King of Time Part 3

(NOTE: The following is an off-season collab that has no bearing on 2018 or 2019 RP. Special thanks to TheDeleter for writing Vince, Cornwind Evil for writing Dawn and TheRubyChao for writing Kaede.)

“Harold Kelman?”

The aged British man, former head of the Ministry of Joy, looked up from where he sat.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

The young man grinned. “Nope. But I know you. They say a lot about you in the history books.”

Kelman snorted. “Nothing good, I’ll be bound.”

“Yeah, they don’t talk much about the Smiler stuff. That was kinda whack. Still amazed a whole nation bought into Martian psychic therapy.”

“Amazing what you can sell if you package it right.” The old man laughed, but there was no humour in it.

The stranger took the seat next to him. He sat back easily, as if unconcerned with what was going on in the older man’s mind. There was a long pause as the duo stared at the opposite wall of the waiting room.

“...are you here to see someone?” Kelman asked.

“Nope, just passing through. You?”

Kelman stared. “That’s rather private, isn’t it?”

“Hey, I’m a chatty guy. I like to get to know people.”

A longer pause. And then Kelman heaved a huge sigh, looking more old and tired than ever.

“My daughter. She… developed some kind of viral infection. The doctors can’t seem to identify it, but she’s… very weak. I pay her a visit every day I can. But with my busy schedule, I fear that someday she might… slip away. When I’m not there to comfort her. Ironic, that my brother created Marmalization to ease pain, and yet now I can’t do anything for my own child.”

His voice became cracked, emotion leaking through. The stranger sucked in air through his teeth.

“Damn,” he remarked. “Heavy. No dad should have to see their kid go before them.”

“And you would know?” Harold’s tone was almost droll.

“No. But I’ve seen it happen again and again, where I come from. Children getting their lives cut short, right in front of the people who love them the most. It’s messed up. Imagine having to cradle the body of your own family when their only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Harold sighed, but offered no comment. There was an even longer silence.

“You care a lot for your daughter,” the stranger said.

“Obviously.” Another humourless laugh.

Then Kelman looked over at the stranger. And he sensed something seemed off when he saw the tiny smirk at the corner of the younger man’s mouth. But he was old, and couldn’t be sure. Ever since the Smiler incident, he’d gone a little paranoid, always looking over his shoulder…

“Would you save her yourself, if you could?” asked the stranger.

The sense of wrongness grew.

“...more than anything.”

Then the stranger turned to him and looked him dead in the eye.

“Harold Kelman. History says that your daughter dies in a week, from the Bugster Virus. But I’ve come to change that. I can give you the power to save your daughter and make things right. In return, I need you to do something for me. Think of it as equivalent exchange - I scratch your back, you scratch mine. There’s a lot at stake, Harold Kelman, and I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t think you weren’t the man who could do this.”

The former head of the Ministry felt very much like a cornered canary before the cat strikes.

“Do what?” he asked.

The stranger pulled something from his pocket.
 

“Save the future.”

King of Time Part 2

(NOTE: The following is an off-season collab that has no bearing on 2018 and 2019 RP. Special thanks to TheDeleter for writing Vince and Cornwind Evil for writing Dawn.) 

~THE TEAPOT~ 

It had taken one or two more explanations from Vince and Kouta before Dawn understood what was needed of her. And then her eyes lit up with curiosity.

“Well, well. An original Rider. We're moving up in the world.” Her eyes flickered as she scanned the Space-Time Driver, which was lying on top of the work table. “Right at the start of his calling, too. For better or for worse.”

Kouta did not look any less out of place or in the loop than he had at the start. It was kind of crazy, how quickly he’d gone from kicking a future cop in the face to being very confused. He’d only barely grasped that Dawn was an android - not that Vince’s explanation had helped much.

“...I'm sorry,” he said, “am I supposed to understand any of this? Because I feel like I should, but I'm not.”

Dawn fixed him with a look.

“What do you know about Kamen Riders, Mr Tokiwa? Appropriate name, by the way.”

“Some parents can be so cruel.” Vince, standing off to the side, watched the proceedings with mild disinterest.

Kouta shrugged.” Didn't the news come up with that term? I think it's kinda silly. Why not just call them "Masked" Riders instead of shoving some random Japanese in there?”

“Ever heard of a contronym, Mr. Tokiwa? It's a word that means both what it means and its opposite. Take the word bolt. It can be used in sentences to denote securing AND fleeing.” Dawn picked up the driver and turned it over. “My point is, language is weird and you never know what quirks are gonna stick despite themselves. So, that's all you know? News reports?”

“Pretty much. Um…” Kouta scratched his head. “They wear weird belts and they fight monsters?”

“Basically yes. At the core, each Rider is a sort of greater 'immune response' to a large problem. The Gaim Riders, for example, were a way to keep an invasive alternate dimension from consuming our planet. Vince here, however, is NOT the Ex-Aid that was called to deal with the danger Ex-Aid was tasked to stop. That was a man named Emu Hojo. He succeeded, and the mantle moved on to Vince. He is, for lack of a better term, a copy.”

Vince rolled his eyes. "Ow, my self-esteem."

Dawn ignored him. “My son is not the original Build. I borrowed an original Rider's powers briefly myself for a time. It's gotten easier over the years, probably as the ease of Riders copying each other's powers grew. Your attacker copied the abilities of Shinnosuke Tomari, Kamen Rider Drive, who was a good guy, not a would be assassin.

“But you, Mr Tokiwa?” She fixed Tokiwa with another look. “You are the chosen original of the Rider Mantle called Zi-O. Your great task, whatever it may be, lies ahead. That also means you haven't begun to fully understand and increase your power, but that's fine, we'll compensate.”

There was a pause.

“...okay, then?” Kouta looked even more lost than before.

"Don't worry, you'll figure it out,” remarked Vince from the corner. “I did."

“Trust me,” put in Dawn as she set the Driver down. “If Vince can fumble his way into being a worthy heir… but I digress.”

"You're killing me here. Don't get no respect."

Again, Dawn ignored the peanut gallery. “So. You are being targeted by some time cop who wants to kill you because you turn into someone bad. You maniacs. You blew it up…” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Kouta nodded. “That pretty much sums him up. He was wearing a weird belt like mine, too. Although Vince's store copied his belt to make mine, so maybe it should be the other way around?” He looked at the Driver. It continued to sit there and provide no answers.

“Or it summoned the belt you were meant to have, having seen an example of belts that would be based on yours in the future.”

Dawn was met with a blank stare of incomprehension.

Night of Blood (Part 2/4)

WARNING: The following contains the death of an alternate universe version of a character. The character's owner has given consent for this to happen, and this does not affect the main ZFRP Universe. Reader discretion, however, is advised.

~EARTH ZF-025, WORLD OF BUILD~ 

The Teapot.

The security of the Cosine family's facilities and homes were notoriously easy to break. This was perhaps due to arrogance on the behalf of the family - because everything they made was of the most advanced and esoteric technology they could find, they assumed it couldn't be broken. Or maybe they were just negligent in their own security measures. In this case, however, the Teapot had long been abandoned - the original owners had long since moved, having found better and more secure places to do their work in. If they even remembered the place existed

It meant that Night Rogue and his company easily hacked their way through the security lock, turned off the cameras and got inside without setting off a single alarm.

They'd emerged into the Teapot unscathed and unchallenged, the Guardians and the Smash behind them. But they were wise enough to know that even now, victory was not immediately assured. Most of the time, break-in's had been foiled because the villain felt the need to announce themselves, or make an attempt to blackmail or coerce the person within into doing their bidding. This gave the victim the chance to muster a response, usually in the form of automated turrets or their own powers - if the agressor was lucky. If they weren't, it meant the Kobbers raining down upon their heads like a thunderstorm of angry fists, swords, guns and lightning bolts.

Night Rogue did not announce himself. There was no worth in wasting the breath to do so. He merely shot the lock straight off the door leading into the rest of the building, kicked it open and walked onward, his assembled squadron following behind. Blood Stalk, seemingly deliberately, brought up the rear - the excuse he gave was that he wanted to avoid any surprise attacks from the rear, although it seemed half-harted even by his own standards. Rogue knew he was lying, and Stalk knew that he knew, and thus they were all content together.

Reaching a junction between corridors, he turned to address his troops. The Guardians, about twelve in total, stood impassive, awaiting their next order like the soldiers they had originally been programmed to be. But the six huge, hulking Smash amongst them were milling about impatiently, letting off the deep, rolling growls a tiger gives before it smacks somebody in the head and caves their skull in. They were rapidly losing interest - and unless they found it again, then the nearest object or person was going to suffer for it.

Thankfully, Rogue knew what to do about that.

"Secure this base," he rumbled. "Form perimiters around the main research laboratory - nobody gets in or out unless it's me. Recover anything electronic you can find, and destroy anything that isn't. Then erase all traces from her servers. I don't want that wretched family tracing this back to us. And if anything related to the Doctor's work or Project: Build comes up, you bring it to me. Understand?"

The Guardians nodded their assent and marched off, the Smash close behind. Some of them, however, stuck with Rogue, standing to attention and guns at the ready. These were his personal guard, those programmed to defend him with their operational lives and ensure his safety. They would stick with him no matter what other orders they were given, which was a plus for Rogue - less chance of him getting surprised or penned by a canny enemy.

Blood Stalk emerged from among them, idly swinging his blade.

"Leave nothing to chance, do you?" he drawled.

"I've played the game of war for long enough," was the reply. "You pick up a few tricks on the way. Now, follow me - I've a score to settle, first thing."

With all that said, Rogue turned his back on his supposed ally, the metal of his armour glinting from the overhead lights and began to march. His stride was one with purpose, every step showing the silent, stoic determination of a soldier carrying out his duty. Obediently, his Guardians followed, weapons holstered in case of sudden accident - even with the security down, they were prepared.

Behind them, Stalk chuckled as he realized what was going to happen.

"Oh, this is gonna be good..."

Non-Canon Silliness 4: Dirk Design Desicions

WARNING: The following contains large amounts of #Butts, and may not be suitable for certain readers. It is also not canon and extremely silly, and thus has no actual bearing on the Zoofights RP Timeline.

With that said, enjoy! 

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"I am uncertain about this new body design, Dirk."

There was a sentence that encapsulated Dirk Angelos in his entireity. A generally good soul overall, he nevertheless had an enthusiasm that somewhat overrode common sense, and a lot of his endeavours ran the gamut from 'unneccesary' to 'just plain crazy', fueled by the kind of testosterone that would make a rhinoceros cry foul. It was still uncertain of where on that scale starting his own robotics and clothing company would fit, and even as he began to put out ads and put together actual working models for purchase, it was a clear that more research was needed to determine how crazy this plan of his was.

However, Dawn Cosine, looking at the new body she'd ordered a week or two ago, was beginning to see a few telltale warning signs.

Original Art by zdemian

"Something seems... off," she explained, twisting around to look at the new chassis from many angles.