[M e w]

The sun was beating down on the top of Miles's head and sweat was dripping down his face and the back of his neck. Even though he was just about as unemotional as any other soldier he could still feel discomfort and he knew it would be relieved when the burning star started sinking down towards the horizon. For now he made his way to a nearby shell of a car and sat behind it in shadow, giving him some shelter from the heat.

His usual job was to patrol an entire 3-mile radius of land, close to the border of his overlord's territory, but today he had been limited to a good third of that. He figured with such a small area to patrol he could make himself comfortable for the next few hours or so.
However, perhaps a half hour sitting in the shadow of the wrecked machine he shut his eyes and dozed off. He awoke a couple hours later with a jolt. A buzzing in his ears told him that there was an escaped trainee, expected to be closing in on his patrol area. Something in the deep recesses of his mind seemed to wake up, something he shouldn't feel as a soldier. Fear. Miles knew that if he was caught snoozing, especially while there was an escaped kid running about, he would be punished brutally. Instinctively his hand went to his left shoulder, where a jagged scar blemished the skin underneath his armor.

Shaking his head free of the strange feelings he rose to his feet and hit the car nonchalantly with a closed fist. Almost too quiet to hear, a small squeak sounded from another wasted automobile just a few yards away from where Miles now stood. Very quietly he made his way over to the car and stuck his hand underneath it. Immediately he felt a warm mass underneath and grabbed at it. With a grunt he pulled the other boy out, not deterred by his struggles.

As he looked down at the other child he automatically reached for the metal rod at his waist. The weapon gleamed silver in the light, the "blade" curving slightly in a graceful way. It resembled a sword but the edges were not sharpened like a typical blade would be. It was just as deadly though.
Miles pulled his sword out of its sheath, the weight reassuring in his hand, and pointed it down at the face of the frightened escapee. In the seconds that he stared down blankly at the boy something in his mind seemed to click, but he did not know what it was. He simply continued to gaze at the one in front of him, not showing any sort of emotion or action.