Zoids Rhapsody
Into the Mist
Formalities and the like, as necessary: Praise Tomy everyone, for we are not worthy. I do not own Zoids, the anime, manga, video games, or models. I am making no money off this work of fiction. I do own all of the characters presented in this tale. As said tale unfolds, I may choose to throw in a few Zoids that I have invented (the ones that I did not decide were too bloody damned cheesy). This story gained a "T" rating because there is a good measure of violence and a spot of swearing. THIS IS THE ONLY TIME I WILL POST A DISCLAIMER. However, I will kick off a few chapters with Author's Notes as needed. Oh, and be sure to write me a review for each chapter! Anonymous reviews are allowed.
So let us get on with the tale.
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Chapter One: Dedication
Clank. The noise echoed tremulously throughout the open grounds as the bleak, grey demo-Zoid swiped at nothingness, its catlike frame moving stiffly.
Clank. It slashed again. There was a pause. Then all at once, a fulminating explosion rocked the grounds. Lancets of flame danced through the crisp morning air, falling to the earth with liquid grace. A man stepped in front of his troops, gloved hands clasped tightly behind his back.
"What you just saw, men," he began in a powerful voice, a voice made frivolous after the splendor of the previous eruption, "Was skill. Major Dubois used the low cloud layer and the position of the sun to his advantage, dropping missiles on the target dummy without being detected."
From the low grey clouds that hung in scraps above the Helic Republic Training Corp Headquarters dropped the magnificently regal from of the Liger Zero Phoenix. Flaring its gold-tipped scarlet wings wide, the angelic Zoid executed a stunning corkscrew, whirling through the air before the lineup of grey-clad troops a bare meter from the ground, then arced back up, righted itself, and disappeared towards the Hangar Bay.
"Doesn't beat a Gun Sniper," called a quiet but audible voice. The Training Officer's jaw hung open as he turned towards the sound.
"Who said that?" he asked delicately and, somehow, sardonically. A young man stepped forward proudly, saluted the bare air before him, and proclaimed his name.
"Trainee Jamison Van O'Flaherty, sir," the ashen-haired youth said with conviction. He dropped his hand to his side and stood at sharp attention as the officer approached him slowly.
"O'Flaherty . . ." the officer muttered, lowering his gaze ponderously. When he looked up, a peculiar gleam had caught his eyes. The Trainee tactfully chose to avoid those eyes. The officer continued steadily, "So you're the one I've been hearing about," he said cuttingly, accusingly.
"Sir, yes sir," O'Flaherty replied with a slight smile. 'Heard about?' he thought to himself curiously as the officer appraised him. He was of average height and seemed, through his somewhat loose uniform, quite thin. He had a light tan to his skin, and wild blonde hair that nipped at his eyebrows and ears. The morning sun caught his brilliant azure irises, reflected threefold in them. His was a sharp chin and smooth jaw line; youthful as the day he had been born yet strong as his father's in his prime.
"Jamison O'Flaherty, son of the late Colonel Jonathon Van O'Flaherty," the officer said with a smugness that belied his general air of regulated properness. He gave two stiff nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. He turned and faced the rising sun before continuing, now silhouetted impressively. "Your father was a good man, soldier. The best damn shot I have ever seen. But he did have an attitude to shame a Dark Horn, and it would seem you're no less." Here, he paused and smiled to himself shortly. Then, turning again, he walked on slowly, still talking. "I expect everything out of you that he had in him, boy. And that includes respect." He finished more sternly than he had begun, and had turned to look down the long line of trainees.
"Yes, sir," Jamison said, still looking straight ahead. 'Keep perfect form,' he thought to himself with a smile. The officer sighed, put out a hand, and said tiredly,
"Troops dismissed."
There was an unorthodox scattering as the fifty or so trainees broke rank and fairly flew for the large, unforgiving doors that led inside, and to their breakfasts. Jamison, however, kept his dignity about him as he walked calmly from the field and into the base.
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Having less than nothing to do once he finished the meager assortment of garbage called breakfast, Jamison left as noiselessly as possible, eager to get to the hangar without drawing attention. Confident in his succession, he headed for the hangar bay at a good clip.
Of course, he had not managed to slip out completely unnoticed; a tall, pleasantly curvy figure with strawberry blonde locks that fell about her shoulders carefully followed the young man, her high-heeled boots not making the smallest of sounds against the garishly polished floors.
'Where are you going, little boy?' The woman thought to herself. 'Hangar? You know trainees aren't allowed to pilot Zoids without supervision.' The golden medals upon her red-clothed breast glinted with verve in the less-than-adequate hallway lighting. The rimless glasses that framed her soul-piercing emerald eyes cast jittering white reflections upon the walls as she made haste to keep up with the elusive, if unawares, young man she was after. She was going to let the rip have it if he even thought of leaving.
Turning the corner just before the hangar bay confirmed her suspicions; she could already hear the groaning clicks and clacks of a Zoid stirring from rest. She peered through the small, murky window on the one pivoting door that opened into the hangar and watched, bemused, as the young man coerced a crimson red Gunsniper into leaning over and throwing open its shining golden canopy to receive him.
"Hmmm . . ." she sounded quietly, "Odd color scheme . . . Base red with golden claws, canopy, and guns . . . Must've inherited the Zoid from his oh-so-lovable father …" Her voice fell away to a sarcastic sneer towards the end of the phrase.
The oddly colored Gunsniper snapped its canopy shut and threw its head back with a joyous roar. Apparently, the pilot either did not care, or could not stop the Zoid. Probably the latter. Then, after shortly shaking like a dog, the Zoid turned tail and sprinted out of the hangar.
The woman picked her lips and ran a hand through her hair before dashing into the hangar towards own Zoid. It was the only one of its kind at the base, and she took immense pride in it. She would have to teach that boy a little lesson about following regulation. Smiling contentedly to herself, she patted the massive golden paw of the majestic Blade Liger Mirage, eliciting a pleased growl as the Zoid crouched to nudge its pilot ever so gently.
"It seems we've got a bit of chastising to do, my dear," she said in her light, airy voice. An infinitesimal giggle escaped her lips before she climbed into the Liger's cockpit.
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"Damn, it's been a while," Jamison said on a sigh as the Gunsniper sprinted out of the base, fairly flying by the guards—an imposing duo of Gojulas Mk II's—and setting out towards a sector his radar map identified as being "rubble-strewn cliff faces." It sounded fun, so he was going for it. His eyes caught the light with conviction as the first of the monoliths that made up said fun area loomed up before him.
"All right, buddy," he said, leaning forward and gripping the controls tightly. "Let's do this!" He slammed both control sticks forward and floored a pedal in the floorboard, causing the 'sniper to pitch forward and sprint, arms tucked in, head low, tail straight, feet pounding the earth.
He was coming up on the cliff, gearing himself up for the jump to a low outcrop that looked just big enough to hold his weight—for a few seconds at least—when there came a dead-raising roar the ground the Zoid to a halt against its pilot's will. A red light flashed on the monitor just in front of him, between the radar and damage display screens. A second later, the screen flashed to light, showing the angry glare of a woman whose powerful eyes chilled his blood like ice. Then, he realized just whom it was he was seeing. He spun the Gunsniper around and the Zoid gaped along with him.
There before them was the imposing white figure of the Blade Liger Mirage; its CP-012 Attack Cannons swiveled forward over its shoulders. The Liger stamped its front paws into the ground furiously and pealed the skies with another heart-stopping cry.
"Um … hello, Major General . . ." he said, forcing his voice not to quiver as he pasted an innocent smile onto his lips. The raising of the Maj. General's right eyebrow and the clenching of her lips into a paper-thin line told him in fairly certain tones that she was definitely not in a playful mood.
"Well, if it isn't the oh-so-famous Jamie O'Flaherty," she said cuttingly, tilting her head to the left and grinning with lurid, acidic malice. "Are you aware that under no circumstances are you, a trainee in the Helic Republican Army, to leave this base in your Zoid without notifying an officer?" She demanded with an undertone of not only anger, but also smugness. Jamie nodded wordlessly.
"So why are you here?" She asked simply, her voice lifting even higher and her hands flinging into the air. Picking up on its pilots feelings, the Liger reared back like a mighty horse and bellowed, as if to say, "Yeah, you little punk, why?" Jamie smiled.
"I wanted to pilot my Zoid without some bloody wrench-head breathing down my neck." His words seemed to strike her like a slap, and she gasped dramatically, her hand to her sternum, as if to say, "What? You insult me!" The Liger lifted a paw and huffed. Jamie laughed heartily, the Gunsniper echoing in an odd, breathy hiss.
"Return to base immediately. You are on suspension," the Maj. General said with authority, just as if nothing else had happened. With that, the Liger turned, closed up its Attack Cannons, and fired its Attack Boosters, dashing away towards base with impressive speed.
As soon as the COM Link closed, Jamie screwed his face up into a mocking glare and stuck out his tongue offensively. 'Screw her,' he thought passively. With that said he turned the Sniper around and bounded off for the cliffs again. He had achieved the first part of his mission: acquire the Zoid. Now all he had to do was get out of Helic territory without being killed, or worse, caught.
The Gunsniper scaled the wall of a lower monolith with ease and the leapt to the higher peaks of another, its body coiling and launching like a high-tension spring. Jamie was on his way to what he knew was his destiny—persecution with extreme prejudice. First, he needed several key things: a partner or two, a Wild Weasel unit, and a helluva lot of cash.
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The sun had climbed high above the rolling sand dunes and occasional wrecked Zoids that made up the majority of the desert wastelands before Jamie came upon a town. Said town was a run-down mess of shabby, mostly desecrated grey buildings, a few larger hotels, and a Zoid Hangar. It looked like the arse end of a Bigasaur, but such a town positively lured mercenaries, the exact kind of people Jamie needed.
As the crimson Zoid marched resolutely into the worn town, Jamie immediately got the feeling something was very, very wrong. He slowed the 'sniper to a mere crawl and advanced down the street overcautiously. A warning sensor screamed the instant before the pile of charred rubble to his left exploded violently, causing the small Zoid to leap instinctively to the right.
"What in blue hell was that!" He demanded of the world as he spun the light Zoid about furiously, trying to find the cause of the explosion.
"Well, what do we have here?" An overly curt male voice asked from the other side of the smoke cloud the explosion had sent up. Jamie leveled the twin Vulcan guns mounted on the Gunsniper's wrists at the lazy black blob of ash and gently rubbed the trigger with his forefinger, readying himself to fire. With his left hand, he flipped the switch that opened up the AZ missile pods the Zoid carried on its back. Whatever was going to pick a fight with him was going to get a face full of Gunsniper before it knew what hit it.
"Who's there!" Jamie demanded, slowly edging his Zoid to the right in an attempt to get a few shots in around the smoke. He was stopped dead as the street just before him was crumbled by a blast.
"I don't think that's really any of your concern, lad," the voice said again. 'Well, whatever he is, he's got some guns,' Jamie thought to himself, noting the rather large crater next to his 'sniper's right foot. 'I'll have to do this quickly.'
Then all at once, a Zoid hurtled through smoke and all Jamie saw was a mass of black before his Zoid went flying through the air. Jamie was thrown around much more than he would have liked as the small red Zoid slammed into the ground and skidded across the street, digging a comical trench as it went.
"Owww . . . damn . . ." he muttered, dazed. Before he could collect himself enough to right the Zoid, his vision was filled by the ebony, cobalt, and gold face of a Liger Zero X. 'Oh, crap . . .' he thought bitterly.
"Hmmm …" the pilot of the Liger said slowly. Then, rather anticlimactically, the Liger yawned and sat on its haunches, seemingly bored.
"Wha?" Jamie asked confusedly as he righted his Zoid. The Gunsniper shook itself, again taking the attitude of a wet dog, and then simply stared at its attacker. After a short pause, the Liger's pilot yawned, and said
"You are no fun, sir." Jamie gaped indignantly and opened his COM Link. The face he saw on the screen surprised him a bit; here was a rugged-looking, unshaven desert thug-type guy with a jagged scar across his forehead, a throbbing vein in his temple, messed black hair, and unnervingly black eyes, seeming to lack pupils. It was hard to believe such a polite thug existed.
"I beg your hellish pardon!" Jamie demanded angrily. The Gunsniper appeared to try to place its hands akimbo, but failed and settled for some semblance of the motion.
"I said you are no fun," the thug repeated frankly. "I knock you over one time and that is the end of it. I'd figure a guy brave enough to come through these parts with the Seal of the Republic stamped onto his Zoid would be a little better with fighting."
Jamie grimaced at the mention of the Republican Seal. He would have to get it painted over quite soon; after all, he was dangerously close to Imperial Territory. 'Put that right at the top of the list,' he thought to himself. He scratched his head, the Gunsniper mimicking (which caused disturbing seismic activity within the cockpit), and asked again,
"So who are you?" The thug sighed, looked down, and spoke in a quiet, reserved tone.
"I am John Bishop. I come from Eastern Guylos, near the Partahoga Fields. I was a test-pilot for their newer Zoids, but I got fed up with it."
"So you left?" Jamie prompted quietly.
"Oh, I left all right; you can count your missiles on that one. I took this Zoid and hacked my way through about a hundred Imperial Artillery Zoids, and then I just started to wander. I have been avoiding their forces for a good few months now. I wandered into this Tomyforsaken dump earlier today, and well, you know the rest."
"Yeah I do," Jamie said with exasperation. He stared at the thu—at John for a moment, and then abruptly asked "You wanna join up?" Seemingly taken aback, the older man blinked a few times before answering, lightly, "Sure."
Jamie smiled contentedly and said "Good."
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The Gunsniper and the Liger Zero X loped through the lazy rolling hills of sand that was the stuff of their surroundings. It had been much simpler than Jamie had thought to get a partner; one with such a powerful Zoid was almost unexpected. He counted his lucky missiles for that one.
"Hey Jamie," John called, opening the COM Link. He looked concerned.
"Yeah, what is it?" he replied calmly, his blue eyes reflexively scanning the horizon for Zoids.
"I think we're being followed, mate," John said matter-of-factly. Jamie ground the sniper to a halt, the Liger following suit and turning to look back. Rather than bother looking behind him, Jamie merely turned and leaned into the sniping position, the Gunsniper knowingly planting its large fore claws into the sand as anchors.
The dim screen he stared into hummed into life, displaying the wide, empty landscape behind them. Even through the multi-faceted scope, radiating heat waves floating tremulously through the air skewed any noticeable detail an object may have had.
Jamie focused in on a spec that flashed briefly. As the scope dilated, bringing the object into clearer perspective, he realized with a mild start what the flash had been—a Dibison's 17-Shot Cannon releasing a thunderous (well, would have been) barrage of rounds. Of course, it was easily far enough away to never even dream of hitting them.
Then he noticed something else. It wasn't firing at them at all, but rather, whatever it was that just shot an array of artillery into the Dibison's side, grounding it instantly.
"Hey Josh, I don't think we were being followed . . ." Jamie began slowly.
"Then what is it?" his partner asked curtly, if a little cuttingly.
"I think that Dibison pilot was desperate for some help. So let's help a little bull!"
"Well, if we must …"
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The two had moved in just far enough for Jamie to set up and tell what was pestering the Dibison—a Proto Zaber with a really big weapons array on its back that included a Hilbit Vulcan turret, several small laser cannons, and one very large beam cannon. It moved slowly, but packed one helluva punch.
The Dibison, though severely damaged, was still flouncing about, avoiding weapon fire, when Jamie set up for sniping. He instructed John to hold back, as close combat, when avoidable, was unnecessary. John had seemed a bit confused by the idea, but hey, he piloted a Lifer Zero X.
Jamie positioned the quivering cross hair over the Proto Zaber, which was currently throwing its head back for a long, intimidating roar. Taking his opportunity, Jamie zoomed in the view in as far as it would go, lazed the target just below its jaw line, and squeezed his trigger. A plume of flames erupted form the immediately headless Zaber's body, and after a pause, the Zoid toppled over, lifeless.
"Nice shot," Josh said appraisingly.
"Well, let's go see what that guy's troubles were!" Jamie said suggestively, indicating the Dibison that was fast approaching. The Liger seemed to stare dully at the Gunsniper, which was standing erect again, sigh, and trudge on as if defeated.
"What a sore old fart," Jamie muttered to himself. He then laughed gaily, and ran to catch up with the Liger.
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The Dibison stopped in its tracks as the two oddly matched Zoids entered its personal bubble; in other words, they were less than three kilometers away. The Gunsniper kept running, while the Liger skidded to a halt as well. The pilots seemed to have a short argument, and apparently, the Gunsniper won, because with an obvious huff, the Liger leapt up and they both advanced further. When they were within a hectometer, the Dibison bellowed a warning and lowered its horns, effectively presenting them with a clear view of the seventeen barrels that were trademark of all Dibison.
Said Dibison was not black and green, gut rather, the base chassis was a dull grey, and the armor was cobalt blue. It had a matching blue Mosa Missile unit on each side of its muzzle, rather then the usual missile pods, and an odd circular armament in place of the three-shot Impact Cannon. Said cannon, along with the 17-Shot array, were a glistening gold sheen.
"Hey, buddy, cool it," the Gunsniper's pilot said. The COM Link opened, revealing the young face of Jamison O'Flaherty. "We got rid of that Proto Kitty for you, so we're obviously not here to hurt you."
The Dibison's pilot gave a slight "Hn," and closed his COM Link. He sat back in his seat, waiting for whatever would happen.
"So … uh…" Jamie began, unsure of what to do. Then it struck him. "Do you want to join us? We are each helping each other with our own personal missions. I'm sure we could use you," Jamie offered with the most inviting smile he could muster. The Liger Zero X gave a short, peeved growl, but Jamie ignored him.
"We could also help you repair your Zoid," he suggested, trying to score brownie points. 'Brownie points work, dammit,' he thought forcefully.
The Dibison's pilot slumped against his safety harnesses, sighing heavily.
"Fine," he said in a powerful bass voice. Jamie smiled happily. Two partners in one day were not too bad at all. Then, his stomach started to growl like to shame the Liger. The Dibison and Liger Zero X both stared at the Gunsniper; he had left the PA on.
"Mayhaps we should get something to eat," Josh suggested, "And gets to know each other over said meal."
"Capital idea," Jamie said, trying but failing to mock Josh's curt accent. He shrugged helplessly as three Zoids gave him short, annoyed roars.
"What!" He pleaded helplessly.
-----
Nearly an hour later, the unlikely trio had stumbled upon another desert community. This Tomyforsaken watering hole did not look as bad as the last heap of scraps Jamie had been in, but did not really look very great either.
Jamie managed to get their Zoids spots in the town's only rusty hangar, through a lot of stolen cash, and quite a bit of buttering up. He was so, so good with the warm smiles and bright eyes. It worked every time.
There was only one bar in the town as well: A dark, muggy place of wooden stools and flaking paint that many years of torment had blackened. The actual bar lacked stools, oddly enough, and had several large chunks missing in random places. Jamie suspected them to be evidence of gunfire.
His comrades each ordered a drink, but Jamie, knowing he simply looked to young, passed and bought a soda, also asking for three of the day's specials. Their order placed, the three found an empty table a good ways from any other customers and sat, Jamie and Josh facing the Dibison pilot, whom had not said a word to either of them since he had agreed to join.
He was a rather lanky man, shorter than Josh but a bit taller than Jamie, with a desert tan darker than Josh's and pure mahogany hair that he had tied back into a ponytail that could have tucked into his dark leather belt. He always bunched his thin eyebrows together over his dark brown eyes, eyes with a certain luster that you could not quite place. He had a pianist's hands, long, thin fingers and a wide reach, and a basketball player's feet, rather large and almost clown like despite the "manly" thick-soled hiking boots he wore.
After what he was sure had been several hours in his young, lively mind, Jamie slapped his hand to the table in a very "break-the-ice" manner and looked the Dibison pilot in the eye, saying,
"Okay pal, what's yer story?" The man heaved a deep chested sigh and leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. With another breath, he began talking in a light tenor that belied the harsh tones he'd used with them earlier.
"I have been fleeing the Imperial Guard for eight days now. They had captured me when I was on a simple mission of my current employer—yes, I'm a mercenary—and they took me to a holding facility. It was actually rather cheesy, the way I escaped; the night guard had fallen asleep in his chair right by my cell, and so I was able to snatch his keys, unlock the bars, and walk away. I made it completely out of the hangar with my Zoid before I was caught. At that point, they launched a small damned militia after me. Redlers, Dark Horns, Red Horns, even a coupla Deadborders. I still don't know how in Tomy I made it out with just my bunged up Dibison, but I did somehow, else I wouldn't be her. Oh, and the name's Chesnee. I don't talk much."
Jamie and Josh raised their eyebrows, nodding perceptively. Then, something about his little autobiography hit Jamie, and he spoke again, this time a bit more carefully, silently.
"So we have two Imperial Vigilantes and a Republican Vigilante. Interesting." Josh looked a bit confused, and asked pointedly
"Who is the Republican? You?" When Jamie gave no response other than a dumb stare that said, 'Oh, no, I just managed to find a Republican Gun Sniper in the desert, ya dolt!' Josh closed his gaping mouth and nodded, eyebrows orbiting off in space. The arrival of their meals—potatoes and gravy, steak, and hideously greasy potato fries—halted any further conversation.
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The Major general huffed angrily as she realized, rather belatedly, that the little blonde brat wasn't anywhere to be found. 'Dammit, General Banks is going to absolutely kill me!' She thought despairingly as she made her way to his office to deliver her report. It was going to be a long, long day. Long.
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Fin.