Brad awoke, nauseated, with a pounding headache and a desperate craving for a smoke.
As his eyes adjusted to dimly-lit surroundings, he recognized that he was in a small room, a cell of some kind. A bed jutting from a wall - what he was on - a toilet, a sink, empty space and nothing else. One wall simply seemed open to the adjacent corridor, but he was confident that it was an energy-field. A single, stinging touch verified it. It was also cold; his sleeveless top wasn't doing him any favors. He'd been stripped of his vest and belt. His pockets, usually stocked with his everyday carry, were empty.
He sat back down and stared hard at the floor, struggling to determine how he'd ended up somewhere like-
Oh. He remembered. The Geno Saurers. Backdraft.
Fuck.
He walked to the open wall and pounded a fist on the closest solid surface. Several times, hoping for someone's attention.
No response.
Now his head, stomach, and fist hurt.
There weren't any windows he could see. No idea the time of day, no idea where he was, and no idea how long he'd been out. Panic wouldn't do him any good, so he didn't indulge it - but he couldn't help but feel the deep, painful gnaw of powerlessness. It hadn't plagued him in a very long time.
He didn't like it.
"Hello?" He called out.
Nothing but the hum of the surrounding infrastructure.
Brad frowned, frustrated. Typical Zoid warriors had little patience for Backdraft, mercenaries even less so. Even when the price was right, it usually wasn't. The Backdraft Organization was well-known for using brute force in lieu of payment. Not because they couldn't pay, but because they didn't have to. Brad started filing away everything he could about his surroundings, hoping he could eventually give the Commission or ZBGF enough information to wipe the place off the planet.
Brad became so lost in these vacant thoughts that he failed to notice that Vega had appeared at some point. The child stood a small distance off, reclined on the wall, arms folded behind his head. The two made eye contact.
It'd been months since the Royal Cup. Vega had grown, just a little. He also looked considerably more rough than Brad remembered.
"Vega Obscura." Brad said.
"Hi."
"Hi. Quick question. What the fuck."
"Don't worry. Just need your help for a bit."
Brad stared, nonplussed. "I respond well to money and being asked. Preferably nicely. I do not respond well to being thrown in," He gestured around, "jail."
Vega shrugged. "Eh. Don't always get what you want."
The man took a sharp breath and didn't say what he was thinking, instead asking: "Where's Naomi?"
The reply was a genuinely blank look, and a bigger shrug. "Not here."
Brad wasn't sure if that was worrisome or not. His face went through several iterations of concern before settling on an angry stare. Brad was really starting to resent how casually Vega stood there, watching. The kid even started grinning.
"You think this is funny?" Brad said.
"I think you're gonna be able to help us."
"I'm not helping you with anything until someone tells me what the hell's going on."
That drew a laugh. An obnoxious, puerile laugh. Vega sneered and leaned close with a faux whisper. "I don't really think you have a choice."
He scurried off before the man said anything else.
Sun touched Naomi's face and she awoke, stiffly.
The familiarity of her Zoid's cockpit was soon stripped of comfort by its utter stillness.
She found herself suspended at an awkward angle by the seat's restraints, her limbs buzzing numbly as she moved them. Thick orange glass glittered in every angle of her vision; the glass around her had been shattered, and she felt the sticky, cold lines of dried blood on her face as she shifted. The frosty morning air made her aware of how deeply cold she was.
She struggled to regain her bearings. Hypothermia didn't help. She couldn't remember where she was or what had happened. Truth be told, at the moment she could barely remember her name. Naomi fumbled for the releases to her seat's buckles, but couldn't operate them with her trembling hands.
Her breaths plumed softly in the crisp air.
Her Zoid weakly acknowledged her, but she paid it little heed. Quite fortunately for her, the Zoid had had the presence of mind to initiate a distress beacon. And quite fortunately for both of them, said beacon had been noticed.
In every sense of the word, she'd been left for dead. Being tangled in her Zoid's cockpit and somewhat protected from the elements was probably all that'd saved her. A regular ZBC patrol found her, and brought her back to civilization.
It was several days before she regained her senses. And another day still before she began to remember what had happened.
From sleep, she shot up from the hospital bed, startling Leon and Jaime who were nearby, playing cards.
"Where's Brad?"
Brad enjoyed solitude and silence… not isolation and boredom. There were very distinct differences, and in this case most of them arose from the complete lack of autonomy available.
No one really came by. Vega had been the first, and only person he saw for quite a span. Said span couldn't be easily defined, since there were no clocks, windows, or anything to provide a sense of time. That and the harsh lights in the cell never went off - ever. Sleep was possible but difficult beneath the relentless glare.
There weren't cameras that he could see, though he knew that didn't mean much. He paced. He investigated how things were attached to the wall. He tested how attached things were to the wall. He tested the energy-field multiple times, until the ringing pain in his arm convinced him to stop. He kicked things, he yelled, and at length he was tired and sat down, silent once more.
Had it been one day? Two? More? He'd been drinking from the sink's stubby faucet for water, but no one had brought him any food. What exactly was the point of this? Why abduct someone, then essentially ignore them? Vega had mentioned something, but Brad was having a hard time remembering exactly what at this point. As a regular smoker, Brad found withdrawal compounding his growing ire - and his remaining patience frayed into nonexistence.
And yet still… nothing changed.
No one came. It stayed silent, monotonous.
Impatience and ire began to deform under pressure. They became anxiety. Anger. Subtle, at first. Then severe.
He was desperately hungry. Desperately angry. Simply desperate, seated with his arms folded tightly, his eyes squinted shut, his head down.
The sense of being watched. He glanced up. And it was Vega again - the child was carefully approaching, with the stilted demeanor of someone breaking a rule. At Brad's notice he stopped, grinned, and stood there. Brad stood abruptly.
"Vega! What's-"
The child was eating a protein bar, idly and intentionally. The man stared at it, his throat working reflexively.
"I'm... kid , what the fuck is going on? Why am I here?"
"Told you. We need your help."
"With what?! Then at least let me do something. Don't just- don't just leave me to rot!"
"You're not rotting." Vega said, bristling with the kind of exasperation only an entitled child can possess. He continued to eat. "Just be patient."
"I'M-" Brad trailed off sharply, forcing calm. "I'm really hungry. Can I at least get something to eat?"
Vega made sure to consume the rest of the bar before looking pointedly at Brad. "No. They don't want anyone eating beforehand." The minutiae of his movements seemed fashioned solely to get a rise out of the older man. "One guy puked. It was really gross."
Brad had no idea what Vega was talking about and finally just snapped at him. "Beforehand? Before what?"
"You'll see."