Bit finished scrubbing the swath of hangar floor and threw the brush back into a bucket. He wiped his brow and picked up a hose, rinsing the concrete down. The Liger Zero stood watching across the way, eyeglass dimmed and thoughtful.

Bit glanced, and sent a little jet of water its way. "You could've done this outside."

~Sorry.~

A blink. Man, that was going to take some getting used to. Bit squinted at the Liger for a moment, and it reverted to its more typical method of expression: it pictured how the Organoid had entered the Liger's inner Core chamber and how the Zoid had panicked, outraged at the thing's impudent behavior.

"Right. But... is that something they do, or what?"

~Well. Yes. But it is customary to ask.~

Bit was having enough difficulty processing the existence of an Organoid at all. He could tell there was a lot he didn't know, but was going to need time to wrap his mind around the first parts before rooting for deeper ones. "What'd it say to you?"

The Liger paused for a long enough span that Bit stopped and looked at it, expectantly.

~He asked for my help. He was... not well.~

Bit was guessing by the Zoid's reaction last night that the answer had been a resounding 'no.' But the hesitance in his partner's voice made him squint. He took a breath to speak, but:

"Do you always just hold casual conversations with no-one?"

It was Naomi. Bit faced her with surprise, watching the woman languidly make her way into the hangar. Most people on the Blitz Team were used to Bit just talking to the Liger. Naomi wasn't on the team.

"Oh, heya. Nah, just chatting with Liger."

"Seems a little one-sided."

Bit regarded her. "Not really. Zoids have a lot to say if you listen."

Naomi glanced at her Gun Sniper, then to the Liger. "Yours seems to have a lot to say. Of a night. When people are trying to sleep."

The blonde lightly crossed his arms. "You saw the footage. Come on, Liger was freaking out. I was trying to be quiet."

Naomi had indeed seen the footage, and was still at a loss of what to make of it. Her life seemed hellbent on making less and less sense as of late; she shrugged. "Not blaming you, Bit. Everyone's just wigging out about that thing and I'm... " There were several words she considered using. She settled on: "I don't find it that interesting. Came out here to see if you needed help."

~She is unhappy.~

Bit's eyes flicked to the Liger, then settled back on Naomi.

Of course she was unhappy. There were still no official battles to take anyone's mind off of anything. There was only so much maintenance and busywork to be done around a base, but she didn't want to go back to her apartment just to sit there. Despite extensive efforts, especially by her, Leon, and Steve, no one had found hide nor hair of Brad, and she'd lost considerable hope on that front. Though she didn't want to, she found herself thinking of Brad in a past tense - there simply wasn't much reason for optimism at this point.

She too had been left for dead, and per what many had said to her, she likely would've died had she gone much longer without being found. Realistically it'd only been her Zoid that saved her. She looked at it again, uncertain, and it turned its head slightly her way.

Her emotions blunted, almost defensively.

Naomi was starting to feel unmoored as a Warrior and perhaps person as well. She wondered if she should've felt more strongly about the whole ordeal, but... she simply didn't. She'd spent most of her time at the Blitz base around Leon, since she knew him best and he offered her considerable support. But now he was fixating on the whole Organoid thing, and that was well-and-truly on her last few nerves.

Bit grinned a little awkwardly at her and started to put the hose away. "I'm gonna run a few checks on Liger." He offered a friendly hand to Naomi after he freed it up. "Don't need help, but can always use some."

Naomi returned a small grin, and idly pulled her hair back in preparation to work.

The Fox watched Layon enter the small bay, holding something new.

It was a bit rough and mismatched-looking, the very definition of a prototype, but to the Fox it seemed familiar. A helmet with several clusters of cylinders near the back, ponytails of wire arching from each one. Each bundle of wire was neatly bound, the spliced ends terminating in a dangling bouquet of the typical connectors found in Zoids' cockpits.

Layon whistled softly and pointed at the ground. A request, not a command.

The Fox craned its neck and peered intently at the space Layon pointed to.

"Oh, come on. You know what I'm asking."

Chuff.

"Let's just try this out, okay?"

Chuff.

"I just want to chat. That's what this is for!" He proudly held up the helmet, and plopped it on his head in demonstration. "The system you're based on used one just like this. Same specs and everything. It should work!"

The Fox pondered the man for a moment, before leaning down and deigning to let him into the cockpit. Layon didn't take this for granted: he moved slowly and with great transparency, as would one trying to gain the trust of a wary animal.

It worked. Everything worked. Layon lacked nothing in the department of skill or intelligence - his main and most serious shortages were in common sense. He focused on the working HUD displays on the helmet's visor, and gave a triumphant laugh.

"Ah, see, what'd I tell you!"

There was something strangely uncomfortable, almost too intimate, being able to discern the Zoid's impressions this way. It didn't speak outright, but between strong inclinations and a choppy HUD readout of text, it was completely understandable.

[Dr. Layon. Hello. Let's: chat?_ ]

"Yeah!" He concentrated on the extent of the Shadow Fox's systems, the AI understanding and mirroring an all-systems readout and diagnostic. WIth the extra input, however, Layon automatically parsed its strain from the battle as soreness - and didn't like that.

"Owww . Sorry. I promise, I had nothing to do with that."

[Am: Aware._ ]

It reflected fear . It had been very afraid of the Fury and what it said.

[Do not: wish to fight: Berserk Fury._ ]

Layon hadn't ever really considered how excruciating being ripped apart was from a Zoid's point of view. They could just be repaired, rebuilt, right? In most cases at least. So what was the big deal?

The Fox's precise, horrified notions consumed him with their intensity. That was the big deal. Layon awkwardly patted a console, clearing his throat against the unbidden terror. "I- uh. You won't have to, again. Don't worry."

He received clear impressions of the Zoid's anxiety. [Dr. Layon: does not: know that._ ]

The Fox was right, of course. Layon had no intention of exposing the Fox to the Berserk Fury again, now or ever. But he'd never had that intention to begin with. " Hey, uh. You wanna talk about something else?"

[Sure._ ] For a split-second, it reminded Layon of Brad. Just as it learned to fight, it probably learned to communicate based on pilot feedback. Something would probably need to be done about that.

"Good. So, you wanna tell me what's gone on with your systems? And why you wouldn't get on with any of our damn pilots?"

Layon received an interesting lesson in machine learning as told by a machine. When pressed for an answer as to Backdraft's pilots, however, the Fox balked.

'Brad understands ' had been its only answer in that regard. Why didn't it want to work with the other pilots? Why'd it'd decide to just merrily go with the asshole mercenary who took it on a joyride? Why, why, why? No good reason given. Simply, Brad understood better.

Brad seemed to understand the Fury, too. So did Vega, obviously. And Vega had never tried to pilot the Shadow Fox - he'd never even been to the Mackaray base before now.

Layon's mind ticked. Could Vega pilot the Fox? Could Bit? Could Bit pilot the Fury? Was the Liger as picky as the Fury? Could Vega pilot the Liger? Could Brad pilot the Liger? Brad had actually been around the Liger Zero for a long time. Did Brad "understand" it too?

Layon figured he could get an answer to at least one of these questions.

"Who authorized the Berserk Fury to be refitted with its armor?" Sara said.

Vega nonchalantly slid his eyes at his mother entering his room. "I did."

"And who gave you permission to do that?"

"...I did."

Vega had learned from a young age how power and the abuse thereof worked - and it was a lesson he'd taken to heart. Most of Backdraft would defer to his casual command, knowing full well they weren't supposed to but not wanting to deal with him not getting his way (which Sara would usually permit anyways.) The realization of this influence had grown as he did; he'd begun to relish in his ability to tell most exactly what to do, and began to hungrily project futures in which he was simply obeyed.

What Vega read as increasing deference however, was in reality fear. The Fury was a nasty open secret, a festering lesion on a major artery of the Backdraft Organization's heart. Though the group wasn't known for its great respect of life or property, some individuals had begun to falter when tasked with putting body bags in the incinerator alongside trash. Some at the Mackaray base simply couldn't deal with being around the Berserk Fury, going AWOL or abandoning Backdraft entirely.

Sara narrowed her eyes at her child's quiet, defiant stare.

She did want this particular, exhausting nightmare with the Fury to be over. But she just as badly wanted some order to the deployment of the Fury's assault. Everything had to go smoothly, the Liger had to be defeated. Backdraft would be playing a very risky hand by revealing itself and the fully-operational Berserk Fury at all. The only way she'd managed to get such a foray approved was to present it as something the Committee could broadcast. Given Backdraft's ongoing lack of ability, a critical mass of bored rich people were being deprived of entertainment they were quite used to. These bored rich people were willing to shell out a lot of money to be less bored, especially for something so vicious as promised.

But Vega had made it clear the Fury was going after the Liger regardless of what anyone wanted. Though it'd be easier to wait until at least one of their satellites was back online, it simply wasn't feasible - there wasn't even a working timeline yet.

Providing the Fury with alternate pilots had indeed somehow allowed Vega to again wake and function. But he always seemed tired, and Sara could tell he was constantly hiding discomfort or pain.

She couldn't shake the sense that the Berserk Fury had done something very real, and perhaps very permanent, to her only child. Were that the case, she wasn't sure she could ever forgive herself.

Vega's defiance cooled to caution as Sara's silence dragged on. The woman cleared her throat and responded, at length.

"Not wise. The base hasn't been fully cleared yet."

She was referring to the creature - the Organoid - that'd shown up. The base was being searched high and low for trace of it. Nothing had been found, but…

"It went away. Fury said it won't come back."

"And how do you know that? How does he?"

Vega shrugged. "We don't like it."

Well okay then. Sara sighed. "Capturing something like that would be extremely valuable to the Organization."

Vega looked intently at his mother. "It's bad. We don't want it here. If it shows up again, it dies."

By now she should've been used to the Fury's random intrusions into her child's eyes and voice, but she still wasn't and it was disturbing every time. She did catch the mental edge of Vega's unsettling experience with the creature, picturing how it had stared straight into him. Its alien depth resonated, but something was very wrong - a universal, profound wrong, like a fire that burned cold instead of hot.

Vega broke eye contact, taking a deep breath. He changed the subject. "What are we going to do with the other pilot once we're done?"

"That's a problem that should take care of itself."

He chuckled without mirth. "And if it doesn't?"

"Don't worry. We'll take care of it if that's an issue."

He worried. But showed no sign of it.

Layon approached the cell's transparent wall and silently peered in. Brad was seated facing the wall, arms around knees pulled tightly to his chest.

"Hey."

No response.

"Brad."

"What." He didn't look at Layon.

Layon tapped the wall for the other man's attention. He was holding a cigarette and a lighter, offering the former. "Trade you, for a moment."

Brad's voice was simply tense. "Layon. Get me out of here."

"Can't."

"You can, but you won't."

That was true... but: "You don't understand what's going on."

Brad looked over his shoulder irritably. He stood after a moment and approached, opening his hand with an impatient beckon for the cigarette. "You're not the first person to tell me that. Feel free to explain."

Layon sighed and set the cigarette on the ground, rolling it through the small opening that appeared at the base of the field. Brad grabbed it, reflexively went for a lighter he didn't have, and cursed. He then looked up at Layon.

"You're not gonna like it." Layon said.

"Ah, yes. Because I like it so much, right now."

"I'll make you a deal. You answer my question. And I'll tell you what's going on."

"Better deal: you give me a light, I'll answer your question."

"No, because then you might not talk." Layon didn't wait for a response. "Did you ever pilot the Liger Zero? "

It wasn't a question Brad expected. His face immediately betrayed at least part of the answer. Layon's eyes widened, but when Brad didn't continue, Layon quickly held up the lighter, and another cigarette. The implied deal was obvious.

"Yes. I did." Brad said bluntly. "And I'll tell you more, if you tell me more. And, " He nodded his head at the offered goods.

Layon complied.

"And they just kept... trying." Layon had produced a hip flask at some point, and took a deep swig from it. "And, nobody's lived. Except you. The end."

Brad stared. He took a long drag, exhaled at length and was silent for a long time.

"You guys took Jack Sisco, didn't you."

Layon nodded, faintly. Then quickly shook his head. "Not my idea. After the nobodies didn't pan out, Sara thought maybe skill had something to do with it. Vega's not dead, after all."

"Jack was one of the best." Brad frowned. "And they weren't 'nobodies.'"

"To Backdraft they were." Layon said with a smirk, though it edged towards rueful. "But hey! You're someone, at least."

Silence. Brad grated a sigh. He was beginning to understand where Vega's attitude towards who 'mattered' may have come from.

"Am I? I'm not special, Layon. I'm just a pilot. A mercenary, no less. I worked for Toros, for fuck's sake." Brad was well-acquainted with Layon and Toros's ridiculous, long-standing rivalry, and knew that Layon knew that the Blitz Team hadn't been worth much prior Bit.

"Your individual Class now, and victories more recently with the Blitz Team say otherwise." Layon shrugged. "A lot of good Zoid Warriors aren't… you know, one-man bands. Maybe you just needed a better Zoid."

Brad narrowed his eyes. It was silent again for a few moments.

"Is the Fox okay?"

The question shouldn't have surprised or annoyed Layon, but it did both. "It's just fine."

A subtle nod. "You still gonna let me keep it?"

Layon promptly emptied the rest of his flask before answering. "Sure. If you live." He didn't let that statement hang. "Now, your turn. Tell me about you and the Liger."

Brad absently chewed the filter of his cigarette, eyeing the taller man. "Not really interested in dying, Layon."

"Aren't we all." Layon motioned impatiently with a hand. "Liger."

A lot of hesitation followed. "It's gonna sound fucked."

"Try me, Brad."

Brad leapt down from the Liger's cockpit with a frown. Because nothing had really happened and the Liger hadn't moved, Leon was laughing at him. But Leon's laughter stopped when he saw the other man's expression.

"You try," Brad said quietly, without elaboration.

So Leon did. Similarly to Brad, he didn't get anywhere. Less similarly, he didn't seem perturbed in the slightest. Brad studied Leon as he climbed back down. The young Toros gave a helpless shrug.

"Man… maybe you're right. Maybe-"

"Did you feel anything?" Brad asked, suspicious.

A blink. "Feel what? A Zoid that won't start?"

Leon laughed again. Brad did not laugh, or smile for that matter. Leon stopped for a second time, and looked at the mercenary intently. Oh, he was serious.

"That Zoid feels weird. Really weird." Brad said. It was clear that he was genuinely bothered.

"Like…?"

Brad hesitated, but trusted Leon so made the attempt. However, describing the inexplicable didn't tend to go well. By the time Brad gave up trying to explain the myriad of sensations to his very confused-looking teammate, he'd made the decision to try again. He abruptly started to climb back up the Liger's leg.

"Fuck it. I can pilot this thing."

Leon just watched, confused.

The Liger rumbled softly as Brad slipped back into the cockpit and seized the controls. Brad knew what to expect now, so wasn't quite as put off by it. Knowing that none of it was actually going to hurt helped too: he took a deep breath and pushed the throttles forward.

Nothing.

He felt the Zoid regard him, judgmental. Sharp and unbidden, Brad found himself thinking about all things carnal, and money, and money owed him by Toros, and his irritatingly low pilot ranking, and how empty he felt, and the squeeze of a trigger-

Brad blinked several times and squinted at the consoles. He shoved the throttles harder. "Go."

He had the distinct impression that the Zoid did not approve.

Brad raised and twitched a brow, still swimming in the mixed feelings of contact. "And I think you suck because you won't fucking go," He snapped at it. "Come on. Let's see what you can do!"

The Liger started walking in a tight circle, its head slightly inclined. Leon stepped then staggered back, correctly assessing that the Zoid was gearing up to bolt. It made several erratic bounds around the hangar, before tearing off into the dusk outside. Fast.

Brad quickly realized he was not at all in command of the Zoid, but rather a tenuously-welcome guest in its slipstream. The Liger continued its sidelong regard, with Brad staring right back. At first, the man was defiant, but defiance quickly melted into a growing terror at the lack of control.

~Trust me. Let go.~

Despite the clear, kind warmth of the voice, it both startled and angered Brad. First of all: What was this bullshit? Zoids didn't talk. That was freaking him the fuck out. Second of all…

No. He was going to pilot this thing. His knuckles went white as he shifted his grip on the controls, forcing the issue. The vice-like grip on his bones intensified, he couldn't breathe, he-

He sharply, angrily stopped the Liger Zero, muscles cording as he fought its near-solid controls. "I don't think you understand how this works. Pilots pilot-"

The Liger Zero's eyeglass blazed, indignant. This didn't come as a voice, but as a strong impression: but partners know their place.

He was torn from the slipstream, he hit the bottom of the icy falls, fickle pleasure turned to searing pain and Brad yelped, letting go of the controls in shock. The Zoid's hard harness bucked up and hit him, seemingly intentionally - and without further ado the Liger's cockpit hatch hissed open and the Zoid threw Brad out into the sand with a downward flick of its head.

Stunned silent, his nerves raw and screaming, Brad spit sand, rolled over, and lay on his back. There he carefully pondered both his grip on reality and his life decisions in general.

He stayed there even as the sun set, and the Liger dismissively stalked off.

Leon arrived some time later in a vehicle. He leaned over in the dusk's light, peering at Brad.

"I figured-"

"Not. One. Word. To Toros."

"Not a word."

Brad shrugged conclusively. He leaned on and stared at the wall, not particularly fond of the memory.

Nor was he particularly fond of the idea he was expected to destroy the damn Liger. His irritation was old and had significantly eroded over time - a lot had happened. Maybe he was mis-remembering things. Maybe he was wrong. The Liger was Bit's, seemed to work fine. Nothing more had ever been said. It didn't matter anymore.

He felt the Fury in his periphery and twitched.

~You are not a very good liar.~

Brad closed his eyes. If he actually was forced to go through with this madness … could he and the Fury even defeat the Liger Zero? It and its pilot were fierce, successful Warriors. And if Bit or the Liger understood and responded appropriately to the actual threat on their life, it could very well be them killing him .

Brad had very mixed feelings about that.

~They will not defeat or destroy us.~

Layon had been pondering his empty flask quietly. "You're right. That does sound fucked." He looked at Brad. "Vega said the Berserk Fury talks too."

"...yep."

"Interesting. Have you heard the Fox?"

Brad pointedly gnashed the cigarette filter in his teeth. "You're way past one question."

Layon just kept staring. "The Shadow Fox was built with an AI system. It works, really well. Did you know it managed, by itself, to not get killed by you and the Fury?"

Brad's face fell, but recovered slightly. "There wasn't a pilot?"

"No."

It was the most surprising, alarming, disappointing relief Brad had ever felt in his life. "How? A robot pilot?"

"No. As I said. AI system in the Zoid. Like… a pseudo-Ultimate X. Based off some old Imperial technology." Layon abruptly toasted with nothing, at no-one. "And it can actually fight. And learn! I'm a genius!"

Brad did want to know more, he wanted to ask questions. But the deprivation of his current reality set in and his vague intrigue was replaced by an ashy nihilism.

The Fury seized on it. None of this would matter if he died piloting the Berserk Fury, which he could see no good way out of and desperately wanted to take it for himself anyways. And even if he succeeded at its stated mission - he'd be despised, he'd be ostracized, or worst case scenario he'd be outright put to death - not like it mattered, as he would be completely untouchable in the best of ways. Accidental death by battling misadventure was one thing; clear murder was another entirely - but this wasn't murder, it wasn't revenge, it was simply the way of things.

Layon observed Brad's descent into silence and only half-understood it. He went off:

"So, funny story... not funny, actually. Vega was hit hard with rhabdo after the Royal Cup. Got real sick. He's piloted plenty of advanced Zoids before, real intense stuff for an adult, nevermind a kid. And that's just never happened, you know?" The man paused, and shrugged. "The only different factor was the Berserk Fury. Pushed him way too hard, I guess."

It wasn't unusual for pilots to suffer malaise after particularly difficult battles. Yet, though being a pro-level Zoid pilot was mentally and physically demanding... it didn't typically drive people into kidney failure.

"You seem fine though," Layon said with a firm nod, getting to his point. He seemed more interested in making himself feel better than Brad, though. "So… you should be fine."

Brad didn't know what rhabdo was and didn't care, wasn't really listening. "Sure. Whole murder issue notwithstanding."

Layon gazed at his empty flask again. A shrug. "Eh… nobody will ever know about any of that. Unless you tell them."

"The Berserk Fury wants to kill Bit. And the Liger."

"No it doesn't. It just wants to-" Layon caught himself, as Brad choked a laugh.

"Sure, Layon. Sure. Tell me what a Zoid that fuckin' whispers sweet nothings to me really wants. Go ahead. I'm all ears."

Layon's brows dropped. Vega and Sara had never mentioned this. And Brad really didn't have a reason to lie about it. "Are you sure?"

Brad grimaced. "So, let's see: it wants to fire on the fucking base from a couple kilometers out, to start. It doesn't care if it hits the Liger outright or not. If so, great. If not, it'll just really piss it off. Doesn't matter." The man closed his eyes and dipped his head, trying to remember the base's layout. There were definitely ways to try to minimize damage, but...

Layon stared uneasily.

Brad looked back up, incensed. His voice strained with the effort of curbing emotion. "Fuck, Layon. Do you want everyone dead?"

No... he didn't really want anyone dead. In general, but namely on the Blitz Team. That Leena wasn't likely to be at the base somewhat consoled him, but for all of his violent posturing he didn't want Steve, Steve's annoying son, Oscar's child, or anyone dead. Layon just looked at Brad, a blank look hiding an increasing roil of anxiety. The depravity of this entire exercise finally hit him like a ton of bricks. It'd taken him considering folks being obliviously obliterated to reach that conclusion, but unfortunately once there he couldn't escape it... or think of anything to say.

Or do. His typical bravado failed him.

Sara and Vega now represented some of the very upper reaches of Backdraft's social hierarchy. He himself was more than a few rungs above minion, but not in any real position of authority. Matters were made worse by the fact Sara had moved to reclaim Alteil's considerable position after he'd been killed… as far as Layon knew the Committee had granted the request.

Backdraft was suddenly a very daunting entity when you wanted to do something you knew it wouldn't like.

At length, Brad scowled and wouldn't look at Layon anymore after he didn't answer.

"Don't suppose you've got anything stronger on hand?" He said, disgustedly flicking away the cigarette butt.

Layon just shook his head and silently walked off.