So they were at it again. The Empire and the Republic were at odds, threatening to declare war on each other. There wasn't a clear answer to how it started; perhaps it was just tradition. There needn't be a reason for rivalry, it merely sparked anew whenever it wanted. Not even the Guardian Force could resolve the situation that called for action, not words.

So far, nothing significant had yet occurred. The opposing sides waged a cold war that dragged on for about a year. The Empire, however, was going through its own troubles; its emperor was on the verge of death, and his successor was hardly interested in ruling the nation. This conspired to give the Empire's regent more than enough reason to claim the throne for himself. Surely, he would stop at nothing to rule the Empire once its current leader passed on.

As for the Republic, they had no real issues. Maybe a bit short on manpower and funds to provide proper equipment, but really nothing pressing. The Guardian Force was doing the best out of them all, not surprisingly. After so many years since its formation, the Guardian Force was still the group to call upon for just about anything. Its members were mostly Republic or Imperial soldiers, since it was formed by both the Republic and Empire, or those trained exclusively for service in the Force.

If ever war were to break out, the Guardian Force would definitely be in the middle of it. In order to secure peace, they too would have to wage war against two of the most powerful forces of the land.

Dust rose into the infinite blue above as impact was made with the dirt. Some chunks of the earth flew high, scattering in all directions, and large indentations were made in the freshly exposed soil. A Zoid, a Saber Tiger, had fallen heavily when a nearby explosion sent it backwards, and its once shimmering silver armor now became dulled with a shower of dirt and dust. It took no serious damage, promptly rising back to its paws and growling resentfully at another Zoid in front of it—the cause of its humiliation.

The other, a Command Wolf of crimson, stalked forward, taking no defensive stance as its pilot issued a tease to the pilot of the Tiger.

"Are you ready to give up yet?" The sneer on his face was obvious through his haughty voice.

The Saber Tiger roared at his words, no doubt reflecting its own pilot's feelings. It pulled its massive body back for a spring, but the Command Wolf quickly fired off a batch of missiles from pods on either of its flanks, not even attempting to move out of range of the blasts that erupted upon impact with its opponent. It acted quickly while the Saber Tiger hadn't, and the feline was struck once again directly by the missiles that had downed it previously.

"Come on!" the Wolf's pilot laughed. "This is too easy! You've got to be holding back."

The Tiger hadn't gone down this time, but it lowered itself so its weight would keep it grounded, its belly almost brushing the earth. Its armor chipped in various places, namely on its shoulders and head—dangerously close to the cockpit—but it was fiercely resilient and still opposed the Command Wolf.

A male voice from the Tiger suddenly echoed through the battlefield. "Come on, Grimsley, you know my Saber Tiger doesn't like patronizing. I don't mind, but my Zoid's another story."

"What?" the Wolf's pilot chuckled. "Don't let your imagination do the talking for you—"

He gasped, cutting his words short as a silvery blur barreled into him, sending his Zoid skidding back until it flipped over on its frail limbs. With a crash, Grimsley found himself on his side, frantically attempting to right his Zoid, but the Saber Tiger sprawled over it to pin it down. The Tiger growled, perhaps as a warning for the Wolf to keep itself still, and its pilot broke out in laughter over the radio system.

"You're right! I was holding back!" He was ecstatic after having turned his luck around, and hearing the silence sent over from Grimsley's end was all he needed to feel further satisfaction.

Before any more bantering could take place, another voice came through their communications—one that held authority: "That's enough, the both of you. I'm finished. You can get back to base now."

"Commander!" barked Grimsley. "You had to wait until he got the upper hand to call this off?!"

"It's not on purpose, Grimsley," replied the other. "Now come back so I can give you your reports."

With a huff, the other pilot let his Zoid move away, giving the Command Wolf the opportunity to move. Finishing off his opponent, who was in reality his ally, was not the idea, anyway.

"Thanks for nothing, Emmet," Grimsley growled bitterly. His Command Wolf managed to push itself back on all four paws, giving a light shake of its armor to unsettle the loose dust. It had not felt as cheated as its pilot, not that it mattered to him in the first place.

Emmet, as he was so called, apologized lightly to his comrade as his Saber Tiger took off in the direction of their headquarters. Grimsley was mad now, but he would soon let it pass. It was all for research, they understood, but Emmet and his Zoid saw a win as a win nonetheless. The Zoid roared triumphantly as it pounded ahead, the Command Wolf lagging behind as it and its sullen pilot followed. This had become routine.

Through the blank wasteland, the two Zoids never broke apart as they made their way, fully familiar with their environment just as their pilots were. Far from Guardian Force headquarters, a small base rested lonely near a grand dirt road that connected the Republican nation to the Imperial. This was where they were headed; the central, and only, base belonging to the Fox Hunt division of the Guardian Force. It was their home, their workplace, but one that was scarcely populated. Grimsley and Emmet were just two of its military-grade pilots. In actuality, the division was small, relatively new, and not widely known. Still, its members came from promising sources.

After some time—perhaps hours; it couldn't have been said—the small convoy arrived at its base of operations. Surprisingly, the Saber Tiger had appeared more lively and at health after the pummeling it received. Then again, it had won the practice match. The Command Wolf remained at its heels, less damaged but more humiliated.

The Saber Tiger slowed to a stop in front of the building, a few smaller Zoids walking past it as they examined the perimeter. These were lower ranking pilots, providing patrol service in Grimsley's stead. He was the pilot in charge of patrolling their territory, and rarely wanted or needed help in doing so. Other pilots would fill in only when he was absent.

The base was split into two sections; the hangar was at one end, and the base of operations was on the opposite end. With requested permission, Emmet and his colleague were allowed access into the hangar. They presently docked their Zoids, fitting them into their respective places among the others that stood inactive, and climbed out of the cockpits.

As the two joined, their striking difference in appearance was made apparent. Emmet had to look down at Grimsley; he was upwards of six feet in height, and Grimsley by now had become accustomed to talking to someone who was literally over his head. If Grimsley tried harder, he could've stretched out to nearly a clean six feet. Some things were not meant to be. He did, however, carry an impressive head of medium to long navy hair which had been styled to look as if he had a pair of short wings on either side of his head, although a lock of it draped over his brow which didn't seem to bother him in the least. Emmet's hair was shorter, yet shaggier, and thus his face was easier to see (despite the intimidating sideburns he'd been growing). He had his hair dyed—or perhaps it was a natural—silver, or light gray, and even his eyes were the same shade. It was highly unusual among the populace. There couldn't have been anyone else like him.

But then there was the only similarity between them: their very basic, very easy-on-the-eyes uniform. Most members of Fox Hunt wore the same light blue jumpsuit, combat boots, and fingerless gloves. The suit was made of a light, flexible material that didn't make them any hotter and also helped to keep their body temperature from lowering. The suit was tight to their skin, so it was moderately comfortable to wear—sometimes. The Guardian Force emblem was stitched onto the front of their uniforms in gold thread, making it easily visible while keeping it small enough. The dark gray gloves were simply used for protecting their hands when piloting and giving them better grip on the controls. Other than that, the two men were opposites in almost every way.

With some mild bickering, they made their way into the main building. Having lived in the same building for years, they knew the base like the backs of their hands, and the two officers blindly let their memories navigate them to their desired area. The pair was soon faced with two heavy doors, and Grimsley was first to enter. A digital panel to the side was what he interacted with; he pulled off his left glove and placed his bare palm on the cool surface. A light shone from underneath. It scanned his fingerprints and the lock to the door was undone. He gestured at Emmet to hurry behind him, and the two swiftly made their way into the control room.

An authoritative figure glanced at each one of them, offering a smile and welcoming them as they entered. "Fine work today," he said simply, sounding pleased. He was a blond, with something like a soft blue plume swirled around his head. It appeared to be suspended in the air, only held upright by the man's scalp.

As it turned out, he was the acting commander of the entire division—the man in charge of all these subordinates, and the same man responsible for these bothersome tests. But he was pleasant, not at all intimidating; on the contrary, he was full of encouragement. "Grimsley, what did you think of the new missile pods?"

"Subpar," Grimsley answered with phony indignation. They were all right to him, really, but his loss made him feel they were more inferior than he knew. Plus, it was fun to test the Commander's patience. "They're okay, but not for me."

"I suspected as much," Colress, the other, argued. "We have other Zoids that can benefit from missiles. We can't squander our resources."

"Sir, what's the report?" Emmet asked as he suddenly interjected. He was impatient to get to the point of the matter. His silvery eyes anxiously darted over to the monitors behind Colress which displayed vast amounts of information that Emmet frankly couldn't process.

Colress was brightened by the change of subject. He turned to the console behind him and began pouring over the numbers, however very briefly. There was a moan from Grimsley before the superior officer spoke up.

"You've shown slight improvement since the last exercise. To be more precise, your Zoid has improved, not necessarily you."

"How's that?" Emmet wondered, unsure of what was meant.

"These improvements are slight, mind you," Colress explained, "but significant enough for my research. Your Zoid reacted seconds faster, and with more accuracy. You had nothing to do with that, I'm afraid. In fact, you were a factor that kept the Zoid from performing better."

"That's a bummer," Grimsley teased.

Emmet became deflated at this, but he wasn't completely disappointed. His Saber Tiger had managed to give a better performance on its own, without his help.

"This serves as further proof that Zoids can make impressive strides on their own," Colress concluded, a proud smile on his face. "Because of your own limited abilities, Emmet, the Saber Tiger could only do so little today. But I'm sure with your own improvement you'll be able to match your Zoid's progress."

Emmet nodded, understanding that he still had a lot of growing to do. He kept his expression neutral, but the tone of his reply signified he was already feeling better about himself. "Yes, sir. I think so too."

"Your Zoid obviously feels you're worthy enough to expend itself," Colress added, to which Grimsley gave a complaint.

"Commander! Not that again," he groaned, sounding exasperated with the subject. He'd heard it more times than he could count, more than he liked to remember. "You shouldn't fill his head with those fantastic ideas of yours."

"Meanwhile, you and your Command Wolf have shown no improvement."

"That is far, far beside the point, sir," Grimsley replied, though less passionate than before, quelling his temper upon Colress' unsatisfactory report. "You realize that you're the only person chasing these wild dreams? Emmet's Saber Tiger improved only because of its programming. Zoids are supposed to learn in order to perform better. You know that."

"Grimsley, we can argue about this until another meteor shower strikes the planet—which would possibly take thousands of years, if the possibility is there at all." Colress gave him a sympathetic smirk, turning away to address the monitors in front of him. "Let me conduct my work the way I've planned it. You both are under my command, and even though you have already made up your mind before you even got here, Emmet is more willing to believe. And he does; I know. You can't understand how much I can benefit from his point of view."

An uncomfortable spell of silence drifted among them, with the only noises coming from the machines in the room and the other personnel breathing and shifting around. Emmet stood there quite unsure of how to respond, and Grimsley suddenly was overcome with some slight regret. But only slight.

"These numbers tell me so much," the commanding officer observed. He turned to face his subordinates, nodding to signify the subject was finished, and he focused on Emmet again, smiling compassionately. "Emmet, I except more good work in the future. You could definitely teach the others what it means to discipline yourself."

"Yes, sir! Have no doubts, sir!" The youngest of the three was enthusiastic with his response, giving his commander a salute. He wasn't exactly sure how to make himself an example, but he agreed only to please his superior, and a part of him wanted to show what he was worth.

"You're both dismissed."

With their attention no longer required, the two officers left their commander to the rest of his work. Outside, they walked back the way they'd come, taking some time to talk.

"Emmet," Grimsley began, "you really shouldn't let him influence you. I know he's very convincing when he goes on about his beliefs—"

"I believe him. I'm sorry," Emmet interrupted, "but he doesn't need to influence me. I have different feelings from yours."

"But he doesn't make any sense. I feel sorry for him."

"Just let him do what he likes. His work is his life."

"That's sad. To think that a lie is all he has?" Grimsley crossed his arms as he continued. "It's not too late for you to realize what's real and what's fantasy. But Colress is too far gone now. There is no changing him."

"I can't say the same," Emmet replied, looking down at his feet as he went. Wanting to avoid dragging on the discussion, he said nothing that would back up his opinion but instead diverted the subject. "In any case, I thought the missile pods were great when fired up close."

"That's not the point of a missile. I don't know, they're not for me. And they add weight to my Zoid, which I could go without."

After that comment, Grimsley parted ways with Emmet and headed back to the crew's quarters. He left Emmet with a simple goodbye in the middle of the base, whereupon the lone officer made his way back to the hangar with a relieved sigh. He was grateful Grimsley hadn't prolonged their discussion, which most likely would have turned into an argument with yelling on Grimsley's end. He had different ideas, but his were in the majority; Emmet and Colress were a struggling minority, with the world blind to their perspective.

Nevertheless, Emmet held hope, and as he breezed into the hangar he smiled at the sight of his Zoid. The lights were bright upon its armor, however after its tumble in the dirt, it was no longer as shiny as its pilot liked to keep it. And only then did Emmet remember the damage Grimsley's missiles had done to it at close range; its face was chipped, dented, scratched, its fangs were scored, and its shoulders and chest were marked; and in all of these areas there were burned silver patches. The poor thing looked worse than it felt.

Seeing all this gave Emmet a sudden feeling of regret for letting his Zoid suffer such amounts of superficial damage. If he were a more capable pilot, he'd have been able to avoid the Command Wolf's missile fire. Emmet approached his Zoid, considering polishing it up and buffing away the easier blemishes. He'd have to repaint it, repair the dents, and replace the missing pieces of armor. Poor thing!

He patted its paw to comfort it. He knew it could feel his intentions despite not seeing firsthand evidence of its acknowledgement. But he knew, and that's all that satisfied him. Deep in the Core, the Saber Tiger was as conscious as he.

It disappointed the pilot that his Zoid never showed any convincing sign of its consciousness. He wondered why it was reluctant, or unable to. Maybe Emmet was not trustworthy enough, or the Zoid was fearful of paranoid backlash it could receive from other humans who were not as open-minded. Emmet desperately wanted to understand the Tiger better—and all Zoids—so that at last he could help show the people of the world that Zoids were indeed alive, just as they were once believed to be. He so badly wanted to give his commander's work this kind of push.

For now, however, he'd have to satisfy himself with his own private mind, humoring a belief he wasn't able to give any validity to. Emmet couldn't possibly get inside Colress' mind and try to imagine what he was going through. As far as Grimsley was concerned, the commander was fighting a losing battle, and sometimes it really did look that way to Emmet, too.

"We'll do better next time," he assured his Zoid, speaking quietly, almost personally. All he could do at the time was promise their partnership would continue. That, and try to pretty the grungy Tiger up a bit.