DISClAIMER: I don't own anything mainstream copyrighted, but I own all original characters, designs and concepts in this story.

Author's Notes: We're back to zoids. Finally. The next few chapters will feature some singles battles to spice things up a bit. Enjoy.

Today I was summoned to the ZBC registration building. I got a message two days in advance, Sue flew the Killer Whale and air-dropped me and Psy near the town limits . I parked the zoid, told him not to pick up any women while I was gone, and walked into the plain-looking office building.

A lonely elevator ride later and I was in the private office of a spectacle-clad fellow who was talking to his wife on the phone and typing an article about blade weapon restrictions, judging by the mirror behind his desk. I sat in the guest chair patiently until he noticed I was consuming oxygen three feet in front of him. He snapped the phone shut and smiled at me in greeting, I tipped my hat in reply.

"Trey Brand. Like I wouldn't recognize you after al the coverage."

I smirked and shrugged lightly, not the bragging type.

"I called you here about your individual point scoring."

I nodded, I knew the concept. They kept track of individual pilots in battles for records and comparison purposes.

"…you've accumulated enough to qualify for S Class."

I studied his face for a few silent seconds.

"…you mean my team did."

He shook his head quickly.

"No, no, I meant you're qualified to join an S Class team or compete in the singles matches."

"…you mean I could moonlight that while running Team Reckless."

The office guy looked a bit confused.

"…no, it means you can transfer to a better team."

By now I was fully alert of what he was talking about. I leaned back, exposing my eyes out from my hat brim to see him clearly.

"Am I the only Reckless pilot to get this far?"

He spun in his chair and tapped a button at his keyboard. A second later he had a spreadsheet running.

"Your personal feats have ranked you higher than the other three. They're very good pilots but between your Sector's cleanout and your battle record, you're out of their league."

"You people haven't assigned us a real battle in ages."

He sighed at this.

"The market shifted to one-on-one matches. We haven't had time to organize the four-ways."

I rolled my eyes.

"Now we find this out."

He nodded, sympathizing and he looked at the spreadsheet again.

"While you're here, let's just resign you from Team Reckless to save time."

1 Hour Later

All three of the pilots I'd brought together as a team were lined up on the couch, I was pacing in front of the coffee table as they stared in confusion. Clara looked at me with wide, sharp eyes.

"You turned down an S Class offer to stay with us."

I shrugged, still pacing without looking at them. Sue pitched in.

"Why haven't we gotten enough points to get there as a team?"

I stopped pacing to think for a moment before replying.

"…our kind of battles aren't the fad."

Rax groaned.

"We haven't had a good one in weeks."

I nodded slowly, still deep in thought. Sue scoffed.

"When I was on my own my singles record was going up every week!"

I spun on my heel like I'd been shot, looking at the couch line-up.

"…what?"

Sue stared, wondering if I had taken that as offensive.

"I said stats went better when I was alone."

I took a moment to examine each of their faces in turn.

"…you guys…"

They stared, waiting for me to finish.

"…before I even got you together you were holding singles records…"

They all nodded or shrugged, not calling me a liar. Sue's mercenary matches had given her a reputation. Rax, well, he was Rax. Clara's Sector's record had carried over to the battle scores. As had mine.

"I'm not leaving you idiots for S Class. I'm not going near those team unless you three are with me out on the field."

Blank stares. Geez, these guys need to watch more football movies. I sighed and face-palmed myself slowly.

"…how about you three do singles battles, rack up enough points until we can all move up a class?"

They kept staring for a few more seconds before nodding slightly, not closing their eyes. Why did I hire these guys again? I waited until they all got the idea before retiring to the Hanger and reciting my plan to Psy, who was stretched out on his stomach in a sunray.

"Kind of sounds boring. You spend all your time working on their zoids and drilling them. I spend my days waiting for my battery to go dead so I can have a little peace."

I was sitting cross-legged on a console, eyes closed as we spoke.

"I'm pretty sure zoids don't die."

"No kidding. I was in a sate of constant, searing pain for a few weeks after I got torn up. Max had to stabilize me before he shut down my circuits, we heal faster the less energy we use."

So Psy knew what it was like to feel pain. I stared at the back of my eyelids, wondering if he'd ever wished for sweet death during those rough years. You know, the fact this zoid talks could probably open up a whole new field. I'd learned enough from him in the eight months or so that I'd known him, that I probably knew things about zoids that even the ZBC has yet to theorize.

"You mean you can accelerate healing by resting?"

"Yep. Max always let me stay home from school after I had a bad day. I was right as rain in no time."

…you know, screw that. This cat is an idiot. So what if accelerated regeneration via inactivity is only an urban legend at the time, his sense of humor gets on my nerves. I stopped pretending to meditate to scratch my arm.

"So how's the zoo adjusting to inactivity?"

An electronic sigh.

"The main zoids are bored as heck. But your little creations…"

He batted a paw at my ZBC creations, he was lying on his back now like a lazy Siamese cat.

"You know your team mates take them for joy rides at night, right?"

"I encourage them to, kind of. But I tell them not to. Zoids need exercise, and those guys feel the need to break rules. Two birds, one bullet."

"HA! Well, your unholy children of metal are doing fine. Rax's Liger has been getting cramps from those canyon runs."

I spun on my perch to look a Rax's dormant, possibly sleeping Slash Liger.

"…must be the shock absorbers in the paws connecting with the blade studs…"

"Probably. Clara's old Blade Liger is complaining about its paint job."

I turned to look at the aquamarine cat that held a special place in me memory as the first zoid I'd laid eyes on. Its custom paint job had faded from sunlight exposure, more of a faint yellow now. I made a mental note to send it through our detailing cage, it could use something to cheer it up after the Shadow Wolf came along.

In fact, that reminds me. Soon enough Team Reckless would come to their senses and realize this was going to kick ass. You see, my team had astonishing single records before I met them. All using regular, or even inferior zoids.

Rax was going from a borrowed Rev Raptor, to a custom-built and evolved Slash Liger. Sue, a well crafted Snipe Master to an unholy Geno Saurer of the dead. Clara, a loyal Liger to a speedy and agile wolf. Haven't they even though of the revenge they could get on old rivals?

"Well, that's all about he zoid crap. You getting enough sleep?"

It'd been two days since I collapsed from the armor marathon, I was still a bit under the weather but I could function.

"Why do you ask?"

"…my cameras keep track. You haven't been resting much for a guy who couldn't walk for a while."

I just raised an eyebrow at the giant cat that was criticizing my health.

"And those bags under your eyes are a bit of a tip-off."

I managed not to wince.

"Get to your room and get some rest."

I glared, hopped off the console and walked out of the auditorium-sized room into the air-conditioned hallway. Speaking of AC, I'm working on it. About a quarter of the inner hallways have activated climate control, and I managed to get our rooms cooled down during the day. The problem with this elaborate, fancy transport was Eve hadn't developed a control system. It's taking a while to learn the protocols.

The temperature in this desert area had risen to about ninety degrees at night. In fact there was a draught, the lake level had fallen so we couldn't dock down there where it was nice and cool. Thankfully this huge rubix cube of a Whale King was air-cooled and not water-reliant.

I walked out of the darkened hallway into the living area and straight to my room. I remember how we used to use official terms. The dining area. Rec Room, our individual quarters, utility space. Well, now this living are had turned into a full blown household, and we all had rooms. We had a few spares arranged for when Sarah and Vega made appearances.

As I wandered into my assigned room and collapsed onto my bed from prolonged exhaustion and just from the heat I tried to remember my room back in the desert.

I remember an old wooden-floored closet with a window, a bed against the wall and a box of clothes. It was next to the kitchen, so in the morning I woke up to the smell of bourbon being mixed by my mother and coffee by my once respected father. I used to have to hide my toys or personal objects. My three legged liger model was under a loose floorboard, along with whatever money I could scrounge up and maybe some emergency food for when I wasn't allowed to eat.

And here I was in my own place, double-sized room with a stocked kitchen down the hall. The only smells I woke up to nowadays were pancakes, eggs and bacon. We all believed in traditional meals. It took me a while to get used to the freedom. Eating when I was hungry, asking for directions and even talking to people in bars. Back there those things got you hurt.

I stripped off my outer layers and laid back on the couch, the climate control cooling the room so it felt like a cool autumn breeze. I drifted into half-sleep as my thoughts kept drifting back to the place I could never call home. Right as I flashed back to the old beatings he com rang.

"Trey?"

It was Sue's voice. When I first met her it was sharp, cocky but assuring. Now it had become softer, but retained the old charm.

"Yeah…?"

"Just wanted to thank you for putting the AC in the Reaper after you spent an hour cooling off our rooms."

I stared at my ceiling, thankful she couldn't see my expression.

"Sure, no problem."

She clicked out, I sighed and shook my head.

People kept thanking me for things.

The other day I'd gotten a few messages from some new Liger owners. One of them said it had saved his family's ranch by cutting the transport costs in half when they hit a rough spot. He said my invention had given his grandchildren the family legacy to look forward to. The guy had included some picture attachments, his family and their new Liger, the ranch logo they added to it later on, and a child's drawing of a blue cat saving their house from several evil dollar signs. It had been drawn by the man's youngest grand daughter.

I printed out all three pictures and clipped them over my desk. I wrote him a reply saying I wasn't the one to thank, but I included a credit number that when cashed in at a dealer, would give them another Liger free of charge. On me. What, did you think I was in this for the money?