Copyright bull- Zoids is not mine. IS NOT MINE. Though I wish it was. Because then I could play with Prozen. :)
And I find it kind of funny,
I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had,
I find it hard to tell you,
I find it hard to take,
When people run in circles,
It's a very very,
Mad world.- Gary Jules- Mad World
What had happened? He still asked himself that on occasion. What had fucking happened? Save the world once, shame on you. Save the world twice, shame on me. That's not how it went...
He tore at his black hair, grimacing at his dusty shoes, almost waiting for a response. He had no-one else to talk to, save an Organoid. And Organoids were better hood ornaments than conversationists. The air was dry, like an oven being opened up on the world. And not a cloud in the sky. The heavens dangled above him, a dizzying forever of blue and blue and blue. He stared at it, squinting in the noon-day sun, momentarily forgetting why he was out in the desert in the first place. And then he remembered. Because he was Van Flyheight. Of course.
And being Van Flyheight, he was of course scourned by both sides, loved by neither. How had that crazy twist of fate come about? Through no fault of his own. He was the sacrificial ram, slaughtered as a crowd pleaser, and to appeal to the gods. If there were any. And at this point of time, under the sweltering sky, and with not a friend in the world, he counted against any divine intervention.
He coughed slightly, clearing his throat of the dusty sand and grit that constantly floated around him. It got in his eyes, stuck to his sweaty palms, and swirled in his lungs. And why was he out in the fucking desert? Because he was Van Flyheight. Wiping a hand across his damp brow, he turned his burnt eyes skyward again. Because there was no other entertainment. Zeke was already complaining in his organoid way about the heat, and had promptly halted all progress by refusing to come out from underneath a rocky outcropping, probably the only shade for miles. He had yelled, cussed, and kicked at the sleek silver machine, trying to get it to move, so they could continue looking for civilization. Somewhere, anywhere, that did not know his face, or his name. And now he was sitting in the shade as well. Funny thing.
His zoid was currently hidden in an underground cave, a remnant of some sort of battle, now long past. At least he hoped it was. Desert bandits were a problem nowadays. He had already dispatched a few small groups, but he couldn't risk being seen out in the open. A large blue mechanical cat is very distinguishing when the only other life-forms around are small kit-foxes and lizards that bite. And he couldn't afford another run-in with a Republic or Empire scout troop. This was, in all the maps he had scoured and documents he had read while in Rudolph's company, no-man's land. And yet both sides treated it like it was theirs. Which meant that they'd bomb the hell out of anything that so much as flickered on their radar. He'd seen a scout troop encounter another and destroy them, only to realize afterwards that they were their comrades. Because no-one ever opened their telecoms up to conversations. Not anymore. Speaking was the ultimate form of evil nowadays.
From what he had scratched up passing through towns and picking up scraps of messages between troops, the peace had dissolved, and both sides were at war again. He knew in his heart of hearts that this would happen. He just didn't know when. And damnit, if it didn't happen fast. One moment, he could wear a Republic badge and confront an Empire soldier with a smile and a handshake, the next he was worrying about whether his organs were going to be painting the nearby walls and people. Why the hell they had allowed common soldiers high powered rifles, the Gods only knew.
Zeke was sleeping now. He could tell. He had learned to read the thing after hanging out with it for over four years. And sometimes, even now, he felt stupid talking to it, even though he knew it understood his every word. The creature had powered down about a half-hour ago, and now it slept with it's warm metal back to his, supporting him as he leaned back as to take advantage of the shade. It was disappearing fast by the looks of it. His steel boots now glinted with reflected sunlight, when they were dark and dusty a bit ago. This was a signal to move. He sighed, running one gritty hand through his black hair, pulling at the knots and tangles viciously. He needed a bath. A smile fickered across his face, if only for a moment. For all the emotions that lingered around him now, the more important thoughts, he still sometimes succumbed to that human necessity. Cleanliness was next to godliness. But there were no Gods, were there? He stood slowly, stretched his gloved hands above his spiky head, and gently nudged the organoid awake. It grumbled, stood, and wordlessly, he mounted. In a spur of white dust, they were again dashing across the hot desert.