Unsurprisingly, no one in the Backdraft Organization was interested in piloting the Fury. Reasons varied, but the overall theme was consistent: it terrified them.

Backdraft may have had issues following rules and obeying the general order of society, but they were fairly orderly within. Beneath the usual politics involved with a near-endless stream of some of humanity's ugliest money, there was a quasi-military sense of structure and function. Because of the recent heavy - and demoralizing - losses, it made no sense to coerce anyone into a piloting role they clearly weren't comfortable with. Especially not given what they'd be put at the helm of.

It was quite the conundrum, and Alteil was right. Realistically, the Berserk Fury was incredibly dangerous. If Vega couldn't handle it, who could? How did it make any sense to simply hand off such a destructive force to someone else instead?

She wasn't even sure they could destroy the Zoid. After all, it had simply been buried, despite a clear desire to see it gone. And even if they did re-bury or destroy it - what of Vega? Every time they tried allowing him back into consciousness, he and the Zoid simply screamed. When she'd first heard it, she'd thought it was a sound of anger. Subsequently, she realized, no: it was one of terror.

Sara's hope, however slim, was that perhaps with a different pilot made available the Berserk Fury could be enticed to fixate elsewhere. Disengage. And then the problem could be dealt with more easily. More… palatably.

The Zoid itself was strictly contained in one of the narrow underground hangars, bowed slightly. Offline. At least it seemed that way.

Sara neared, and quickly realized that wasn't true. She had the distinct sense it was awake. Just waiting. Stuck.

It was the first time she'd truly approached the beast alone. Truth be told, it intimidated her as much as it intimidated everyone else. But when presented with Vega's sudden fondness for it, she'd - foolishly, in retrospect - set her concerns aside.

The saurian Zoid had a strange magnetism about it. She wanted to hate the thing, but at the same time felt pity. She convinced herself it was what pity she felt for Vega, but that was very much a lie. Something furious, something sorrowful, something that begged for help but snapped at every hand that came near. She received these impressions in a mental jolt, and took a startled step back.

Had this thing really somehow been an Organoid, at some point? The documentation was clear, but it was such a bizarre thought to entertain. Not just because Organoids were considered the equivalent of childrens' fairy tales - complete fiction - but because almost everything described about the Fury upended everything she thought she knew about Zoids.

Deeply, it noticed her. She noticed its notice.

By this, it was clearly piqued.

~Come to me.~

Velvet smooth, deep, dark. It spoke to her.

For no real reason she could identify, she wanted to come closer. But every bone in her body, in a show of collective wisdom, froze her solid with fright.

~Sara. Do you want power?~

She did.

Feeling disgraced, having resigned from her position, dealing with the guilt and horror of what'd happened to Vega, along with the horror of…

~Do you want control?~

Sara's neck went taut with restraint. She pieced together that this - this really was the Zoid speaking, and this terrifying beast was somehow purring straight into her head. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing to ever cross her mind. If Vega's initial experience had been anything like this, it was no wonder he'd become so enamored.

The unpleasant thought of Vega lying still, across the base, miserably unconscious, brought her out of it. It dislodged the Fury's tentative hold from her as well, the Zoid reflecting both disgust and pining at the notion of Vega's comatose state.

"What do you want?" She snapped aloud at it.

Despite the Zoid's bodily stillness, one red optic lit. Amid a froth of hatred, a single, brief mental image: the Liger Zero. Along with a deep, excruciating need to absolutely annihilate it.

Brad wasn't terribly social, but Naomi enjoyed the occasional night out. Their compromise? Occasional nights on the town in Romeo City, where Team Fluegel was headquartered and they both now lived.

It wasn't a huge city, but possessed sufficiently-scintillating night life for the Red Comet. Brad found himself fond of a particular bar that was a regular mercenary hangout. Lit with neon, brick-walled, kept warm from the desert's freezing nights, but not stale or stuffy. The chatter here was relevant and unpresumptuous, and unlike many similar establishments they let people smoke and vape inside. This both had a lot to do with its attraction factor, and added a surreal neon haze.

Battles remained suspended, so there were a lot of restless, bored pilots and Warriors. Informal groupings, teams, bets and the like sprang up instead, drawing the ire but not condemnation of the ZBC. People needed money, and people liked to play with their big mechanical toys. Disciplining people for such, especially since the suspension of battles was precautionary, was out of line and wouldn't work anyways - not for these sorts of folks. Zoid Warriors in particular, and mercenary pilots second-most because money was king.

Brad noticed, but didn't especially care, when several regulars went missing over a span of a few weeks. Some concern was expressed by the bartenders, but mercenaries were indeed a transient lot.

Transient and self-selecting for a lot of movement, a lot of inconsistency, a lot of willingness to travel for the right amount of money.

Over a wide swath of the continent, Zoid pilots here-and-there went missing.

A disproportionate amount of them were mercenaries or pilots down on their luck. The issue: many of those people had little in the way of a social network. Had anyone been wise to these happenings, the pattern would've been clear: intentional, purpose-driven abduction of Zoid pilots who wouldn't be missed.

But with battles suspended and travel at a minimum, communities used to traveling bands of competition simply huddled down and kept to themselves. Humanity on Zi was conducted by one world government, so there weren't open political issues; news on a wide scale was generally limited to governmental edicts, food or water supply issues, and meteorite showers. Much of the planet's conflict boiled down to being the fault of small terrorist groups, the Backdraft Organization, or extreme religious sects. And those rarely, if ever, were able to cause wide-scale disruption.

It wasn't until the Tasker sisters showed up in Romeo City, inquiring after Jack, and a few weeks after that the man had been discovered dead in the middle of nowhere, that Brad paid attention.

Brad sat idly in Naomi's apartment, in a comfortable, denim-colored robe. He was sipping coffee and staring at a datapad that held the morning's news. Jack Sisco: the famous Saix pilot (who, Brad knew still did off-and-on mercenary work) had been found dead after going missing. The media deemed this worth widespread reporting, and public's wave of responsive anxiety reinforced this.

Brad looked up at Naomi, who was in a similar state of lazy half-dressed, standing at her own laptop PC on the counter. She was pondering a readout over breakfast as well.

"Hey. You see this?"

"News with Jack? Yeah. Sucks."

"Not really like him." Brad said, frowning. He was referring to the common-conclusion that Jack had wandered off, apparently to kill himself. It was one bolstered by the fact that there weren't really any signs of foul play, just the man and his Zoid found dead in the middle of nowhere.

"That's what Kelly said," Naomi replied. She didn't know Jack well herself, but she was fairly close acquaintances with the Taskers.

With a glance over her shoulder, she regarded Brad, recalling that the two men had been similarly acquainted. But Brad didn't look upset. He didn't have much of an expression on his face at all, really.

"We were supposed to time-trial the Fox and Saix against each other, when the Judges came back online."

Naomi wasn't sure what to say to that. So after a few moments:

"...I'm sorry."

Brad shrugged and stood, looking out the window. He took another long, ponderous sip of coffee. Naomi went back to what she was doing, and it was quiet in the apartment for a few minutes.

Then: "Wonder if those other guys are dead too."

A glance.

"Come again?"

"A few guys I know. Hang out at our local place. Mercs. Over the last few weeks. Months? Just gone. Nobody's seen 'em again."

"They probably left town because there's nothing to do here."

Romeo City was fairly central to many larger towns and cities. It had ended up being called Romeo City for a reason. "...babe, most of them live here."

Naomi heard Brad trying to keep the wary dip out of his voice, but he wasn't succeeding. Clearly bothered, he continued to hide behind sips of coffee until Naomi knew he must've run out. He finally sighed, and turned to her.

"I want to get out of town. Clear my head."

"I heard the last time you did that, you came back with a new Zoid and a fun story."

"Actually, I went camping all the time when I was on Blitz." He gave a small shrug. "Nobody cared until I came back with the Fox. It'd be weeks sometimes between matches, you know? Especially before Bit."

"Ah. Too many lunatics, too little asylum?"

"Yep. I'm a simple man. With simple needs." He raised his brows suggestively, and the two smirked together. He then motioned yonder. "But really. Quiet's one of them."

Naomi searched his face. "You're upset about Jack."

"I certainly don't want to sit here for the next several weeks dwelling on that."

"Understandable."

Brad closed her laptop in front of her. "Come with me? It'll be relaxing."

Naomi stared for a few moments at the PC as it went to sleep, before glancing back up at Brad.

Sure. Not like they were doing anything else for the duration.