Building Zoids in a World of Titans

Three days out from Millcross, the Iron Mule rolled into a dry wash shaded by scrub pines. The crew called it a night.

Rhian claimed the camp stove before Alex could reach for it.

"My turn. You two handle the perimeter check."

He didn't argue. Ziya didn't either. While the Mule's engine cooled, they walked the treeline, checking sensor pods and scanning the ridge for heat signatures. The Arosaurer stood powered down behind them, its cockpit dark. The Liger Zero and the Lanstag rode secured on the flatbed.

Rhian worked in silence. She had a system, ration packs laid out in order, water measured precisely, spices arranged by frequency of use. She moved like she belonged there.

The result was not good.

Alex stared at the grayish paste in his bowl. The protein bricks had dissolved into sludge. Raw in the center, charred at the edges. A single bite coated his tongue with salt and burnt starch.

Ziya picked at hers. Her jaw worked. She swallowed.

"It's… textured."

"Textured."

"It has a complex flavor profile."

"Complex."

Ziya said, deadpan.

"Edible. In the same way engine coolant is technically a liquid."

Rhian sat cross-legged on the Mule's running board, her own bowl untouched. Her mouth twitched.

"You hate it."

Alex set his spoon down.

"It's edible."

Rhian laughed, sharp and sudden.

"Just say it's terrible. I know it's terrible. I forgot the timer on the protein bricks and guessed on the water ratio."

Alex exhaled.

"It's terrible."

She grins.

"Thank you. Tomorrow Ziya cooks."

"I'll make a note."

The road east climbed through rolling hills, the scrub giving way to scattered stands of ironwood. The Mule's suspension absorbed the ruts. Alex monitored the fuel gauge, the coolant temp, the hydraulic pressure on the Lanstag's clamps. All nominal. He checked the mirror anyway, out of a habit the sensors had never once needed.

Ziya read from the Warden database: Titan migration patterns, Warden patrol schedules, known black market routes near Ironwood. Rhian dozed against the window, her breath fogging the glass.

Just the engine's steady rhythm and the miles rolling past.

Smoke rose ahead, a gray column bleeding into the pale sky. The yipping calls hit a moment later, high and layered, rising and falling in a rhythm that had nothing to do with panic. Everything about it said coordination instead.

Nine heat signatures on the forward sensors. Duskfang Jackals. Rank D on paper.

They came into view as the Mule crested the rise.

Horse sized at the shoulder, built low and lean for sustained speed rather than raw power. Dust colored fur shifted from grey to rust brown against the scrubland, each animal marked by a faint dark stripe down the spine, more pronounced on the older ones. Narrow snouts lined with serrated teeth. Large forward set ears swiveled independently, cataloguing the wind. Rank D. The classification meant nothing, looking at this.

They didn't charge as a mass. They split: three peeling left, three right, three holding the center, flanking the wagons with the deliberate precision of a surgical team. Two wagons lay overturned, one burning. Merchants scattered behind crates and wheel hubs, armed with nothing heavier than trade knives and desperation.

They aren't rushing, he thinks. They're herding.

The comm clicks open.

"Alex."

He keyed the channel.

"I see them."

"We can't just watch."

Half a beat. The Liger Zero's canopy sealed. The Arosaurer's ramp dropped.

"Ziya, hold the Mule. Monitor comms. Don't engage unless they break past us."

"Already moving."

The Mule's engine note deepened as she brought its systems online.

Rhian dropped into the Arosaurer's cockpit. Alex climbed into the Liger. No further discussion needed.

They broke the treeline together.

The Liger Zero hit two hundred and twenty kilometers per hour over open ground, a white and blue blur closing the distance to the nearest wagon cluster. Ears flattening, three jackals turned at the surge of motion, their coordination shifting instantly from merchants to the new threat. Alex didn't give them time to organize. The Strike Laser Claws extended, bio electric charge crackling along the golden tines.

He took the leftmost jackal at the hip joint. The creature folded, its spine snapping under the impact. The second lunged. The Liger's tail whipped around, a brutal counterstrike that sent it tumbling. The third hesitated, and that hesitation cost it. The AZ 208mm Dual Shock Cannon roared, twin shells catching it mid retreat.

Three down. Six left, and the geometry was already wrong for them.

Rhian's autocannons opened up from the ridge line.

CLACK-KA-THUD CLACK-KA-THUD

Each burst walked fire along the right flank. One jackal dropped before it could reach cover. The remaining pair bolted toward the treeline, then circled back, matching each other's pace stride for stride, too precise to be animal panic. Alex filed it away for later.

Alex held position instead, between the wagons and the pack, the Liger's optics tracking every heat signature. Rhian held her wider arc, the Arosaurer's tail spike shield deployed. They had done this before. The rhythm held: he drew attention, she punished exposure, neither needed to speak the plan.

The shift came without warning.

Three jackals broke from the center simultaneously. Regrouping. They converged on Rhian's position from three angles. Their yipping calls sharpened into a harder bark. The Arosaurer's sensors painted the geometry: a narrow gap between a sandstone outcropping and the treeline. A chokepoint. The same tactic they'd used on the merchants.

This isn't Rank D instinct, he thinks. Something is directing them.

Alex didn't finish the jackal in front of him. He broke left, ion boosters flaring, the Liger Zero screaming across the open ground.

The Liger tore into the flanking group at full speed, closing before they could reset the geometry. Two jackals disintegrated under the Strike Laser Claws before they could pivot. The third darted past, but the Liger's foreclaw shot out and caught it mid air, crushing the ribcage in the same motion.

Rhian moved at once. The Arosaurer's flamethrowers roared, a wall of fire sealing the chokepoint behind her as she reversed out, autocannons covering her own retreat.

CLACK-KA-THUD

The pack's formation shattered. The last two, the pair from the right flank that had circled back instead of fleeing, paused at the tree line, ears up, watching. Then gone.

Silence returned, broken only by cooling metal and the crackle of the burning wagon. Rank D, on paper.

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