It was late afternoon on the northwestern forests of the planet Katil III. The young Edmund Lance Trephore knelt over a pond, using the fresh water to wash the dirt off his face. His reflection showed his stern facial features and his dark hair. Fatigue was slowly gripping at his mind and body, as he had been semi-aimlessly wandering through the woods for nearly two days now. Once he was satisfied with his cleaning, he grabbed his pistol, holster, and survival equipment, and stood to continue his journey.

'I just need time to think', he told himself. 'Time away from work, and stress'.

His thoughts were a chaotic and writhing web in his mind. Thoughts regarding the current ongoing war, known as the Third Succession War, and the nature of war as a whole. The death, the destruction, fear, sorrow, anger, it all filled his mind, causing an almost physical pain in his mind, and has been since a week before he left. He'd left his post at the BattleMech Repair Fields where he'd been employed since he was fifteen. He was seventeen now, and had spent two years studying and working on these machines.

Between storms of thought, Lance would often take a moment to muse at the nature of BattleMechs, and their placement in the Third Succession War. They are an ancient, and somewhat confusing technology, he would think. Where most things get more advanced with time and research, war has torn down our knowledge, and has left us with primitive, and ill-maintained machines. 

Lance's train of thought ultimately as interrupted as he stumbled into a clearing. For the first time in nearly two days, unfiltered sunlight fell on Lance's face. He squinted as his eyes, waiting for them to adjust, and see what lies ahead. As they did so, he saw a hillside, and what looked like a large rockface and cave protruding from it. As his eyes adjusted further, he saw that it was not a rockface and cave, but a ruined BattleMech. What he thought was a cave was a massive hole in its upper right torso, looking to have decimated its main gun. Its head was completely destroyed, along with the cockpit.

The 'Mech was of a blocky design, with short arms, wide torso, and a massive block of metal sitting on what was left of its right torso. This was the aforementioned primary weapon housing. Just to the side of the massive gun barrel was a massive rupture. Easily large enough to fit a person. As Lance approached, he was stopped as the ground beneath his feet suddenly changed. He stepped on something harder than grass and dirt. It felt metallic. He lifted his foot and looked down and the dirt. A massive piece of armor plating, easily larger than himself. As he brushed off the dirt, and pulled away the moss, he saw CCAF colors, the emerald green that otherwise blended in with the forest floor. He compared this to the dusty brown-orange of the rest of the Mech, and determined that this was part of another 'Mech. He knew that the brown-orange were typically AFFS colors.

Lance had heard of a battle that had occurred between the Capellan Confederation and the Federated Suns here during the tail end of the Second Succession War. That would've been about sixty years ago. Could this be a relic of that time? If so, why wasn't this thing salvaged? At that moment, Lance looked for signs of another 'Mech, such as more wreckage. There was nothing other than the armor plate he'd stepped on.

'A pretty one-sided fight.' he thought to himself. 'The Hunchback must've been ambushed, or was already damaged.'

He turned back to the Hunchback, and moved again to get a closer look. He was quicky able to rule out an ammo explosion as the source of the Hunchback's ruined state. First off, the ammo is stored on the left torso, which seems relatively intact. This and the fact that there's a mech to examine in the first place. He stood at the base of the massive machine, and peered into the gaping hole that pierced the AC/20 housing. His eyes could not pierce the darkness. Not from where he stood. Perhaps if he got closer?

He positioned himself to climb up the Hunchback's thigh. A short climb, but he had much more to go. As he looked at the torso, he notices an array of outturned damaged armor, and thick vines which he could use to climb up to the AC/20 housing. He looked inside the hole, and saw the entire inside of the right torso demolished. Shrapnel and melted down structure lined the internal side of the armor. From where he stood, the center torso seemed intact though.

'Whatever did this had a very big gun. Definitely another AC/20.'

After assessing the destruction of the right torso, Lance attempted the climb up to the cockpit. Perhaps there'd be clues as to what all happened here in there. As he climbed higher, he saw more of the clearing behind him. He saw outlines of massive BattleMech-sized footprints, and smaller craters where debris and explosive projectiles had impacted. 

'Whoa...'

He eventually reached what was left the forward-leaning, somewhat cube-shaped head. He hoped he could find some further evidence of what happened here, but didn't expect much. As expected, there was only wreckage. There was nothing identifiable as a cockpit, or a pilot. If it weren't for the scraps of singed cloth, and half a neurohelm, he'd assume the pilot had ejected and was not in the 'Mech. There were no recognizable human remains or even evidence of a former human presence beyond that.

'Whoever hit this was a good shot. Glad that was sixty years ago.'

He rummaged through the wreckage, not looking for anything specific, but more looking just for the sake of looking. About where the console was, among the mass of wires, he found two that stood out. They were larger, thicker, better insulated. In Lance's mind, that made them important. Out of curiosity, he picked up both ends, and touched them together. The entire 'Mech vibrated, chugged, with a subtle, yet ever present whine. This caught Lance by surprise, and he involutarily pulled the wires away from each other. A moment of quiet contemplation, and again, he touched the wires together. Again, the machine vibrated, and let out its familiar sounds. Lance held the wires together.

'Please, just for a moment, just start.'

After several seconds of hesitation, the engine came to life, and stabilized. Victory! Lance let the wires go, and the engine died once more.

'All this thing needs is a new head, and it'll walk. It'll run. I think I'm gonna fix this. I know I am going to fix this. And it'll be mine.'

He turned to look back at the clearing, and saw the sun had set just behind the trees. He had to find some sort of shelter and bunk down. He returned to the rupture in the AC/20 housing, and pulled the vines he used to descend down to himself. He arranged them in a grid pattern that would create something approaching a soft surface.

'Better than sleeping on scrap metal.'

He laid down on the vines, and fell peacefully asleep.

He entered his dream state, and saw himself walking down a catwalk, approaching a BattleMech which he recognized, but could not name. It was obviously a Light 'Mech, based on its small stature compared to other 'Mechs in this 'Mechbay. Its head displayed very feline features, with the cockpit glass in its jaws. Its build was broad, but almost flat, with spindly arms and legs. Slung under the right arm was a Particle Projector Cannon, and in its center torso segment was a Short-Range Missile-4 pod.

He climbed onto the 'Mech's head, opened the hatch, and dropped down into the cockpit. Once he was seated, he donned his neurohelm, and spoke a secret code. A code necessary to bring the 'Mech to life. "E.L. Trephore." It was not Lance's voice that spoke. It was low, gruff, and strong. He immediately recognized the voice as his father's. The 'Mech's engine spun up, creating a low whine residing deep in his ear, and the back of his head. An effeminate computerized voice filled the cockpit. "Weapons: Online. Engine: Online. All systems: Nominal." As he reached for the controls, he saw the hands that matched the voice. They were large, thick, rough, and callused. His father's hands.

The 'Mechbay doors opened, and the dream state shifted to see Lance in a desert wasteland. It was mostly flat, save one lone plateau off in the distance. As his gaze locked on this plateau, a blue objective marker pinged on the opposite side of this plateau. 

He pushed the throttle forward, and accelerated into a sprint. The approach was quiet, and a sort of idleness fell upon the dream, creating a seemingly endless loop of stepping towards a slowly approaching point. This idleness pulled him deeper into the dream state, making it feel closer and closer to reality.

Eventually, he does reach the foot of this plateau. Rather than adjusting course to move around it, he removed the grey cover protecting a red button on the side of the throttle. The same effeminate voice from earlier spoke again. "Jump-jets: Primed." He pressed the button, and slammed the throttle back, then forth. The jump-jets ignited, and lifted the 'Mech up into the sky, carrying it above the plateau.

The moment his 'Mech's titanic boots made contact with the plateau, the dream state shifted once more. He was now in an arctic environment, with a massive and steep mountain range towering to his right, and a deep crevasse to his left, leaving only one lane of travel towards his objective, which was further than when he last looked at his display. Still, he pressed on.

Not long after he resumed his pursuit, an enemy 'Mech jumped out from the crevasse. It was a 'Mech he recognized, and while in the 'Mech he was in, feared. He knew it as a Phoenix Hawk. In particular the PXH-1. Armed with a large laser, two medium lasers, and two machine guns, this was a machine purpose built to destroy light 'Mechs such as the one Lance was in now.

He needed to get some degree of separation between him, and this threat. He fired the PPC once, and activated his jump-jets again to cross the crevasse. Again, the moment he landed, the dream state shifted. Now, he was in an urban environment, with skyscrapers towering far above his 'Mech. No chance his jump-jets could carry him to the top. His objective now was further still from his position. Clear across the city at least.

Still, he pressed on, moving towards this seemingly unreachable objective. He rounded corners, and weaved through wreckage, and fallen structures. Hopefully drawing closer to his objective. This time, Lance had his eye on his mini-map, deliberately tracking his objective's position in relation to his own. He'd hoped this would prevent the objective from moving away from him. However, his attention was ultimately diverted from this as his map pinged the location of a nearby hostile 'Mech. He looked up, and saw a heavy 'Mech round a corner. One he also recognized. He recognized it as the Marauder, MAD-3R. He tried to back out and away from the threat, but the dream state had shifted so he was cornered against a dead end.

He fired his PPC, and his SRM-4 pod. The PPC's blue bolt of energy struck the Marauder's right torso, just under its AC/5 mount, and the SRMs each struck a different location. The Marauder returned the strike, firing both its PPCs, both its medium lasers, and its AC/5. As all of this struck Lance's 'Mech, he heard his father's voice call out. "Corporal Trephore, under heavy fire! Requesting immediate-"

The constant blasting sounds were replaced with a low growl. When he suddenly awoke, this growl persisted. He was not alone in his impromptu shelter.

Lance's eyes shot open, and he looked at the early morning light shining through the rupture in the Hunchback's hull. Silhouetted against said light was a short, stout, quadruped encased in carapace. Its head was relatively spade-shaped, and the entire creature, despite standing at only two feet at the shoulder was easily twelve feet long tip to tail. A Shellback Silithys, native to the forests of Kathil III, its dusty brown segmented carapace shell with green edges allowed it to blend in perfectly with most forest landscapes.

Lance tried to spring to his feet, but was halted by the mass of vines in which he had laid the night before. They now ensnared and immobilized him. He looked down at these vines and saw that they wrapped around his gun as well, keeping it in its holster even as he tried to draw. His mind narrowed on the gun. If he could free it, he could at least scare off the beast. If not, the beast would have its way with Lance.

The beast too got caught in a mass of vines on its approach. Vines that dangled from the top of the rupture. This could buy Lance some time. However, as the beast lashed out at the vines and missed its mark. Its claws struck Lance's left leg. Pain shot up through Lance's body, only adding urgency to his action. Again, the Silithys missed its strike at the vines, and again its claws struck Lance's leg. However, this time, it also slashed the vines around Lance's legs, allowing Lance to pull them off of him, and his holster. He drew his weapon, clicked the safety off, took a moment to aim, and opened fire. The first round cracked its spade-shaped carapace head plate. The second round pierced through the cracks, and opened its head. The third round sunk deep into its head, liquifying the brain, and came flying out its bottom jaw, killing it.

Lance took one more step towards the beast, and was instantly pulled back down to the floor. The pain in his legs had resurfaced. This step drew his attention from his precarious situation to his wounds. Though, these wounds only added to the precariousness. Each step was a journey of its own. It took Lance almost two days of semi-aimless wandering to find this place in perfect health. He knew not how he'd make it home with these wounds.

Still, he hoisted himself up, and stumbled over to the rupture in the Hunchback's hull. His shoulders slumped as he realized the twenty-foot straight drop between him, and the ground. He bent down, and placed his hands so he could dangle from the metal ledge, and attempt a slow, controlled descent. He would keep his left leg back so it wouldn't interfere. He'd rely on his arms, and his right leg to control his descent. His grip was already shaking from the stress and blood loss. After a five foot controlled descent, he lost his grip and fell the other fifteen. He figured he had to keep one leg functioning, and opted to land on his left side. He heard a crack emanating from his shoulder and chest, and was incapacitated by a piercing pain that took his breath away.

'I am going to die out here.'

He forced himself to swallow the pain. He had to. The only way he saw forward was if he rolled onto his stomach, and pushed himself up onto his feet. After a single stride, he fell once more, suffering a now all too familiar pain that seemed to chain him to the ground. Now he was locked in a low crawl, tracing his path back home. It took him almost half an hour to make it back to the edge of the clearing when he heard a familiar and terrifying growl. Another Silithys approaches.

Lance rolled onto his back, and reached for his pistol. The beast leapt into an interception, grabbing Lance's right arm in its jaw, stopping Lance from grabbing his weapon. It then started pulling Lance into and past the thick brush. Lance wanted to struggle for his life, but was unable to do anything. His right arm was in the beast's maw, and his left arm was throbbing, inoperative, and likely broken. The beast carried him deeper into the woods, through dirt, stone and brush, creating new wounds and worsening those preexisting. 

Eventually, the beast stopped, and released its grasp on Lance's arm, its maw dripping with blood, and Lance's entire arm soaked. The beast did not run back into the woods, but hovered over Lance's face. Again, Lance reached for his gun, but his arm had sustained such damage that any motion was denied by a wave of throbbing pain. He suspected his right arm also broken.

It wound up, and came down at Lance, but was interrupted by another gunshot, coming from the brush. Under the blast, Lance heard a low, wet crunch as the Silithys' shoulder carapace imploded, and the beast was tossed to the side. Once again, a gunshot rang out, and the beast was pushed into the ground. Again, and again, until the beast stopped moving.

Lance's ears rang, but he heard a muffled "Are ya breathing, Boy?" He could barely make out the voice. From what he could tell, the man's voice was gruff, aged. It wasn't until the man approached Lance, and hovered over him that he recognized him. "George?" Lance voice was softer now, and raspy. His vision went blurry, and then dark.