Backdraft's bases were occasionally raided by ZBGF law enforcement. Usually an annoyance, sometimes a setback, but never an actual problem. This time, it was a problem. Growing up, Vega had treated this ongoing evasion like a game. A game, just like everything else in his life had been.

Had been. He'd lost to Bit in the course of the Royal Cup. It was a fair, if not intense, series of events. Everything afterward had seemed normal, but he'd no idea of how things were about to change.

Sara and other Backdraft personnel arrived in a flurry and whisked he and his Zoid away - home, he thought, but she'd tersely informed him that the main base was a loss and they'd be headed elsewhere for a while.

A frown. Dissatisfaction. Vega looked up at her. "What about my cat."

"We'll get you a new cat."

Vega wanted to protest, but was afforded a strange, unsettling glimpse into thoughts unspoken: his cat was dead. His room lay in ruins. Most of the base had been subject to literal orbital bombardment, and that was that. A lot of equipment had been destroyed, a lot of people were dead. Sara was tense, upset. The cat? Didn't register.

The magnitude of the issue hit him, though he couldn't muster much feeling about it. He simply went quiet, quivering with exhaustion. His dark hair was matted to his neck, stale with sweat from the battle. All he could smell was the dried blood in his sinuses. He wanted a shower, and he wanted rest. For one of the first times in his life he found himself being denied what he wanted - and he resented it terribly.

Intellectually, he knew this wasn't punishment. It was simply unfortunate happenstance. His gut twinged, though: it sure did feel like punishment.

It felt a lot worse, actually. A wave of nausea washed over him. He felt disgusting.

"Sara. I don't feel well."

"We'll be at the base soon."

They were. He disembarked the small Zoid and watched the damaged Fury be hurriedly unloaded into a too-small bay. This particular mountain base had never housed the Fury or any Zoid much larger than a Saix. Vega dully watched as a handful of mechanics debated how to best address the issue, his contempt flaring as they tried and failed to rearrange the massive Zoid. He wanted the Fury to wake up and just stand where they were trying to put it. Yet the emptiness in the back of his mind informed him that the Fury was truly, deeply unconscious, and could oblige no such request.

A sigh. The battle with the Liger took a tremendous toll on them both. He was feeling worse with each passing second, and wasn't sure why.

Feverish. Light-headed. Thirsty. He didn't know this base, didn't know where the mess hall or commissary was. Ire and nausea fought as he staggered into an unfamiliar corridor, getting only a few steps before he collapsed to his hands and knees, shaking. Vega's eyes closed and wanted to stay that way, every muscle keening with pain and a lack of desire to move. He was so tired, but found himself firmly conscious - strangely surging with adrenaline as would be someone poised on a precipice. Something in his mind recognized serious danger: these conflicting sensations were excruciating.

A few moments later he found himself helped to his feet by someone in the hangar. A woman wearing piloting gear; probably one of the numerous patrol pilots stationed here. She looked concerned. Vega blearily looked her in the eyes - he had no idea who she was, but everyone in the Backdraft group knew him.

"Obscura, sir. Are you all right?"

He wasn't. He waved her away, but asked feebly, "Can - can I have a drink?"

Without hesitation the pilot unbuckled a water canister from her belt, and handed it to the young man. He took it without thanks and greedily drank.

"Sir. You don't look well. Do you know where the medical bay is?"

He didn't; he shook his head. Vega emptied the canister and stared into it, trying to recall if he'd ever felt this thirsty in his life. He hadn't. Nausea swept him again, now with no temperance. He wondered where Sara had gone, wondered why they'd had to come to this stupid base he didn't know, and wondered-

The sensation wasn't unlike falling. He both saw, and knew, he'd gone nowhere - but his mind shrieked with incoherence as if the floor had been removed. The Berserk Fury's armored tail and haunch grated deafeningly across concrete, its upper body twisting as it struggled to right itself. The mechanics nearby wisely scattered after receiving a demeaning sweep of deep-red optics. Vega's gaze snapped to the hangar. Brief elation withered as an unbidden rage surged.

Boy and Zoid alike screamed.