STEAMBOT CHRONICLES

I deeply apologize for this massive delay. Between a mess of personal issues, gaming, and job hunting (which ended in 2014, being one of the big reasons for the delay, along with a hard drive failure in 2015 that saw some of my works being lost, like an early draft of this chapter), and the recent loss of a loved one in late 2016, things have just been kind of crazy. Not to mention I was having some trouble envisioning later events, but have gradually sorted details out with a helpful outline I made for myself. Without further delay, here the 20th chapter, yo! Hard to imagine we've come so far (though we would have been here much sooner without my penchant for laziness and life issues, probably even finished). Still, we're not quite near the end, but things ought to get really crazy soon enough. Hopefully this chapter will satisfy the craving for action I'm sure many of you have been enduring these last three years…

Chapter 20 ~ Vagabond

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Ultimate Trotmobile Championship Tournament will begin shortly. Seats are going fast, so hurry up!" A voice crackled over the loudspeakers adorning the Garland Arena, which overflowed with people from all over the country, here to attend this grand event. Seats were packed elbow to elbow, with vacancies dwindling faster each passing second, leaving many disheartened patrons to fill up the local bars and taverns to tune into the radio broadcasts.

The lobby hummed with the sounds of people ordering tickets, placing bets, and the squeal of fans as they watched their favorite pilots pacing around on the foyer above. It was almost too much for Vanilla, who felt quite nervous as he observed the swarming crowds below, all of them were there to see him and other pilots duke it out for supremacy. It was both exhilarating, and a little terrifying.

A sudden slap to the back from Fennel pulled him back to his senses, "Come on kid, get your head in the game. This is the big leagues; this is your chance to really shine." Sweeping his hand grandly in the direction of the other pilots, who were gearing up and prepping their Trotmobiles for the tournament. Giving the blonde a spirited shake of the shoulder, he whipped around to face Vanilla directly.

"But if we wind up battling, don't think I'll go easy on you. I've got a reputation to uphold, you know." He said, pulling down his shades for a moment to glance at Vanilla and flash a competent grin. "Well, I've got to go make sure my ride's all set. By the way, I heard from Marjoram that he and the others ought to be in one of the VIP seats, so try to put on a good show for them as well." Fennel explained as he turned and waved casually before strolling away down the foyer.

Speaking of the others, Vanilla had been wondering what Connie was up to. It seemed that since their little trip to Meme village a while ago, she was busying herself with work on the latest song, almost like she was avoiding him. And when the two crossed paths, the songstress would hurriedly leave with hardly a word spoken. He was beginning to wonder if something was amiss, though that thought would have to wait for now.

"Yo, boss!" A boisterous voice called Vanilla's attention away from his thoughts, and the youth turned to see the large frame of Bobby, the former KE leader approaching, carrying a piece of meat as usual, and accompanied by the twins, April and May. "It's been a while, how have you been?" The bearded ex-bandit asked as he shook hands with Vanilla. "Doing fine, you? No trouble, I assume?" Vanilla jokingly asked, eliciting a laugh from Bobby.

"Of course, of course! The town's back on its feet, and we're all seeking ways to make funds without… you know." Bobby shrugged at the last part, Vanilla nodding understandably. "As you can probably guess, I'm entering the tournament here. The prize money should be more than enough to repair the Don Elephant." Bobby then turned, taking a quick bite from the meat he was lugging around, "Anyway, I need to make sure my machine's all set to go, so I'll see ya around, boss!" And with that, Bobby departed, April and May sauntering after him, the two girls smiling back to Vanilla for a moment before vanishing down to the main lobby with their leader.

"Hey, Vanilla! Long time, no see." A familiar voice called out. It was none other than Jimmy "the wuss" from Fort Raven and Neuhafen. However, the normally shy and neurotic look that plagued the young man's face was gone, replaced with a much calmer and confident expression. Indeed, his outfit was more diligently worn, and his posture was greatly improved, no longer slouching like a cowering dog.

"Wow, Jimmy. I didn't expect to see you in the tournament." Vanilla said, honestly surprised to see the man he had seen get treated like a punching bag in such a prestigious event. "Yea, it's all thanks to Don Puccini. He took me under his wing and helped me gain some real confidence. I'm no longer that little wuss who used to get beat up," Jimmy said, flashing a confident grin, "I've even got you to thank as well, for not going easy on me in that rigged match back in Neuhafen."

"It was nothing. I'm sure you'd have done the same if you were in my shoes." Vanilla shrugged, before turning at the sound of a whistle. A smartly dressed man in a lavish suit and top hat entered the foyer and called for the pilots to assemble by clapping loudly.

"I thank each of you for participating in this year's tournament. I expect nothing less than your all today, not just as gladiators, but for the people who have come to witness your skills being pitted against each other. As with any other battle, no illegal modifications, and no injuring one another, much." The man gave a hearty laugh, as did many of the assembled pilots. "But in all seriousness, do remember that this is all for fun and entertainment."

"I will now read the line-up for the first four matches: Vanilla vs Jimmy – Fennel vs Sampson – Schneider vs Miguel – Bobby vs Saffron." The names were listed, while the combatants glanced around, trading looks with one another. Vanilla only recognized a few of the names, namely Schneider, the "Hero of Nefroburg", who had told him of Ginger, the man who helped him hone his skills. Was he here to face off with Elder, the man who disgraced their teacher, Ginger?

"Alright, the first match will begin in 5 minutes. Please be at the transport stations shortly." And with that the ringmaster left for the arena.

"Guess it's you and me, again." Jimmy grinned, turning to Vanilla. The blonde turned, and grinned, looking forward to the challenge. "Good luck. This time, it'll be a true fight. Nothing holding us back." Vanilla said, holding out his hand. The two shook, silently acknowledging to give it their best.

As the two left to get their Trotmobiles ready, a man watched from the edge of the large staircase on the main floor. The monocle on his right eye glaring in the light as he watched Vanilla.

[I]

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the UTC, the Ultimate Trotmobile Championship. We have a great line-up this year. With a few newcomers, as well as some veterans. Today, they will battle with honor, pride, and give it their all for glory and riches!"

The wailing of the crowd rose to a deafening roar before dying down as the announcer appeared beneath the small spotlight that lit the center of the arena, "Our first match sees two up and coming pilots. From parts unknown, VANILLA!" As he cried out the name, the blonde-haired youth appeared from the opening hatch of the lift, almost reeling from the intensity of the cheering crowd and the lights that poured over him. "And from the port town of Neuhafen, Jimmy!" Likewise, Jimmy emerged from the lift, taking in the atmosphere of the audience as all eyes fell on both men. Vanilla noticed that Jimmy now sported a heavily shielded left arm piece, a significant improvement from the standard arm frames he had before. Luckily, Vanilla had swapped the Earl's own left arm for a trident mounted one, which was guaranteed to break even the toughest defenses.

"The same rules apply, no lethal shots, and no use of illegal modifications. Now, to BATTLE!" The announcer cried, then vanished as the spotlight on him switched off, and the rest of the arena quickly lit up, illuminating the dirt filled battlefield. A horn blared, and the two pilots took off from their starting points, quickly closing the gap between one another.

They circled around one another, both waiting for right moment to get in the first shot. However, both were proving quite a match for each other. Vanilla couldn't deny that he was seeing the vast improvements in Jimmy's prowess as a pilot. Where once the former coward was sluggish and easily outmaneuvered, he was keeping Vanilla well in sight, and matching his speed with such precision that the blonde had to carefully consider his own steps. Deciding to take the initiative, Vanilla swung with the right arm of the Earl at full force, which Jimmy predictably blocked with both of his machine's arms, allowing Vanilla to swing with his newly acquired trident. The blow wasn't enough to deal any significant damage, but it proved opportunistic enough to faze Jimmy as he recoiled from the blow, staggering back.

The crowd cheered and roared as Vanilla deftly swung once more with the trident arm, pressing a button on the dashboard to activate the weapon's piston. With a screech of scraping metal, the trident rapidly thrusted and retracted in a repetitive manner, the sharpened tips quickly punching holes into the exposed legs of Jimmy's Trotmobile, as well as denting his shield. The onslaught only lasted a few moments, before Jimmy pulled back, shield still raised as he dashed behind a large (compared to an average Trotmobile at least) boulder, hoisting it in one swift motion and hurling it at Vanilla, who leapt back as he blocked with both arms. Jimmy took this chance to close the gap and spin the upper portion of his Trotmobile, arms outspread, just as Vanilla made touchdown with the ground. The difference in striking power was apparent, as Vanilla felt the Earl creak and shake as the shield battered against the trident and standard arm frames, sending sparks and broken pieces of metal flying in all directions.

Thinking fast, Vanilla once more activated the piston, and briefly caught the spinning shield between the slider as the piston moved back into place before sending Jimmy reeling back as the sudden snag through his balance off. Taking this chance, Vanilla raised the trident arm and once more used the piston, aiming for the body frame of Jimmy's tortoise green Trotmobile. The blows came swift and fast, quickly tearing holes into the plating of the opposing Trotmobile before the trident tip suddenly snapped off without warning. However, the damage had been done, and Jimmy switched off the engine before standing up and waving both arms, "I yield!"

The blare of the horn once more rung out deafeningly before fading under the cheers of the crowd, all of whom chanted Vanilla's name to mismatched rhythms and songs. Sinking down in his seat, the blonde sighed with relief that the battle was over, this had been the hardest he fought in a fair setting. Still, he had enjoyed himself, having given Jimmy a much better battle than their last encounter.

[II]

Back in the foyer, Vanilla shook hands with Jimmy, who was smiling despite the defeat he had been dealt. "Thanks, Vanilla. That was quite the fight you put up."

"Same to you, it's clear that Don Puccini's training wasn't for nothing. You're definitely no 'wuss' anymore." Vanilla said, glad that his victory hadn't dampened Jimmy's spirits. "Maybe we'll get to fight again sometime." Jimmy nodded in agreement, "I'd like that. Hopefully by then, I can actually win for once." And the two shared a laugh before Jimmy departed to speak with Don Puccini, who had emerged from the arena stands during the intermission. Vanilla could hear the horn signaling the second match, Fennel's fight with Samson, the resident "Strongman" of the Garland Arena. He was tempted to enter the stands when he felt the presence of another standing behind him.

It was Elder, the champion, staring down at Vanilla through his mask, that same piercing gaze as before that burned with the confidence of a truly masterful pilot. "I can tell just by looking, but you've improved since last we met." The mysterious white-clad man stated, his tone as distant and reserved as Vanilla remembered it. Though now, something seemed familiar, the way Elder posed so casually was eerily like another he had met, but where? However, his thoughts were interrupted as the masked man spoke once more, "Do you still believe what you told me before; that a Trotmobile is reliable in the right hands?"

Vanilla did not hesitate to nod his head, "Yes. I do." Just what was it with these ace-pilots? If it wasn't cryptic questions, it was a cold and dejected personality. A smirk, a rare expression appeared on Elder's lips, "I see. Let's hope that belief doesn't waver. Things are about to change within this country, and that change will not be kind to the hesitant." At that moment, Vanilla heard the signal that concluded the match, as well as the roar of the crowd. Though Vanilla had only turned for only a few brief seconds, he realized Elder had vanished while his back was turned. Looking about, he couldn't see where the enigmatic champion had gone. Strange.

A large swath of people poured from the auditorium, their voices a buzzing murmur, while overhead, the speakers crackled to life: And the winner of the second match is Fennel! Vanilla was hardly surprised, having expected no less from the ex-Globetrotter. Some of people in the emerging crowd were kissing their betting stubs, while others angrily shredded theirs and stomped their way to the ground floor and out of the building. Eventually Fennel emerged from the pilots wing, grinning from ear to ear.

"Did you see that fight? I flattened that Sampson guy like a pancake!" The guitarist turned bandleader gloated as he approached Vanilla, who shook his head and replied, "Can't say I did. I got held up by Elder."

Fennel flicked his shades down, a serious look in his eyes, "Ah, the champ trying to size up the competition, huh? Hope he didn't psyche you out or anything." Vanilla shrugged and laughed, "No, he just wanted to see if I had changed my mind about something we discussed a while back."

"Oh, so you two met before?" Fennel asked, looking genuinely intrigued as Vanilla nodded.

"Yea, though it was just some weird question about how I felt about Trotmobiles and their usefulness to people. For an ace pilot, he sure acts stranger than I'd imagine for someone at the highest rank." Vanilla mused, still unable to understand that chilling presence Elder gave off.

"Don't sweat it. It's probably just all a façade anyway. Guy wears a mask for Pete's sake, probably thinks it makes him look like some kind of vigilante or superhero." Fennel replied as he led Vanilla into the auditorium, to a special suite reserved for VIP guests. Here, the two met up with Connie and the others, who were seated before a fortified window overlooking the arena grounds.

"Hey, there's our two big hotshot pilots! You guys sure are something else." Basil bounded over to Vanilla and Fennel as they entered, almost spilling a bag of popcorn he was carrying as he gushed excitedly. In his breast pocket, Vanilla could see more betting stubs, and a few torn ones. Marjoram was also counting some stubs of his own, Savory was seated by herself in the row of chairs behind Marjoram, while Connie sat by the wall with some sheets of paper in her lap. Though her face was pointed down at the papers, Vanilla thought he saw a more pensive expression than her normally cheery one.

"How are you guys liking the VIP treatment? Great, isn't it?" Fennel asked, taking a seat to Marjoram's left, while Basil returned to a chair he had pulled up close to the window. Savory tried to call the smaller musician away, but he was too absorbed in his own world to listen.

"It's very cozy, though it's a little rich for my taste." Marjoram gestured to the room, which was decorated with a plush carpeting and reinforced paneled walls to drown out the noise of the outside crowd, Savory smiled at the comment as nodded in agreement. On top of that, a ceiling fan kept the room at a comfortable temperature, for those balmier days in the summer during matches.

"Hey, nothing wrong with living the high life every once in a while, I say." Fennel chimed, then turned to Connie and asked, "So, did you enjoy either of our fights?" The brunette slowly raised her head, like she had only just realized she was being spoken to.

"Oh, yea. I was a bit sidetracked with the new song. Still, I caught the end of them. It's quite different watching a fight from outside the passenger's seat, that's for sure." She said, her eyes drifting back to the papers atop her knees. For a moment, she looked to Vanilla, then returned her gaze to the sheet music, obviously distracted by something. Fennel shrugged, "No biggie. I know you've never been a huge fan of Trotmobile fights, serious or the sporting ones. Still, try to relax, for me."

Connie nodded, somewhat hesitantly at this, "Sure, I'll try." She said, sighing softly as she turned herself to face the window as the voice of the announcer introduced the combatants of the third round: Schneider and Miguel. Vanilla was quite familiar with the former, while the latter was a B-ranked sailor from Neuhafen, and one of the Juniper-Berry's crew, as Vanilla finally recalled from his fragmented memories. Vanilla could only assume that he was here for similar reasons like Bobby, to amass funds.

Fennel cupped his chin with an intrigued look, "Schneider, huh? Never thought I'd get to see this guy in action. He rarely fights in the Nefroburg arena except on the rare occasion someone reaches A-rank and challenges him." As he finished his little explanation, the starting shot rang out and the battle began.

Schneider was piloting a Medium-class Trotmobile known as the Maximum, with a black iron club on its right arm and a rectangular shield on its left, two spiked racks jutted out from the chest, while roll bars covered the front and back of the cockpit. The legs were a set of thick "Bird legs", a model Vanilla had heard were preferred for their speed and dexterity.

Miguel's machine was like the Captain's albeit undamaged; a water-resistant body and float but with standard "human" legs instead of the ones normally used for water traversal, while the arms consisted of a water-gun and a spiked ball. Both looked quite formidable, and like Fennel, Vanilla was interested to see how this battle would unfold.

Schneider immediately closed the distance between Miguel and himself, a testament to the Bird legs maneuverability, leaving the sailor at a great disadvantage as both arms were designed for ranged shots. He tried to blast with the water-gun, but Schneider sidestepped the torrential shot and swung with his iron club. In a panic, Miguel made the mistake of using the arm with the water-gun to block, only for the tank to be crushed and begin gushing as water spurted from the puncture marks left by the club. Doubling back, Miguel swung with the spiked ball as it shot from the loader, creating an arc that forced Schneider to block with his shield.

The announcer was giving a play-by-play of the events that Vanilla only barely listened to, watching in awe as Schneider dashed away as Miguel retracted the ball, and towards a fallen column near the spot he had entered the arena from. Hoisting up high, the former soldier turned to meet his opponent as the sailor charged forward, spiked ball held up front and ready to be launched. Just as the ball was once more released, Schneider leapt aside, dodging the ball as he threw the heavy stone pillar. Miguel was left wide open and unable to do anything as the broken hunk of chiseled stone smashed into his Trotmobile's chest, shattering both the chest plate and the column. The cry of grinding and twisted gears echoed throughout the arena as both arms of Miguel's Trotmobile refused to move properly before violently snapping off with heavy clangs to the floor. Schneider didn't bother to move from where he landed as the horn sounded, ending the match.

"The winner is Schneider, Hero of Nefroburg!" The announcer boomed as the crowd exploded into excited cheers. Inside the VIP booth, Vanilla noticed Basil dejectedly tearing a betting stub, "Ah, I thought that Miguel had it. I never even heard of this Schneider guy until Fennel started talking about him." The others laughed softly while their friend bemoaned his misplaced gamble, meanwhile, the announcer congratulated Schneider and Miguel as both pilots returned to their lifts, while a cleanup crew appeared to collect the broken parts of the latter's machine. As this happened, the announcer declared a brief intermission before the final round of the quarter-finals, prompting people in the stands to leave for the lobby to gather refreshments and check their bets.

Vanilla walked over to where Connie sat, who had once more returned her attention to the paper sheets, "This the latest song?" He asked as he took a seat beside her. Jumping slightly as she noticed his presence, Connie raised her head, "Y-yes. I'm just having a little trouble figuring out some of the lyrics," She said before turning back to the papers. Now that he was closer, Vanilla could see Connie looked a little worn out, her hair looking frazzled and her eyes a bit baggy. "Maybe you should take a break, no point in burning yourself out over it." Connie froze for a second, not looking up this time.

"I'm fine. It's nothing, really," Connie spoke softly, "Besides, we've got a show tomorrow evening. It's going to be Fennel's official Farewell from the band." Vanilla turned to look to Fennel, "That's right, we haven't properly given you a sendoff."

Fennel chuckled, "If you ask me, it seems kind of silly. I'd be glad to play with you guys again anytime. It isn't like I'm leaving the country or anything." Savory reached over and gave him a playful tug on the shoulder, "Ah, are you missing us already?" Which made the guitarist harrumph in minor annoyance.

"If you think about it like this, it would be a fantastic way to promote your new band." Marjoram interjected, always the one to come up with something wise in these kinds of situations. Fennel scratched his chin and nodded, "Good point. Hadn't really thought of it like that."

"Shush, the next match is about to start!" Basil hushed everyone as the announcer introduced the combatants for the final round of the quarter-finals.

Bobby appeared in his blue "Mad Elephant" Trotmobile, which appeared just as it had long ago when Vanilla infiltrated the lair of the Killer Elephant gang. The enormous upper body was the largest model of the "Normal Body" class of frames. Supporting it were a set of Horse Legs, which lent the image of a centaur to the Ex-boss' Trotmobile design. Both arms were equipped with spiked balls, while the tusk-like Elephant grill jutted out from the sides.

Saffron's machine was quite different from anything Vanilla had seen. It used a Water body, though clearly modified from the original design, a bulldozer like silver plate adorned the lower part of the torso, while two black pieces like a domino mask were affixed around the headlights, giving the impression of a mask. Fitting, as the machine's rider was a sexily dressed, dark-haired woman in a purple body suit and mask with tights. Atop the roof were a set of bars shaped like bunny ears. A whip frame made up the right arm, while the left was a standard arm with minor reinforcement. Like Schneider's Trotmobile, it used a set of Powered Bird-Legs, all painted in a dark reddish purple.

"Now she's quite the looker." Fennel grinned, which made Savory scoff in mock disgust, and the loner musician chuckle.

The starting signal sounded and the two gladiators erupted into action, while the announcer once more began an energized commentary to accompany the emerging action. Bobby stormed across the arena ground towards Saffron, firing off the spiked ball from his left arm after swinging with it, causing the momentum to carry the ball in a wide arc. The masked woman narrowly avoided the attack due to her Trotmobile's smaller frame, allowing her to narrowly dodge to the side of where it had just swung overhead, opening Bobby to a full-on attack from her whip. The Mad Elephant was lashed repeatedly, sending a shower of sparks and chipped metal across the air.

Bobby swung with his right fist, firing off the spiked ball straight on at Saffron. The flailing whip managed to send the ball off course, it quickly became tangled around the still extending chain connecting the ball. Without a moment's hesitation, Bobby retracted the chain and pulled Saffron along towards him. Before the former gang leader could follow up with his left, Saffron released the mechanism holding her whip and broke free from Bobby's pull, causing his Trotmobile to swing at thin air.

Taking advantage of her foe's stagger, Saffron dashed behind Bobby, and kept herself out of his visual range as the Mad Elephant turned and staggered as its pilot tried to regain a bead on his target. With her opponent's back wide open, Saffron clambered atop the supporting structure of the Mad Elephant's legs, readying to bash away at its back. Bobby let out a laugh and spun the entire upper body of his Trotmobile, both arms outstretched, completely blindsiding Saffron and knocking her into the nearest wall. There was no doubt to be had, the sensually dressed pilot's Trotmobile was done for, and the ending siren only solidified this fact.

The announcer reappeared to speak once more, "And the Winner is Bobby the Boss Elephant!" before being shouted at by an inaudible Bobby, whose voice was drowned by the cheers (and jeers of Saffron fans), "My apologies, EX-Boss Elephant!"

As Bobby and Saffron were escorted from the arena, the announcer declared a brief break would take place before the semi-finals would begin, and requesting the remaining four combatants to convene in the pilots' area of the lobby. Rising from their seats, Fennel and Vanilla prepared to leave the VIP booth. "Don't forget to cheer for us when we fight. Especially me if I have to go head on with this guy." Fennel joked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards Vanilla, who laughed and stuck his tongue out as the others laugh, all except Connie who seemed to be absently staring out the window.

"See you soon, Connie." Vanilla called out to the songstress, who turned and meekly nodded before returning to look out the window. Vanilla frowned, but kept his reaction hidden as he turned away, pondering what was making Connie react so strangely lately.

[III]

The announcer stood before the remaining pilots, of which only four remained. "For the semi-finals, these will be the next two set of matches: Vanilla vs Schneider – Fennel vs Bobby. The third match will of course be set between the two pilots who are victorious. And the winner of that match will gain the honor of challenging Elder. Same rules as before still apply. Are there any questions?" The gathered pilots shook their heads before the man turned and left, leaving the gathered combatants to disperse. A sense of dread filled Vanilla's heart, he would have to face off against Schneider, the very man who had led him to seek Ginger's tutelage. "Good luck out there." He managed to say to the former soldier, who once more barely turned his attention toward Vanilla.

"Don't expect me to go easy on you, kid. I will be the one to face Elder, and finally avenge the honor of our Master." With that, the man left towards his own Trotmobile, leaving Vanilla alone with Bobby and Fennel, the latter of which also made his turn to leave.

Bobby held out his hand to Fennel, "It'll be fun to see how I stack up against a famous fella like you." The bearded ex-bandit chuckled as Fennel accepted the gesture and they shook hands, "Likewise. I've heard about how Vanilla here whooped your entire gang."

Bobby roared with laughter, "That he did! We don't call him Boss for nothing." Fennel grinned as he half turned towards his Trotmobile, looking over his shoulder, "Just don't get mad when I pummel your face into the dirt, ok?", and with that the guitarist made his way to his waiting machine, Vanilla smirking at the cocky remark while Bobby laughed once more. "He's a funny one, I'll give him that. And probably as tough as you, boss."

Vanilla shook his head, "Nah, I got lucky back then. I was pretty much a novice who got by on luck and happenstance." Bobby chuckled lightly, "Luck or not, you won our fight like a real man and got to be the new boss. Fightin' comes from the heart, just as much as it does skill. If your heart weren't in that fight, I would have crushed you for sure." Vanilla was surprised by this rather insightful pep talk, from the gluttonous former gang leader no less. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

"Bobby, wait." Vanilla said as the KE ex-boss started to head for his own Trotmobile, "Yea boss?"

"Do you know Nora, of the Desert Hornets?" Vanilla asked, recalling the bandit woman's strange reaction to Bobby's name. Turning, Bobby's face had notably reddened, not unlike when he was heavily drunk. "I do…" The ex-leader stammered before asking, "You've met her?"

Vanilla nodded, "Yea, back when Connie and I had to cross the Sabbia desert to reach Happy Garland. They caught Connie, and me as I tried to rescue her, I mentioned my run-ins with your gang, and she got really upset for some reason." Bobby began to chuckle, nervously at these words.

"You don't say?" Bobby kept laughing, tugging gently at his beard hairs. April and May, who had been watching from the sidelines chimed in, "You ok, ex-boss?" Which prompted Bobby to stiffen up and turn back towards his Trotmobile, "Of course I'm fine. Anyway, I got to make sure everything is ready for my fight. Come along, ladies, we got work to do!" With that, Bobby marched off, the twin girls following closely behind.

"Guess they must have been an item." Vanilla mused, then realized he had been dawdling for too long, "Oh shoot, my match is going to start soon!"

[IV]

"Here we are, ladies and gents, the first round of the semi-finals! Our two fighters for this bout are Schneider and Vanilla, a long-time favorite versus a rising newcomer. Who will stand victorious? Let's find out!" With that energized introduction, the round started with a bang as the deafening roar of the crowd shook the room with the furious rumble of a coming storm. Vanilla felt far tenser than he had before, but kept his wits about him as Schneider drew in close with his incredible speed.

Can't rely entirely on defense here. He's one of Ginger's best students, so his skills are going to be top-notch. Doesn't help that he's got high-end Frames as well, while I've barely got anything above the average grade. Vanilla's mind raced to think of a winning strategy as he kept Schneider in his sights, dashing only when the Nefroburg champion drew too close or drifted out of sight. However, even this cautionary method proved to be scarcely effective as Schneider closed the gap each time Vanilla widened it, nearly faking out the youth on a few occasions. It wouldn't be long before Schneider would get serious and dish out a devastating blow.

The audience remained on the edge of their seats, not a single cheer from anybody as they watched the pair keeping up with one another, moving across the arena grounds like two cats preparing to clash. Vanilla tried to fake out Schneider by dashing in close and feigning a swing, but the ex-soldier pulled back before responding with a fierce swing that near caught the less experience pilot with his guard down. Then a violent crash stopped the youth in his tracks, he had just backed into a wall without thinking. All at once, Vanilla felt his heart shrink with despair, fearing an unpleasant thrashing. Instead, however, he heard a grinding sound and felt the Earl Grey II shake violently; Schneider had dealt a crushing blow to its midsection, rupturing part of the torso frame and spilling its fuel.

Vanilla stood with his hands up, "I yield." The ending signal sounded and the crowd erupting into a roar of cheers as the announcer raved about the tension felt throughout the fight. From the sound of things, nobody seemed particularly upset by outcome, though Vanilla knew this meant he was no longer eligible for the bump to A-rank, or even the second-place reward. This had been by far his most intense fight yet, even more so than his sparring match with Ginger. Now, the youth understood the real ferocity of Nefroburg's reigning champion.

Fennel greeted him as Vanilla left the Earl to be repaired by the ace mechanics. The guitarist appeared to be as calm as ever, not in the least bit upset.

"Can't say I'm all that surprised. Schneider is one tough cookie, second only to Elder." The former Globetrotter rubbed his temple, clearly trying to keep his cool at the prospect of possibly having to go up against the man himself. He then looked up and grinned, "Guess it'd be too convenient if you spotted any weakness while fighting him, huh?"

Vanilla shook his head, "Nothing, sorry. He's pretty relentless, if that tells you anything."

"Figured as much." Fennel sighed, then perked up. "Oh well. Guess I'll have time to think of some sort of strategy while I'm facing that Bobby guy. In the meantime, you should get back to the lounge, the gang's eager to see you after that match." With that, Fennel left to prepare for his match. Vanilla was about to leave for the VIP lounge, when a smartly dressed man in black stepped into view as he reached the stairs to the seating arena. A scarf draped his shoulders while a pair of narrow-rimmed glasses adorned his face, giving him a very refined look, like a gentleman.

The man bowed before speaking, "Greetings, Vanilla. I am Comfrey." A gloved hand then extended towards the youth, palm out awaiting a shake. Vanilla eyed the man for a moment, briefly recalling having seen him back in the barber shop the night he had gone to dinner with Savory. Deciding it was rude not to, Vanilla shook hands with the man as he asked, "You know me?" Comfrey nodded, standing straight with his hands behind his back, like a butler waiting for his master's order.

"Yes, very much so. We've been very interested in you for quite some time." Vanilla took a hesitant step back, "Wait a minute, we?" Comfrey held out his hands reassuringly, "I do apologize for the alarm, but I come here with nothing but good intentions."

Vanilla scoffed, "Funny, from what I've heard, the Bloody Mantis are the last people with good intentions." Tension was steadily growing in the youth's heart, were they here to abduct the band? A righteous fury at the possible thought of them harming Connie made him clench his fists anxiously. Comfrey remained calm despite the barbed comment and continued, "Ah, I see you're familiar with us. That saves me time to explain things. I work as a consultant for the secret society of the Bloody Mantis, a sort of management. However, anything you may have heard about our organization is greatly exaggerated. Yes, we do perform our actions from the shadows, but only because we serve a higher purpose that seeks to bring justice to this corrupted world of lies and injustice. We need people like you, with the skills necessary to fight this corruption." Vanilla wasn't sure what to make of this statement, but decided it was best to not provoke the man, lest there was a chance something might befall the gang. Comfrey could see the look of skepticism and chuckled.

"You may not believe me, but the Bloody Mantis merely wishes to usher in a revolution, an end to this disgusting regime we live in where the rich walk all over the poor, and people who cruelly misguide others such as yourself." Vanilla furrowed his brow, "What do you mean?"

Comfrey clucked his tongue, "Oh my, haven't you realized it? Those so-called friends of yours, the Globetrotters, they're nothing but a pack of liars." Vanilla wanted very much to lash out with his fists, but remained still at this bold statement. "I see you don't believe me, quite understandable. You've been with them for quite some time now, exposed to their falsehoods and victim to their fabricated friendship."

Vanilla took a bold step forward, "That's enough. I know them, they aren't liars at all!" He hissed, doing his best to prevent a full-blown outburst that could draw unwanted attention. Comfrey took the verbal assault without so much as flinching, "Or maybe they are. Consider this simple question; Isn't it strangely convenient how that girl, Connie, was there to pick you up on that beach the day you washed ashore? Surely it strikes you as odd how quickly she began to cling to you, parading you around to her friends like some kind of trophy." Comfrey's tone did not change in the slightest, yet each word cut deep into Vanilla's heart, "And what of that mysterious Blue Trotmobile that nearly trapped the two of you on the beach? Doesn't it remind of a certain guitarist's own machine?" Vanilla's eyes widened at this, having all but forgotten about that incident. Was it possible that this had all been some elaborate set-up from the start?

"Stop it! Just shut up!" Vanilla threw caution to the wind as his anger boiled over, feeling stupid for letting this man's words get to him like that, make him doubt the friends he had come to trust.

Comfrey stepped forward and placed a hand upon Vanilla's shoulder, "It would appear that you need time to think about this. If you decide that you would like to speak with me again, simply enter the Fashion Poseur. The second changing room contains a hidden entrance to our hideout. You'll know it when you enter." Comfrey then strolled past Vanilla, stopping after descending a few steps towards the lobby. "Oh, and if by some chance, you try to take this nugget of info to the police, do bear in mind that we have eyes and ears across the city, and can easily erase any trace of our existence should the need arise. However, I can tell that you won't tell a soul. Take care, Vanilla." The man then vanished into the crowd that was gathered in the lobby, shouts about lost bets and cries of fans a dull roar in Vanilla's mind.

The blare of the end of round siren snapped him to his senses, leaving him in a stupor. Surely this was just some sick mind game set up by the Bloody Mantis. They were after Mallow, and were responsible for the attack on Captain Ciboulette's ship. If it wasn't for them, his memory wouldn't have been lost. With that confident thought in mind, Vanilla marched into the stadium and back to the VIP lounge. As he passed through the seating area, he could see the arena through the cheering crowd, where Fennel's Trotmobile stood victorious over the Mad Elephant, which appeared to be greatly damaged, one of its legs completely broken off and leaving it lopsided.

"And the winner of the second semi-final round is Fennel with a flashy victory! Stay tuned for the third and final match; Schneider vs. Fennel. This will be quite the matchup, folks. Whoever wins will get to take on the champion, Elder!" The announcer cried out to the delight of the crowd as Fennel and Bobby were escorted back to the lift platforms. From the look of things, Bobby appeared calm as ever, not in the least bit upset by this loss. It seemed little fazed the big man, aside from maybe mentions of Nora, and the moon of course.

Inside the lounge, Vanilla saw that Basil's pockets were brimming with shredded stubs, while two more were pinched in his fingers as he gazed out the window of the booth. Marjoram had long since discarded whatever stubs he had and was not absorbed in thought, jotting down in a notebook, likely in preparation for the upcoming concert. As for Connie, she appeared to have stopped writing lyrics, possibly at the behest of Savory who sat beside her as they looked out the window into the arena. Upon noticing Vanilla's entrance, everyone greeted him, with Basil running up to meet him.

"It's amazing you didn't get roughed up more by Schneider, I've heard fights with him usually involve his opponents getting injured." The comment drew a laugh from Savory, "Don't be silly, Basil. Regulations are quite strict about pilots injuring one another." This comment left Basil to pause for a moment if he had been misinformed, again. He then turned to Vanilla once more, "Anyway, did you see Fennel's fight, it was pretty crazy, huh?"

Vanilla shook his head, "Actually, no. I didn't. I… got sidetracked in the lobby and missed it." It wasn't like him to lie, but right now Vanilla wanted to distance himself from the thoughts Comfrey had planted into his mind. Right now, he just wanted to forget about that dreadful encounter. Yet, as he glanced over at Connie, he felt a pang in his heart that made him feel lightheaded. What did the boy really mean to her after all this time? Did she feel the same way he felt for her?

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention, please! We shall be commencing the third semi-finals round shortly!"

Marjoram raised his head from the notebook, "Looks like they're going right into the next fight. Guess Fennel didn't need to make any repairs from that last battle." Connie seemed to tense slightly, looking anxious about something, was she worried about Fennel?

"Sounds like it. That Bobby Elephant guy or whatever barely laid a finger on him. I bet Fennel's raring to get started with the next match." Basil said as he looked between his remaining stubs, clearly thinking about the odds that he was running with. Savory rolled her eyes, saying nothing. Vanilla took a seat that gave him a perfect view of the arena, while occasionally glancing over to Connie who kept her eyes fixed on the arena.

Soon they saw Schneider and Fennel appear within the ring, the announcer introducing both to the thunderous cries of the crowd. This was a clash between two famous men; a Trotmobile fighting legend, and a rising star in the musical world. The silence before the starting shot felt much longer than usual before both it and the once more roaring crowd shook the air.

Fennel wasted no time firing off a barrage of shots in a sweeping fashion, bombarding the ground near Schneider, who deftly braved the onslaught as he closed in on the guitarist and his Trotmobile with the same speed that had overwhelmed both Miguel and Vanilla. Fennel seemed to anticipate this, and hurled a nearby column towards the charging ex-soldier, forcing Schneider to leap out of the way. This left him wide open as Fennel moved in and swung with his regular left-arm frame, delivering a solid blow to Schneider's Trotmobile.

Nobody said a thing, the crowd was in awe as the two then began trading blows, Schneider opening with a flurry of swings that nearly took Fennel by surprise. Much like with Miguel, Fennel's missile arm put him at a disadvantage. However, unlike Miguel, Fennel maintained his cool and avoided putting that arm in danger of Schneider's club, but the heft from the launcher was clearly slowing the swings of his right arm. Before long, Fennel made a desperate bid to regain some distance, dashing to the side where some pillars stood in Schneider's way.

Now with some distance to use to his advantage once more, Fennel fired a blast, striking just slightly off from Schneider's right. The resulting blast did enough to bust up the club arm, rendering it almost completely useless, though it appeared that the former soldier was undeterred by the loss of his weapon. Instead, he charged forward and raised the damaged club, using the emergency detach to launch it towards Fennel. This took the musician by surprise, who barely managed to slap the club away with his left arm, leaving him open to Schneider who had closed the gap once again in that same instance.

Everyone in the booth tensed as they collectively realized what was about to happen. Connie looked the most upset, quietly uttering, "Not again!"

Schneider began smashing away at the Blue Thunder's body, using the brunt of his shield in lieu of the discarded club. Fennel hung on for dear life as he took the barrage, unable to make a move as his Trotmobile rattled with each powerful strike. Schneider than wound up a stronger blow with the left arm, delivering a powerful smack from the shield that sent Fennel flying back, and launching him from the cockpit. Cries of alarm quickly rose from the crowd as Fennel's comparatively small form landed beside his Trotmobile as the end of round siren blared. Immediately the announcer and even Schneider himself rushed to fallen musician's side.

After a moment, Fennel was brought to his feet by Schneider while the announcer spoke up, "Everything's alright, folks. A little bruised up, but our boy Fennel is A-Ok." The collective sigh of relief within the stadium was palpable, "As you can see, Champion Schneider is the victor! This concludes the semi-finals. We shall commence with the Championship round shortly, so stay tuned!"

[V]

Fennel clutched an icepack to his head as he sat up on a cot near the repair station that was kept in the event of sudden injuries during fights. Connie sat beside him, looking worried as ever as the guitarist shrugged, "I told you already, I'm fine."

"I'll say." Savory said with a wry smile, "A small cut on the head and a sprained leg are far from the worst thing that could happen." Fennel laughed, "Well it was nice while it lasted. Third place isn't too bad."

Connie stood up in a huff, "Why can't you two be more careful? Trotmobiles aren't toys, you know." And with that, she marched off to the lobby, vanishing down the steps. Fennel chuckled, lying back on the cot, "Guess she's still all worked up from Vanilla's fight."

Vanilla was taken aback by this, "She got worried about my fight?" Fennel looked over, flashing his usual grin, "You know her, she frets over the slightest thing. Got all anxious when Schneider had you pinned by the wall." Connie's comment of "Not again" then flashed through Vanilla's mind. Was she really that worried about him facing such a fierce opponent?

Basil then came charging onto the scene, like a giddy child on Christmas morning, "The fight between Schneider and Elder is about to start! This is going to be huge!" He declared before running back to the stadium. Marjoram and Savory both shook their heads, but nonetheless decided to follow, curious as well to see this impending matchup. Fennel quickly sat up, groaning as his left leg continued to throb from its injury. "Mind giving me a hand? Can't exactly miss out on a rare battle like this." Vanilla complied and helped him up, gingerly leading the guitarist towards the stadium.

"Guessing Connie's probably left to cool her head. After the closing ceremony, you should probably try to find her. She's been on edge lately, if you haven't noticed." Fennel remarked as the two made their way to the stands. "Yea, she has seemed a bit… off lately."

Fennel chuckled, "If isn't one thing with her, it's another." He remarked as they arrived to see the announcer working up the crowd.

"This is it, ladies and gentlemen! The main event! The final round of the UTC! Will the reigning champion, White Phantom Elder maintain his title? Or will the Hero of Nefroburg Schneider snatch victory? It's time to find out, NOW!" With that rousing speech, the battle commenced.

This was the first time Vanilla had seen the real Requiem, and it wasn't anything like the replica from the lobby. Somehow it seemed far more imposing, as if the very fighting spirit of Elder himself was channeled into the machine. This was the champion of the entire country, riding in on his white stallion. The gleaming sword on its ride arm swung in a swift arc that was barely avoided by Schneider, who retaliated with his club, only for the blow to be parried by the Excalibur and followed by another swift strike. Schneider reeled back and dashed away, with Elder following closely, propelled by the Powered Bird Legs.

"It looks like the tables have turned! After overwhelming his previous opponents, Schneider is now the one on the defensive. Can the hero of Nefroburg turn the odds in his favor?"

Schneider jumped back and over a decrepit bus that was sitting in the arena as one of the many viable tools, giving himself an obstacle between Elder and himself. However, a flash of light from the Excalibur, and the bus split apart as Elder charged through it, taking Schneider by surprise as he barely blocked another swing with his shield. The blade met the metal, grinding deeply into it, a testament to its amazing sharpness.

The announcer was quick on the draw with another nugget of commentary, "Now the two are locked together. One mistake and Schneider could be in for a world of hurt!"

True to his word, it was taking all of Schneider's strength to keep the sword from cleaving through his shield or getting pulled off balance if Elder were to try and retract the blade. As Vanilla watched closely, he swore that it looked like Schneider was speaking to Elder. Perhaps about Ginger? Without warning, Schneider pushed with his shield, driving Elder's blade off and staggering the White-themed gladiator. Schneider took a swing with his club, grazing the Requiem as its pilot recovered quickly and moved before the full brunt of the club could deliver further damage. Taking advantage of this moment, Schneider unleashed several more swings, each short and deliberate to avoid leaving himself open.

"You're seeing it yourselves, ladies and gentlemen! The White Phantom is now at the mercy of the Hero of Nefroburg, could this be the battle where the reigning champ is overthrown?"

Even though the situation was now reversed, Elder's calm and calculated movements did not falter in the slightest. Each sidestep and dodge were amazingly timed, with near godlike reflex that astounded Vanilla to the immense skill gap between the likes of him and these two feuding titans of the ring. Elder then made a bold swing with the Excalibur, meeting the club as it came swinging from the opposite direction, cutting the weapon at an angle. The top portion of the club spun away, crashing into the ground with a loud clutter, while Schneider was left wide open from the sudden loss of his primary weapon. Before he could dodge back or even attempt a hasty block, Elder drove the tip of his blade deep into the body of the Maximum, breaking the spiked grill and coming out through the back.

Silence fell across the stands, nobody said a word as Elder then withdrew his blade. Schneider's Trotmobile slumped into a heap, the engine most likely broken, robbing it of all functionality. As the masked champion strode away, the crowd burst into their loudest cheer yet.

As the victory chime rung, the announcer spoke excitedly, "An unbelievable battle with all too believable outcome; Elder has once more defended his title and shall remain the champion for another year. Schneider has fought hard, but it looks as if even his unparalleled A-rank skills weren't quite enough." As this was said, Vanilla could easily see the scornful glare from the Nefroburg hero's eyes as his rival perched on the platform, waiting to leave the arena. He didn't know how many times they had clashed, but this outcome was probably all too familiar to Schneider, and it probably fueled an inferno of disdain within the man that he had been thwarted yet again.

The announcer continued as a team arrived on the arena floor to begin moving the Maximum to the lift platform, "And this concludes this year's UTC! I hope you all enjoyed the epic battles, and I hope not too many of you blew too much cash on the betting table." A snicker was barely hidden by the man's hand as he laughed at his own joke. A cloud of murmuring arose all around as people rose from their seats and began to leave, some speaking excitedly, others barely masking the expletives that they wanted to utter amongst furious ramblings. Fennel who had been watching from the edge of the fenced in arena edge turned to Vanilla, "I think I can manage on my own for now, thanks for the help earlier."

"No problem. Just be careful, ok?" Vanilla replied, carefully stepping aside as the more absentminded members of the crowd nearly walked into him. "While I'm sure she's just off cooling her head, you mind checking in on Connie for me?" Fennel asked, stiffly walking up to Vanilla, his leg limping slightly. "S-Sure, I was wondering if she was ok or not. She's been kind of on edge lately."

Fennel laughed, "Wouldn't be Connie if she weren't fretting over something. Knowing her, she's probably gone to her favorite spot, the small park near the hospital. She loves watching the water there." Vanilla nodded, having a vague recollection of the location being described to him. "Alright, I'll go check." Before he could run off, a hand quickly grabbed him by the shoulder, Fennel's.

"Almost forgot! You need to check in with the announcer. Even though you didn't place in the top three, there's still a prize for you to collect. Might not be 10,000 UR, but it's still good cash." Vanilla had all but forgotten about the prize money, considering he was probably set around 5th place in the order of the last combatants to lose. Outside in the lobby, the announcer was shaking hands with many of the pilots who had participated, catching sight of the youth as he walked into sight. "Ah, yes. Our rising star. You performed surprisingly well for a newbie."

"Thanks." Vanilla wasn't too sure how to feel about his time in the ring, his fight with Schneider was a one-sided as it could get. "We at the Happy Garland arena always respect those who step into our ring for the pleasure of the crowd. And while not everyone can take home the grand prize, we still believe every pilot should be given their rightful due. On behalf of everyone here, a credit of 1000 UR has been forwarded to your account. This is customary to those who place in 3rd-5th place, with 800 UR being the reward for 6th place and below."

Vanilla accepted a statement confirming the prize amount, pocketing it as he thanked the man and made for the doors, pushing by the slowly thinning crowd, some of which gave their compliments for his performance, and some voicing rather critical opinions that he ignored. Stepping outside, the air felt slightly colder than it had hours before, and the sky looked noticeably bleaker, a storm was probably on the way.

Following along the waterway near the arena, Vanilla made his way towards the factory area, turning left towards the street that led to the hospital and the Garland city auto shop. As he walked, Vanilla's mind once more fell back to the strange words from Comfrey, much as he had been trying to forget them. Before long, he arrived near the small park near the bridge that overlooked the waters. It had a few trees and benches, and a wonderful sight of the adjacent bridge further along near the middle of the city. There, leaning over a railing, was Connie.

Vanilla felt his heart seize up as he looked upon the girl, who had been clearly trying to stave off crying as her brow knitted and furrowed in quiet frustration. He wanted to help, but did not know where to begin or how to ask about what had been eating at Connie's thoughts. As he reached out to give a gentle shake, Connie turned around, looking a little startled as she saw the approaching boy.

"Oh… Hey, Vanilla." Her voice trailed off, lost in thought for a second.

"Got a minute to talk?"

TO BE CONTINUED

I know, a cliffhanger at a big emotional point. And yes, it was part of my plan all along. Once more, I do apologize for the long, long wait, and really wish I hadn't let so much precious time slip by. Along with the distractions and life problems, I was approached by an artist over on DevientArt who wanted to adapt the story into a comic a few years ago. Sadly, they vanished after a few exchanges, leaving the project up in the air. However, I do hope to try and complete the story as quickly as I can now that I've outlined most of the events I have wanted to include, but with work and other distractions, I can't give a concrete estimate yet on how much longer things will go. In the meantime, I have been using a new writing program, and with it I've been gradually going through many of my old works and sprucing things up, such as earlier chapters. Not too long ago, I even update the very first chapter, though the changes were minimal at best and nothing was drastically altered.

This is where I would like to hear some feedback; aside from fixing any lingering spelling and syntax errors, I've been wanting to apply some changes to help improve the overall story. Namely the growing relationship of our two major characters. For instance, I want to know if anything should be done to make Connie's attitude better apparent earlier or not. I'm also eager to know if Comfrey's seeds of doubt feel too forced or if they were reasonable enough, as they will play a role in the story very soon. For this chapter, I am considering possibly adding more commentary to the fights from the announcer, but would like to know if anyone else would like to see that, and where to place them.

I thank everyone for their patience, and I'm happy to finally have returned after this sudden hiatus.