Disclaimer: Randomcat23 does not own Zoids.

Here you go, another helping of my head canon.

"Nobody believes those stories, Bit."

I remember hearing those words from my pilot the very first day I was brought into the Blitz Team's hanger. My untested armor gleamed as brightly as my inner hope.

I should have known then what to expect.

I should have known from the beginning.

I am a Gun Sniper. To be precise, I'm a three-year-old Republic Mode Gun Sniper Version 5.2 with increased firing speed, balance, and thicker armor.

And I have done what most Zoids would consider a death wish.

I have refused the orders of my pilot, Leena Toros.

I don't like to complain but, my pilot, Leena Toros, uses me incorrectly.

To repeat, I'm a Gun Sniper, not a Gun Blaster. I'm born to be precise, to dismantle my enemies from great distance with near perfect precision. When I joined this team over a year ago, my inner gears turned with glee; I was the perfect partner for the Liger Zero and Command Wolf, Zoids that are incredibly mobile and excel in close combat.

After the first battle I quickly realized that Leena's trigger happy habits were not just a way of showing excitement about a new Zoid, they were, in fact, her battle plans, etched in stone. I cringed every time my bullet stores emptied within the first ten seconds of a battle. What good is a sniper without bullets?

In the beginning, I did my best to ignore my frustration. After all, we were winning and the Blitz Team, and more importantly to me, Leena was happy. It is difficult to be upset about things when every time Leena jumped in my cockpit, she was excited and eager to battle. I almost forgot my former freedom.

However, the novelty wore off after that first year. I began to notice the other Zoids and their pilots and jealousy took root in my core. They just seemed much more in tune with each other, their battle styles flowed in a balance manner. After Bit and Liger clinched the S Class spot, I decided to attempt a bond with my pilot.

It was a failure, however.

I've tried to get her attention, calmly reaching out to her when she parked me in the hanger. But I think I fail because Leena never stays in the cockpit very long. She'll jump in right before the match or training session starts without so much as a hello and then leaves, praising herself for a job well done (Or screaming at her defeat). I don't mean to imply that I should get all the thanks, but I can say with confidence that I'm a big part of our success.

The lack of communication wore on me; I began to shift uneasily in battle, cringing at my misuse. My speed was reduced due to the weight of the guns and disappointment so I could not even run as I wish.

To cope, I tried sharing my grievances with the other Zoids. But it does not help me either. The Liger Zero, although intelligent, is rather full of himself. And besides, Bit Cloud is surprisingly very good at listening and communicating with the large cat. Like I said, I envy their partnership.

The Command Wolf was a friend until he died suddenly only to be replaced by the trickster Shadow Fox. Oddly enough, where the Wolf and I bonded over our shared pain, the Fox either doesn't care or Brad suddenly learned to listen. Either way, the Fox spends more time grinning than sharing secrets.

And the Raynos, well, he is content. His vibrant, although infrequent, outings when Jamie's fighting spirit takes over are worth the trouble to the Raynos. He'll wait in the hanger for months if need be, just to experience that one flight in perfect harmony with his pilot.

So, my Zoid partners are no help to me in this regard.

I have dreams, as silly as it may sound. I want to shoot a comet out of the starry night sky; a feat humans say is impossible, but we Zoids have legends and our stories say otherwise.

I want to perform a one-hit kill, every Sniper's dream. It's what we are designed to do, yet it doesn't happen as often as people think.

These dreams mean nothing without a pilot. And at the moment, my pilot is deaf. We have no bond beyond human and tool. These humans have forgotten that Zoids are not just mindless machines; most are deaf to our voices and those who are not are ridiculed for believing in fairytales.

But I have yet to give up on Leena. She is actually a decent pilot and she could be more if she tamed her trigger happiness. Her enthusiasm is gripping and I must admit I do latch on to her grin during battle. We just haven't communicated. And I must try because my core curdles every time I'm shot down on the field.

With the S-Class upcoming, I decided it was now or never. For the first time in my existence, I refused orders. It was a plan I constructed over the last few months. I'd ignore orders and get Leena to listen to me. If all goes well, she'd get frustrated enough and her emotions would open her to my communication. At this point, I have nothing to lose.

Doctor Toros wanted to run exercises before the season began and picked a day full of sunshine. My mind reeled as the pilots entered the hanger. Liger roared in greeting, as he always does. All four pilots entered with smiles on their faces, even the youngest, Raynos' partner. I felt my nervousness grow as Leena approached, laughing confidently.

I remained still, so still, as she climbed into the cockpit and shut the door behind her, humming quietly. She spoke a few words to herself and settled into her comfy chair. Just as the hanger door opened and allowed the light inside, I did what I had never done before and steeled my joints and gears.

"Hmm, odd." I heard Leena comment as she turned the controls. It was so very difficult to remain still. When humans tame Zoids, they override most of our freewill. It's a give and take; we bend to their will and they are supposed to lengthen our lives. Her finger tapped the lights on the dashboard; no warning flashed. Shrugging, Leena turned the controls again, and I felt the electric signal zap my nerve wires, but refused to move. "What?" She was getting frustrated now and all I could think was, "Please don't be angry with me, please listen!"

I wish I could have willed her to listen, even as her anger grew. The young woman huffed and jerked the controls and every time I fought the command, gritting my teeth.

Doctor Toros' voice echoed in the now empty hanger, "Leena, get out there!"

"My Zoid won't move!" She fired back and jerked the controls again. After a stomp of her foot, Leena declared, "I don't know what's wrong!"

While she pouted and jammed the pedals, I grew bold and ignoring the controls did not seem so difficult now. Tentatively, I reached out to her.

It's hard to explain the link between Zoids and pilots. First, there should be a bond between the two and then the pilot can eventually hear the Zoid's thoughts. It's a strange mental connection that could only be possible between man and mechanical, living beasts. It's really mostly a feeling.

"Leena."

Another sigh.

I tried again, "Leena." With all my might I attempted to will my thoughts on the young woman. "Listen, here I am. Hear me!"

"What?" Leena lifted her head and cocked it slightly.

I nearly fell over with glee. "It's me, your Gun Sniper!" Oh, my waiting had paid off! "I'm so glad you can hear me! We have much to talk—"

I was cut off by the cockpit opening and Leena shouting down to her father again.

Her father.

She was hearing her father yell from the floor.

I stood perfectly still then, barely feeling Leena climb down from the cockpit, and quietly retreated into my mind.

I realized then that I would always be the listener in the relationship because Leena did not think there was anyone to listen for.

The Blitz Team decides not to scrap me; I have a natural core and am too valuable.

After one last failed attempt by Bit to get Leena to talk to me, I'm put up for sale and sold for cheap to a mechanic who stated he liked a challenge.

It happened all so fast that I barely registered my transportation. One day I was surrounded by the pitying Liger, the sad Raynos, and the indifferent Fox, the next I was in a small hanger on the other side of the city.

My register number would be removed from the Blitz Team's records. In fact, I would be listed as "Inactive," in the National Zoid Register, right next to all the "Lost," "Destroyed," "Dismantled," and "Rouge," Zoids. I would never be "Rouge" since I never lashed out at a human or another Zoid without command, but "Inactive" was just as good as a death sentence. Rouge Zoids were deposited far, far away from humanity in the deep sands of the desert. The best I could hope for is rusting away in an old hanger.

The man who bought me was gruff but kind hearted. Yet, like most people in this age, he believed I was a simple robot, mechanical gears and lights. To his credit, he did fix me up properly. I almost shook my shoulders in relief when he removed the oversized guns. The new paint job turned me black, a sharp look in my opinion, and the only positive thought I had during my stay.

Soon enough, when there were no more stabilizers to replace and no more dents to buff out, when I would not move for the mechanic, he sold me to his buddy next door.

I sat there for weeks untouched and contemplated my decision. All I had wanted was to be a Sniper, to have input about the way I battled. To watch my opponents crash to the ground, stunned, is all I wanted. A precise shot could take down any Zoid and that's what I had been built to do. I wanted a partnership with my pilot, to become a team worthy of fear.

My rebellion backfired because nobody could hear or understand it. Now, instead of collecting victories, I collected dust.

This second man never actually touched me. There were a few times he paused to gaze at me and muttered something about the black paint. Then he'd simply light a cigarette and wander down to work on the Shield Liger in the back.

I was given away after 38 days.

And so it went, my hanger hopping. No mechanic could fix me, for I was not physically broken. Even for the kind ones, I resisted movement. I just did not care anymore. No one could hear my calls, no one paused to open an ear.

After him came an energetic, young woman who knew all the latest gadgets and statistics. She purchased countless schematic charts and blueprints for Gun Snipers and then promptly buried her head in them, never once resurfacing with an answer.

Then the ex-officer, hungry for a project, bought me. But once again, there was nothing to fix. He tried taking me to a Zoids factory, but found no help. I had all my parts, the Domesticator insert on my core was sound. They never would think that a Zoid would force its will over the installed machinery.

The next day a white Gustav squeaked to a stop outside the hanger and I was loaded up on its one trailer. A misfit black tarp covered my back and sides.

I finally was transported to a backwater desert town, dusty and small. There are the ruins of an old Blade Liger on the outskirts and I concluded that I've reached my last destination. Like that Liger, I will decay in the desert sands. The Gustav screeched to a halt and then complained once again about needing its breaks greased. I simply sigh under the black tarp and wait to be unloaded.

So this is the end of the line. This is what I get for refusing orders. It's been a long road of disappointments. I wonder if Leena is happy with her new Zoid, if it fires at will for her. Although I disobeyed her, I really never meant to cause problems.

I think about the Raynos, who lives for the precious seconds when the Wild Eagle pilots him. Those small bits of bliss are worth his time sitting unused, he thinks. I think about the trickster Shadow Fox and his constant snickering. I wonder if he ever got to duel and defeat Liger, just like he was constructed to do. And lastly, I think about the Liger Zero with his Organiod System and his pilot, Bit Cloud. I remember then that the Liger had sat unused for a very long time before Bit came along. After comparing our situations, I conclude that having that bit of technology added to his core made all the difference. His Organiod System bought him enough time for Bit Cloud to arrive.

I am not so lucky.

Gustav paused its cursing for a second to bid me a simple farewell, though he doesn't seem to realize that I will never leave this place again. I'll never battle again. This realization is only starting to settle in my core as the white transporter Zoid rolls away, leaving only a dirt cloud and a pair of tracks.

There's a young woman standing in front of me, grinning with her hands on her hips. Her oddly colored hair matches her wild, green eyes. For some reason she looks me up and down once, smiles again and then proceeds to walk around and inspects my joints.

"I can't wait to hear your stories," the girl muses.

"Looks like another clunker, Georgia." The speaker is one of four young men returning home from work in the mines. I can tell because the smell of dynamite radiates off their overalls. Surprisingly, the girl, Georgia, rests a hand comfortably on my right foot and waves the men off with the other.

"No Zoid's a clunker!"

One teased, "Sweet talk to it!" He then made a kissing motion towards me. They laugh at her good natured positivism and walk to their homes.

It's then I realize that I was not brought here to be torn apart. This girl thought she could fix me.

"Don't listen to them," Georgia whispered. I felt my core flutter; she was looking at me, talking directly to me. "My ancestors fought in the Chaotic War hundreds of years ago. I know how it should be." Swiftly, she moved up my leg and into my cockpit with ease. "Whenever you feel like talkin', I'll listen."

My roar is scratchy and soft, but she catches it and grins.

Every brush of her hands on the controls is deliberate. She rattles off some battle statistics that I had forgotten about and then goes into a list of my weapons and armor classifications. It's different, that's for sure. I can feel her presence much like I felt Leena's, but Georgia's is warm with possibility. Poor Leena was a brick wall; the very idea of communicating with a Zoid was a laughable, childish dream.

This girl, however, still believes in legends.

For the first time in months, hope flitters in my core.

I just may have found my second chance at life.

This sucker has been on my laptop for way too long. I was fiddling around with the format for awhile. I think I may have some tense issues in this thing, so please forgive. As I wrote it, it was an odd mix of past tense and present tense because the Gun Sniper was musing.

In my head, for this fic anyway, there are people who catch wild Zoids and sell them to distributors/Zoid builders who 'domesticate' them by taking away the free will. They then sell them to teams and other purchasers. There are also completely human-made Zoids mixed in with the population and people forget that "Natural Cored" Zoids mean they are actually living creatures. "Natural Cored" has become synonymous with "more powerful."

Long story short, my idea is that when people are removed from the truth, they conveniently forget it. I chose to use Leena's Gun Sniper because, well, it seemed like the best candidate for dissatisfaction, and I'd already written about Brad.

Anyway, that's enough out of me. Let me know what you think!-randomcat23