are you a pilot?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you fight in Zoid Battles and stuff?"

". . . yeah, I guess I do."

Before I knew it I was sitting on a mailbox surrounded by a semi-circle or kids ranging from five to fifteen.

"So you see, an Ultimate X is alive. All zoids can move a bit and express pain, but an X has a mind of its own. Back before the Liger Zero was around, there were a few Xs lying around. A friend of mine swore to Zoid Eve that there was an X that looked like an eagle."

"How powerful is a CPC?"

"The Charged Particle Cannon? Back in the War one of those could fry six zoids in a row just short range."

"What War?"

". . . um, next question."

These kids didn't know about the Great Wars? Did they think that zoids were made for entertainment? Right when a little red head was going to ask something, one of the fathers stepped out and asked what these kids were doing. They yelled that I was a zoid pilot; I just tipped my baseball cap at him.

"You kids and zoids . . . invite the kid in, Jan, he looks starved."

I found myself in the man's house, sitting in an armchair and now surrounded by a circle of grown men asking me about zoids. I heard the man's wife laughing to a friend about men and zoids. By the time they let me go I had a bag of a baked good in the shape of a disc and a photocopy of about twenty articles clipped out of a news program. All I did was say my new last name and these guys started ranting about Max. One guy gave me a copy of his collection of articles about the Checkmate Team. It seems every team that made it to S Class has a museum toward it nowadays. But I remembered while lecturing these folks on zoids that I had a job, I had to tint the glass on Clara's Liger. I spent all afternoon spraying on the tint and heating it with a torch. It was one way so the hatch looked dark green from the outside but perfectly clear from inside. But while I was sitting in the cockpit tapping the glass I noticed her radar had a loose transmission. So I tinkered with the wiring and the program to find out that all but standard green screen was enabled. A couple clicks and snaps and I had heat patterns, motion, structure map and enemy profile up and running.

While I had my head underneath a floor panel I heard a beep from my license PDA, a message from the guy with my Saix, he was at his friend's warehouse. Riz and Clara stopped by around 2 to check on the job I was doing. She asked why the panels were open; I just explained I activated all the secondary scanners and programs. Apparently you have to pay extra when getting a zoid to get those things; normally the dealer turns the stuff on before it's sold. Also apparently I'm an idiot savant of zoids. Needless to say she jumped around gabbing about it. Geez, it's just a few new features, get over it. Then she had to call Riz and tell her I had rewired and upgraded her cockpit. Then Riz had to come over and examine everything, they kept shaking their head when they looked at me. I found out a few months later I was mechanically gifted.

Then all of a sudden Clara took out her phone again and ran into the Molga asking Riz where the list was.

"Kitchen drawer on far left."

When Clara went in Riz smacked herself in the forehead.

"Oh mother of. . ."

My first curse word. . .

"She's calling our relatives. Whenever she finds something hot about zoids, she has to tell everyone. You wouldn't mind checking up on a few other zoids, would you?"

". . . you mean just work on your family's zoids? Sure, I owe you guys anyway."

Dangit, I was so freakin' modest it's scary.

"Eh. . . just a few, yeah. . . "

Clara was busy calling her folks for two hours. Later on I found out she never left the nest all the way. While she was calling I kept working on her Liger, just powering up a few displays and making the processors a bit faster for file work. Riz dragged me away from the tool kit and sent me off to the food court. I'm not sure why, I think she just wanted to talk to Clara about me out of earshot. Halfway to the main part of the lobby I saw what looked like an open basement stairwell with a sign over it. Apparently the hanger also had a tavern/game room for the drunk/young pilots.

I walked down and noticed I blended right in, except my clothes were a bit older. Weird tables everywhere, with green or other color fabric on top with little balls bouncing around into pockets. Nope, I'd never seen a pool table before. I avoided the bar, never drank back home, never drank period. But I looked up to see a row of screen showing a zoid battle. An actual battle in progress! Long story short, I watched two Ligers chased around a snake zoid. One sided battle. But to me it was like watching the planets align. My first time seeing a Judge, a real battle, and how the fields look. I just saved you twenty four paragraphs of 'Wow'.

Then a tall girl in a hat asked me to play a table game. Before I knew it she was teaching me eight ball. Later on I found out she had been hitting on me, but it never struck a brain cell. Soon we were at the bar, me with a water, discussing our lives. Apparently she was a mercenary. She just wore the usual black pilot suit, nicer boots though. She then spent two hours ranting about how she used to have a Genosaurer. My first drunken friend. She soon let out that she had her Geno trashed, and had been in the pits income wise since then. All she had was a salvaged Snipe Master. Now, a Snipe is an extremely amazing zoid, but she must really love Genosaurers. Turns out this is all she talks about, that Geno. Then she was whispering about the Backdraft group and some mission where it was destroyed. All the other bar goers were long since gone, but I stayed and listened. I found out a week later that she was telling the truth. She was Sue Ryder, a famous mercenary cut out from the spotlight after her Geno went bust. I walked her back to her Snipe, where she was living.

By the time I got back to the Molga Clara and Riz were long gone. Clara left a note saying to sleep well. I slept well, after a few hours of watching more zoid battles on the screen after I figured out the remote. I woke up to the sound of a huge, weird looking Liger parking next to us. Clara's father's Snipe Liger. Then her Brother's Desert Liger. And three Blades. And her oddball mother's Rev Raptor. Then every zoid of every family member in a twenty mile radius. Every single one of them I gave the same treatment more or less as I had Clara's zoid. The Snipe Liger I added a radio to though. Lost count of the other twenty repairs/tune ups/customizations.

Yeah, twenty zoids. Mostly Ligers. Soon I learned each breed and type. So no more Mystery Liger references. Then I had to sit at their impromptu reunion, talking to each and every relative for a few minutes, some more than an hour. Then my PDA blinked and I took it outside. It was a message from the guy with my Saix.

"Trey. . . Just started out back after fixing the Saix . . . Accident. Lightning. Your zoid is fried."

My Saix had been struck by lightning on the trip back and burned to a crisp.

Author's Note

My first, and hopefully last ever cliffhanger. I hate review begging tactics. But yeah, his Saix was actually struck by lightning, it's actually trashed, and he's actually named Trey. To the two people who've reviewed, thanks guys.