Work Text:
The problem with technology is its all-or-nothing nature. It either gives you the output you desire or utter garbage. A faulty variable uncaught leads to hours of debugging. Despite the headaches it causes, this is trivial work on a computer. With live subjects on the other hand...
- A.H. Project Log #3
The skies had been clear all morning and the lack of turbulence had been appreciated by everyone aboard. The auto-piloting systems gave them time to focus on other pressing matters. Forward going was limited to a crawl, but any amount of speed was better than being completely grounded as had been the case several times this flight.
The Roc had seen worse days, but Wave was at her limit with the materials and tools she had on hand to patch the aging engines. Minor scraping and clattering noises were ignored until they became gargantuan problems, and by then it was far too late to do anything. It was moments like this that the swallow was thankful for the robustness of old Babylonian tech to not explode on them during catastrophic failures like this, but she knew that it fell on her shoulders to get it back in working order and dreaded the carnage she’d inevitably uncover.
Luckily, the Rogues were closing in on their destination with skyscrapers stabbing into the horizon and a sprawling suburban outskirts underneath them. A large landing pad greeted them next to a familiar yellow-orange abode and Jet kicked the Roc out of auto-pilot. “I’m taking this down,” he called out. “Hold onto something.”
Wave and Storm gripped the arms of their seats as the airship descended towards the H-emblazoned platform. The engines being in such disrepair made the decrease in altitude more harrowing than it should’ve been, but nothing the hawk couldn’t handle. The landing gear contacted with the ground with an uneven ka-thunk, but the passengers and pilot were unshaken and unbothered. For their current standards, it was a smooth landing. He disengaged the engines and clenched his teeth as two of their six propellors screeched to a halt.
“We’ve landed. Let’s go.” He pulled the keys out of the ignition slot and tossed them at Wave who caught them in one hand.
The trio made their way to the landing bay door and grabbed their Extreme Gear from the nearby holding racks. Storm pressed a switch which caused a loud, hydraulic hiss to to emit from near the ceiling. A large door which doubled as a ramp once fully opened slowly folded outwards and down until its edge lined up with the tarmac of the landing pad.
The air from outdoors rushed inwards and blew through the birds’ feathers, air that Storm did not appreciate. He scrunched his face and flapped her hand in front of his nose. “It smells down here,” he complained.
“That’s the big city for ya,” Wave shrugged. She took the first steps down the platform and motioned the boys to follow her. “And it’ll probably get worse as we get closer to it. But we got errands to run.”
She knocked on the door of the house they just landed next to: a suspiciously familiar, head-shaped house. After a few, metal-clattering seconds, a small, two-tailed fox answered the door. “Yes? Hello?” He pulled the heavily tinted goggles away from his eyes and settled them on his forehead.
Wave’s face glinted with an impish smirk the same time the fox’s expression soured. “How’s it going, Shorty? Hope you don’t mind us crashing at your place for a bit.”
“The guest rooms are full. I can refer you to a couple of hotels in town instead.” Tails’ tone was clipped and short.
“That ain’t what she meant!” Jet pushed passed the swallow and shoved his face in the fox’s. “We’re just borrowing the pad for a bit and need something to get into Central City. Lend us the truck.”
Tails squinted. “Who’s driving it this time?” Wave raised her hand and the other two pointed at her, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief; he then gestured them inside. “I’ll grab the key. Wait in the garage.”
Jet watched as he disappeared behind one of his many doors and clicked his tongue. “Sheesh. What’s up with him?”
Wave chuckled. “He’s probably still mad about when Storm drove the thing into the side of a restaurant and ditched it.”
“It was one time!” The albatross protested indignantly.
“Sometimes once is all you need. You can barely be trusted just holding the keys to the Roc. I’d had to have to clean up what’s left of it if you actually tried to drive it.” Her cackling filled the room. Storm glared at her like he wanted to spit something back, but ultimately turned his head away and pouted.
Tails reemerged from behind the shop door with a small key ring twirling around his finger. “I got it. You need anything else?”
Jet caught the key as it was lobbed to him and handed it off to Wave. “Do we?”
“Appreciate it, but nah. Thanks, Shorty,” she answered.
“I could run a diagnostic on the Roc for you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She dismissively waved her hand. “It’s main engine #2 and aux engine #1 giving me problems. A bit out of your league.”
Tails rolled his eyes at the snide remark and snapped his goggles back over his eyes. “Just bring the Rover back in one piece, please. If you need to use the parts fabricator for anything, you’ll have to bring your own materials. I don’t have anything spare for both of us.”
“Already figured that.”
The Rover was a long flatbed truck painted the preferred shade of yellow of its inventor. The crew cab allowed all three of the Rogues to sit inside of it while setting their folded down Extreme Gear in the back row of seats. After a quick game of rock-paper-scissors, it was decided that Storm would ride up front with Wave and Jet would hunker down in the back. Tails opened the sliding garage door and Wave started the rumbling diesel engine. With a quick change of the gears and a press of the gas, the Rogues were on their way into Central City do some business.
Wave readjusted the rear-view mirror and stared at the face of a grumpy Hawk. “Alright, Jet. Where to first?”
“Huh? Oh.” He leaned forward in his seat so that his head was above the center console. “Scrapyard first. You know what we need for the Roc, so we can get a quote from the guy who runs it. Then we’ll drop off the goods with the weasel, get our payment, swap out enough of it at the money changers, buy the scrap, and get out of here.”
“Bit of a scenic route, isn’t it?”
“You know exactly why we do it. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah. That whole ‘gold is more reliable than cash’ spiel I’ve heard a thousand times already.” They stopped at an intersection and Jet fell back into his seat. “Why not get our payment from Garsen first before going to the scrapyard? Less driving, less gas, fewer stops...”
“Simple. Carrying around the kinda treasure that weasel gives us is a liability. The less time we carry it around, the better.”
“And I don’t like him,” Storm added. “He always looks like he’s thinking too hard, but not in a smart-guy way like Wave or fox boy. More like a... uh...”
“Conniving weasel?” Jet answered.
“Yeah, Boss! Conniving! Like the slimy and hands-rubbing-together type.”
Wave groaned. “Guys, I don’t like him either, but we took his job and we get paid decently for it. Just make sure it doesn’t show on your faces when we see him, okay?”
Neither of them nodded their heads, only bothering to turn away and cross their arms as if saying, “No promises.” The swallow let out another deep sigh and returned her focus to the road. It was only a few more minutes of silent boredom before the Rogues arrived at the site of the scrapyard. Though that may be its official designation, the Central City Scrap Heap is every inventor’s dream. The constant influx of Eggman robots meant high quality parts and components were available at a cost unlike anywhere else with the only caveat being the sheer scale of each individual part; large, bulky, and impossible for micro products. Perfect pickings for the Roc.
Wave pulled up the parking brake and her and Jet hopped out. Storm stayed inside to keep an eye on the Gear, a job he was more than qualified for. Wave raised an eyebrow at the hawk. “You know you don’t need to follow me everywhere, right?”
“Ech. Gross. I’m just trying to get some fresh air.” Jet took an exaggerated breath to prove his point. “I don’t get how some people can sit in that thing for so long and not feel trapped. Might as well come out and watch you shop too.”
She shrugged and the two of them made their way to the receptionist desk where a familiar face was chatting up the scrapyard’s representative. Wave’s face went stony and expressionless while Jet’s took on an ugly countenance and never recovered.
The subject of their repulsion took notice of their presence and immediately flashed a dull but full smile. “Jetty! Wavey! If it isn’t my two favorite contract workers. How’ve ya been?”
“Just fine, Garsen,” Wave spoke through grit teeth. “In the middle of a bit of browsing right now.”
The brown-furred weasel pulled his gaudy yellow blazer taut around his chest and flexed his lips to reveal his toothed smile again. “Well, what a coincidence! So am I! Getting a bill of materials for the big boss man so we can do some upgrades. You know how it goes.”
“Oh yeah? What kinda upgrades?” Jet inquired.
“Whoa-HO! Unruffle those feathers for me bud. That’s a trade secret.” He pretended to dust off his sleeves. “Telling you is the same as telling everyone, and I can’t have that happen on my shift. You know how it is.”
Neither of them did, but they both decided pursuing the topic any further would be a waste of time. Wave reached into her pocket and pulled out a bulky data card. “If you’re gonna hang out here a while, might as well do the handoff now. Our payment, your data.”
“Hey-HEY! That’s what I like to see! All those delicious 1s and 0s. I like your enthusiasm, but how about we hold off on that for a bit.” Garsen wrapped his arm around the clearly uncomfortable scrapyard rep. “I was just in the middle of securing a bit of a discount with the heap if you catch my drift. My bosses like to by in bulk, see? And we could probably secure you lot a similar bulk discount right now if you don’t mind eating into that payment a touch.”
“How much of a bulk discount?”
“Forty percent. Even for a cheapo place like this, they like jacking up the prices for a profit. The big boys get big discounts for continued partnership, and I could probably squeeze you guys between the margins.”
“No deal.” Jet instantly shot it down.
“Jet!” Wave was appalled.
Garsen shook his head. “Damn shame.”
“I’m not finished. No deal unless this,” he clarified. “Whatever is on this data card could easily be sold to a higher bidder. This is the third one we’ve gotten for you and your bosses. The least you could do is pay for this whole shopping trip too.”
Wave pinched the bridge between her eyes in bafflement while the weasel gave a look of genuine contemplation. “That’s a hard bargain. Why would I do that instead of fulfilling the original terms?”
Jet leaned in close with a venom in his eyes. “Because you know that if we didn’t do it, no one else would. You sweeten the deal and we’ll think harder about it next time we see you call for more work.”
“GAHAHAHAHA!” Garsen’s sudden belly laugh startled the swallow while the hawk didn’t even flinch. “Hoo... I needed that. You certainly value yourselves highly, and I love a rousing display of inflated ego.” Jet squinted his eyes at him. “For that reason, I’ll buy into it. I know my boss appreciates the work you’ve been doing for us, so I’ll see if I can pull a few strings on my end to get this done for ya.”
Jet held out his hand. “So we have a deal?”
Garsen grasped it with his own. “Consider it an investment. You keep giving us results, and we’ll overlook this... sudden expenditure.”
Wave looked on in utter disbelief as the two shook hands. She could just about see the veins popping out of Jet’s hand as he did so. Once they finished, she fished the data card from her pocket and attempted to present it to Garsen until she was stopped by Jet. “Uh-uh. Pay up first.” He pinched and rubbed his fingers together.
The weasel palmed his right temple. “Right! Of course! How could I forget? Lemme grab that for you. And you!” He pointed at the scrapyard receptionist. “Whatever they get, add it to my bill instead, got that?” They nodded and Garsen exited to the building.
As soon as he was out of sight, Wave let out a massive sigh and glared at the now smirking hawk. “I feel like if I even tried to explain why I’m mad, you wouldn’t get it.”
“I think what you want to say is, ‘Thank you.’”
“No. No it really isn’t.”
With the distraction out of the way, Wave was able to pick out the parts from the scrapyard that she needed to repair the Roc. Large cranes stood out across the whole lot and with assistance from the other workers, pallets of various metals and other materials were piled high. Though she was still incensed by Jet’s callousness, Wave was thankful that she didn’t need to worry about any sort of budget; she opted to get a bit more than necessary to fix other minor problems in the engines before they became major fixes. All in all, a successful shopping trip.
The two of them exited the front door after having everything weighed and tallied and were greeted by Garsen’s toothy smile once again. He held a small black briefcase by his side and let it swing so as to catch the birds’ attention. Once they had walked closer to him, he held it out in front of him and released the latches holding it closed. “I believe this much should be to your satisfaction?”
Jet’s eyes sparkled as brilliantly as the dense gold pieces did. Its hue was broken up partially by the various precious gemstones that also laid on top of it. Eventually though, his eyes landed on the stacks of bills that sat to the right of the treasure pile and he grew suspicious. “I thought the deal was for it to be all in unmarked gold?”
“Correct!” Garsen snapped the case shut. “However, as a show of good will, my boss decided to add in an advance for your next assignment.”
Jet’s expression instantly became unenthused. “Already?”
“I would hope it isn’t too much of a hassle. We are quite generous with giving you all the time your require to finish the job. This should be a good deal for you.”
Wave crossed her arms. “This ‘good deal’ puts us as the one in debt to you. And I can’t imagine your boss being that nice of a guy to not see it that way.”
“Very true! Very true.” Garsen made a big show of stroking his chin in contemplation. “However, the content of the assignment is the same as before. Should be a cinch for a group of your caliber, no?”
“He does have a point,” Jet agreed.
Wave groaned. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” She procured the data card again. “Take it and give me the job files already.”
“Splendid!” He handed the briefcase to Jet, grabbed the card from Wave, and handed her back a small sheaf of papers. “We’ll be keeping in contact. Happy hunting!” He twirled on his heels and started whistling on the way back to his black car with tinted windows.
Wave sneered as she watched him walk away before turning towards Jet to see him sneaking peeks into the small golden hoard. “We really need to vet our clients better. I’m not a big fan of this guy, especially since we have no idea who he’s working for.”
Jet glanced at the swallow after snapping the case shut. “Since when did we start caring about what our clients did with what we stole?”
“I don’t care care, but I don’t like him in particular. Stealing stuff for a rich collector is one thing, but the amount of money these guys can throw around for random Eggman outpost data is too suspect for my tastes.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t worry about it.” He slung the briefcase over his shoulder. “It’s just a bunch of log files anyways right? If there was something like a super weapon or whatever in there, you would’ve found it by now.”
“Mmm...” Wave wanted to protest further, but had nothing beyond an unpleasant gut feeling. Sometimes that was enough, but she could tell that even if Jet did notice the red flags, there was nothing she could do to convince him.
“Anyways, we got bigger things to worry about, like the Roc. We get that up to spec again, do this job, and then we can take it easy.” He looked back at her with a determined smirk. “How’s that sound?”
His words wrestled a quick chuckle out of her. “You? Take it easy? I’m pretty sure that if we take a break, we’d coincidentally end up back at Angel Island just to annoy Big Red again.”
He laughed with her. “Shut up. Let’s get the truck loaded.”
With the materials contained into pallets, loading the Rover was a simple matter. One of the scrapyard’s forklift operators very handily placed every batch of raw material onto the truck bed and Storm secured it tightly with ratchets. The job was done; the Rogues drove off back towards Tails’ house.
A few moments of silence passed before Storm broke it. “What did you guys talk to the conniving weasel about?” With an unexpectedly blunt question.
“Snrk!” Jet held back a snort while Wave let out a labored sigh. “Nothing crazy, Storm. We got paid and got a new job.”
“Already, Boss?” The albatrosses lack of enthusiasm matched the hawk’s from earlier which elicited a small chuckle from the swallow.
“Yeah, yeah. We already did our complaining earlier. We even got paid in advance, so we can’t go back on it now.”
“How much?”
“A lot,” Wave chimed in. “A stupid lot. Kinda why I didn’t want to take it, but you can blame ‘Boss’ back there for being stubborn.”
“Lighten up, Wave. It’s not like it’s that hard. It’s only about... about...” Jet scratched his head for a moment before remembering, “Oh yeah. Where’s that stack of papers with-”
“Here.” She already saw coming that he would need the assignment files and held it behind her, in front of his face. “Site’s about 300 miles southeast of here in the middle of a random forest, just like the last one. Could easily hit it later today after repairs.”
Jet snatched it from her hand and skimmed its contents, confirming what she said. “Nah. No reason to rush it. We get paid the same whether we do it in the next three hours or three days.”
“Typical Jet,” Wave sighed. “Mind on the money and nothing in his mind.”
“Says the one that would be the most angry if we left before the Roc was in tip-top shape.”
“There’s a surprise! Somebody wake me from this dream ’cause Jet’s being mindful of other people.” She began to wipe her eyes and sniffle with faux parental pride. “They grow up so fast.”
Storm joined in on the ribbing and laughed along with Wave while Jet deepened his sulk in the backseat. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, you two. Mark my words, you’ll thank me for this later!”
“Why wait? I’ll do it now. Thanks, Jet.” She spoke with full sincerity. “I’ll make sure to get the Roc flying like it’s factory new.”
“Tch. Do whatever you want.” He hid his face away from the rear view mirror, but couldn’t suppress the embarrassment that tinged his cheeks.
It didn’t take long for the Rogues to return to Tails’ workshop with the loaded Rover. With help from more of his machinery, they were able to unload all the pallets next to the landing pad and get to work.
With repairs, Wave had the tendency to start from the top and work down. Main engine #2, the right side dual-propeller engine, was one of the two engines giving the group trouble. Being several meters off the ground, she grabbed her Extreme Gear and a toolbox and readied herself for a short hover upwards. “Storm. I’m gonna need some muscle. Come on.”
“You got it.” The albatross grabbed his board and followed the swallow up to the top of the engine.
Wave set her tools on the platform connecting the engine to the main blimp body of the Roc. She ran her hands along the encasement until her fingers caught themselves on a same divot in the metal. Prying it upwards revealed a large, red handle that called for a twist and a pull. “You’re up, big guy.”
One hand was all Storm needed. Following the instructions, a large panel of the engine housing lifted up on a hinge flush into the rest of the metal underneath. “That good?” He asked.
“Perfect. Hold that there for a bit... aaaand... There!” A small metallic click sounded out and the door locked in place at ninety degrees upwards. The swallow cracked her knuckles and smiled. “Let’s get to work.”
“Work on what?” A small voice came from behind the birds.
“What the-” Both Rogues whipped their torsos around only to be greeted by the young fox and his helicoptering twin tails. Wave let out an exasperated sigh and glowered at him. “Oh. It’s just the twerp. What do you want?”
Tails landed on the wing next to where the toolbox sat. “I finished everything I needed to do already, and I couldn’t just sit around do nothing all day. Besides, I’m curious about what being ‘out of my league’ means. Surely a reciprocating piston engine couldn’t be that complicated.”
“Okay, Poindexter. Since you’re so sure of yourself, go ahead. Give it a look and let me know what the problem is.” The swallow crossed her arms and sat on her board.
The fox ignored her jeers and peeked his head into the engine casing. He clicked on a flashlight attached to his goggles and looked about at all the components within, but it was hollower than he expected. Though her could smell gear oil, the characteristic burnt gasoline odor of normal engines was nowhere to be found. What he could see were a number of strange threads strung taut in a hyperboloid fashion around the propeller’s shaft. “What is this?” There was nothing in the world Tails could compare this to.
“That,” Wave floated herself next to the stunned fox. “Is Babylonian engineering at its finest.”
“I certainly isn’t like any conventional engines I’ve seen.” He turned off the light and lifted his goggles up onto his forehead. “How does it work?”
“To be honest kid, I don’t fully know myself.” She flipped a metal tuning fork in her hand. “It’s the same stuff we use in our Extreme Gear. Think about that ‘magic’ carpet from way back. That fabric made from Babylonian fibers allowing it to float.”
“You mean by storing and expelling kinetic energy from the wind?”
“Not quite, but the idea’s there.” Wave struck the tuning fork on the hull of the Roc producing a clear tone. As it rang, she plucked at each of the strings in the formation and held her ear close to them. “B-fibers don’t store energy; they convert it. From any one state to any other state. Not without some lossy effects due to other physics laws, but well enough for some practical applications like this.”
Tails craned his neck into the engine casing to hear what she was doing and became confused. “What does that have to do with the tuning fork? Obviously you’re testing to see if the strings match the tone, but I can’t parse why.”
Wave eventually happened upon a string that sounded nearly a half-step out of tune with the others and winced. She reached her arm into the engine housing and grabbed what could be described as a guitar’s tuning peg. “This is mostly stuff that I’ve been told and intuited, but this stuff is fussy. Depending on how you string it, tune it, braid it, knit it, whatever, it outputs a completely different type of energy.” She twisted the peg a few times, plucked the fiber, and struck the tuning fork. The tones sounded close enough for the swallow to continue testing the other strings. “These are tuned to output electrical energy. Anything that vibrates them will cause a roughly equal amount of that energy to convert into usable DC current.”
“That’s incredible!” Tails’ eyes sparkled. “So the wind that flows inside the engine housing passes over the strings, vibrating them, and that gets converted into power for the propeller motors?”
“Bingo.” She peered her face out of the engine and smiled at the young fox. “I’m impressed, kid. You pick up on things faster than I thought.”
“Hehe~” A small blush propagated on his face as he scratched the back of his head.
Wave finished her inspection and pulled her hand out of the hatch. “Well, that was a bust. The B-fibers aren’t crazy out of tune, so it’s probably the motor screwing up somewhere.” She turned her gaze back to the fox. “You can probably help with this part. Wanna give me a hand?”
“Of course!” Tails said enthusiastically. “But I also have another question.”
“I’ve put up with you for this long, Shorty. Go ahead and ask.” She was handed small wrench before climbing fully into the engine housing.
“How exactly do the fibers work? As in, what configurations are necessary to provide specific energy outputs?”
“That - UNF!” She loosened a stubborn bolt and removed the motor cover. “That I don’t know. The weird thing with B-fibers is that it’s literally more art than science. I can recognize roughly what certain configurations will do, but I haven’t bothered trying to replicate them on my own. I was given a decent amount of the stuff for maintenance, but I could not tell you how to make it even if I wanted to.”
“Fascinating...” Tails grabbed the cover from her hands and set it up on the wing. “Would it be alright if I analyzed it for myself?”
“No can do, kid.” Wave pulled out the rotor. “It ain’t exactly rare stuff, but the folks back home get pretty cagey about lending the raw stuff to other people.” A long, drawn out sigh left her mouth. “Rotor’s shot. One of the copper spools is fried.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard to fix,” Tails remarked.
Wave lifted herself out of the engine housing. “It ain’t. Could’ve been worse.”
“I’ll go fire up the fabricator.” The fox whirled his tails to slow his descent and jogged into the workshop.
Once Tails disappeared from view, Storm paused clearing the wing of tools and turned towards the swallow. “Hey, Wave.”
“Hm?”
“Is it a good idea to tell him all that?”
She flapped her hand dismissively. “You worry too much, big guy. Shorty’s trustworthy.”
He scratched the top of his head. “I remember the old guys back home being really crabby about our Extreme Gear before we left though.”
“Relax. That was just a ‘stranger danger’ warning. We know Tails. He’s fine.”
“Huh.” Storm crossed his arms and closed his eyes in deep thought for a moment. “Alright.”
“Besides,” Wave reached her arms into the air and stretched her back. “It’s not like you can blow up the world or anything with B-fibers. I’d be more worried about the Chaos Emeralds or the Arks of the Cosmos doing that before some magic thread.”
“EXCUSE ME!” A voice called from the ground below. It was Tails poking his head out from the door leading to the garage. “I COULD USE SOME HELP!”
“Alright!” The swallow yelled back before hopping on her board and gliding down.
In what felt like no time at all, the day turned to night and everyone retired for the evening. Tails returned to his bedroom within his workshop while the Rogues slept in separate beds within the newly restored Roc. The engines ran smooth, exterior cosmetic damage was removed, and a small stutter in the cargo bay door was erased. It was like new and everyone went to sleep satisfied.
Except for Jet who found himself awake not too long after midnight, though not due to any dissatisfaction. He rubbed his eyes as he hobbled through the hallways, barely cognizant of where his feet hit the floor. “Thirsty...” he whispered with a dry throat.
It didn’t take him long to find the kitchen and open the fridge. A large pitcher of water greeted him in the door shelf which he slowly picked up and placed on the nearby counter. The cabinet above him contained all the drinking glasses. A large yawn stopped him for a moment, but he was eventually able to take one down and set it down next-
FWOOOOM!!
The sudden noise made the glass slip from his grip. He fumbled the catch multiple times before saving it from a shattered, glittery demise. Jet’s eyes scanned the room for a moment with an angry awareness. “What the hell was that?”
knock knock knock
The sound came from the normal-sized door that led outside the Roc. The hawk could see a silhouette darting away from in front of the porthole. He want to call out, but doing so would’ve woken up the others. Being as quiet as possible, he grabbed his Extreme Gear and rushed out the door in pursuit of the figure.
Now outside, he whipped his head around in every direction looking for where the mystery intruder could’ve gone. Eventually, his eyes catch on something barely illuminated by the moonlight; what or who ever was floating in the sky on what looked to be an Extreme Gear of their own. Right before Jet could get a concrete look at them, they sped off through the sky towards Central City. The hawk smirked. “You wanna race? Alright, bozo. Let’s go.” He took off in hot pursuit behind the darkened figure.
They flew for a moment in a straight line, barely any deviation to the left or right and at a steady pace. Jet flew in the draft cast by the mystery rider and slowly gained on them until he was barely ten meters away. The rider looked back at the trailing hawk and crouched low on their board.
That’s a bank to the right, he thought as he readied himself for the same maneuver. It played out exactly as he thought and he followed the rider as they dipped low to the ground during a sharp right turn.
The chase continued similarly with the rider performing a basic series of moves to evade Jet. Despite this apparent lack of skill and flourish, the hawk couldn’t seem to keep up with them even when riding through the slipstream. That follow distance stayed firmly at ten meters regardless of everything he attempted.
Better than expected, but how about this? With a flick of his wrists, he produced his Bashosen fans and propelled himself forward with a massive swish of wind, halving the distance in an instant.
Whether due to the sound of rushing air or pure coincidence, the mystery rider turn their head towards the hawk for a brief moment before looking away. Jet could see their arms moving to pull out something from their waist and readied himself to bat away any loose projectiles. Instead of knives, bombs, or any other sort of weapon, it was instead something that utterly confounded him: another set of Bashosen fans. Though the color wasn’t distinguishable in the pale moonlight, their silhouette was unmistakable.
Jet grit his teeth. “First a poser and now a copycat?! You won’t get away with that insult!” He shifted his weight on the board and sped forward at full power.
The rider, instead of speeding up to make more distance, splayed their arms out beside them, increasing their drag tremendously and slowing them to a near stop. Jet’s eyes widened as he swiftly ducked down to avoid the almost head-on collision with the rider’s back. They used the increased lift from their fans to climb high into the sky for a brief moment before stalling out, turning around, and speeding back towards the Roc.
Jet had to regain his balance due to the emergency maneuver, but was able to catch a glimpse of the figure closing in quickly on the Roc. Now further away than ever, he knew he had to kick it into high gear. “GET BACK HERE!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. His Extreme Gear roared to life beneath him and launched him forward. Using the Bashosen, he rode the air in a tight corkscrew to rapidly build up air power before expending it all in an instant, turning him into an avian rocket.
Somehow, even this move didn’t seem to be enough. The rider was inexplicably still faster than the hawk and reached the door of the airship before he could. Just before potentially ramming into it with their board, they tilted themselves back and soared over the top while leaving behind some mysterious white parcel in front of the door in one smooth motion.
Immediately, Jet’s eyes locked onto the weird package. As much as he wanted to chase after the silhouetted rider, he couldn’t ignore the possibility of a bomb or other dangerous apparatus being set off while Storm and Wave slept inside. There was no way he would take that risk. He performed the same slowing maneuver the mysterious rider did with his Bashosen and slid to a stop right in front of the door. He transferred both fans to one hand, quickly scooped the package off the doorstep, and prepared to throw it before he noticed something stuck to it glinting in the moonlight.
“What the... This is-!” Upon closer inspection, the parcel was a medium-sized, rectangular box wrapped in off-white paper with a wax seal keeping it all together. The golden wax shimmered with the insignia of the Babylon Rogues and had two words written above it: “FOR JET.”
Right as he read those words, the screech of an Extreme Gear whizzed by overhead. Not even being given time to think about chasing again, they disappeared into the night far beyond where the hawk could see with the naked eye. Their speed was even faster than their pursuit from earlier; he never stood a chance.
He growled, but only for a moment before returning his attention back to the box. He could not pry his eyes away from the gold seal keeping the wrapping paper in place. There was no reason to stand outside anymore; he reentered the Roc and set the package down on the kitchen counter. Careful inspection of the outside revealed nothing about its contents. Its weight was negligible, its sound when tapped was wooden, and no protrusions stuck through the paper to indicate any triggering mechanisms. It was a simple package delivered in an unusual way.
Jet took a deep breath and picked at the seal. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”