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 lower right torso, beneath what appeared to be its main gun.

The 'Mech was of a blocky design, with short arms, wide torso, a slightly forward leaning, somewhat square head, and a massive block of metal sitting on what was left of its right torso. This block of metal has a massive gun barrel, easily the housing for an AC/20. He ultimately identified the 'Mech as a Hunchback. 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. Could this be a relic of that time? If so, why weren't either of these salvaged? At that moment, Lance looked for signs of another 'Mech, such as more wreckage. He looked to his right, and saw the edge of a massive crater. He approached this crater edge and looked inside. The crater's interior was lined with fragments of armor, internal structure and other nondescript shrapnel that was no longer identifiable as wreckage from a BattleMech. Though the armor plate Lance found allowed him to put two and two together.

'Ammo explosion' he thought to himself. 'I've heard stories of what those do. I guess this is confirmation.'

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, which starkly contrasts against whatever once stood where that crater lies now. He stood at the base of the massive machine, and peered into the gaping hole that swallowed the lower half of the 'Mech's right torso. 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, and gaze once more into the hole. Upon reaching such a point where he was able, he saw the internal structure of the Hunchback was completely melted down, and the engine core was utterly demolished.

'I should have guessed reactor failure. The damage patters are consistent with such.'

After assessing the destruction of the 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 the forward-leaning, somewhat cube-shaped head, and peered into the cockpit. He saw the glass had been perforated with shrapnel and bullet holes. Between that, and the exposure to the elements for God knows how long, the glass was likely compromised. At the side of the 'Mech's head was a fallen branch from a tree leaning over the side of the hill. It was large, and dense, posing a challenge for Lance to lift it, let alone swing the thing.

He wedged his foot underneath a piece of damaged and curled outer amor plating as a point of leverage and stability. He wound up, holding the dense organic implement as if it were an old terra baseball bat. He leaned back, leveraging his foot against the upturned metal, and used that leverage to pull himself forward, putting all his weight behind the swing. The branch came around and slammed into the cockpit glass. Between the weight of the branch, the strength of the swing, and the compromised state of the cockpit glass, there was just enough force to break both the glass and the branch.

The glass shards flew inward at the cockpit and the long-dead occupant thereof. This provided Lance with access, and furthered his hope to piece together the events that had occurred here, and how long ago said events occurred. Upon entering the cockpit, he noticed scorch marks covering the entire lower half of the cockpit, having damaged the console. Seeing this, Lance knew extracting any data was unlikely. Still, he looked, and ultimately found the drive.

As expected, it was completely fried.

'Dammit.'

Lance looked at the skeletal corpse, wrapped in AFFS MechWarrior uniform, and skull protected by neurohelm. "Looks like whatever happened here's gonna remain a mystery." he sighed.

He stepped out of the cockpit, and saw the sun had just set behind the trees. Nighttime was imminent. Remembering the massive hole in the right side torso, he descended back down the side of the 'Mech, and entered his shelter. The day turned to night, and Lance fell to sleep.

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. 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 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 immediately 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 forest's 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 a mass of wires which ensnared and immobilized him. He looked down at these wires 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 hanging wires on its approach. This could buy Lance some time. However, as the beast lashed out at the wires and missed its mark, its claws struck Lance's legs. The pain shot up through Lance's body, only adding urgency to his action. Again, the Silithys missed its strike at the wires, and again its claws struck Lance's legs. However, this time, it also slashed the wires 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 ground. 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 his 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 ten foot straight drop between him, and the ground. He bent down, and placed his hands so he could dangle from the metal ledge, and minimize the drop. While this did in fact minimize the drop itself, the wound in his leg compromised his balance, causing him to crumple to the ground once more upon landing. Again, the sharp, throbbing pain shot up his leg. He lies on the ground, clutching his leg, hands soaking in blood, struggling to catch his breath.

'I am going to die out here.'

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 an all too familiar and terrifying growl. Another Silithys approaches.

Lance rolled onto his back, and reached for his pistol. The beast leapt into an interception, grabbing the 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 struggled for his life, blindly swinging his left fist at the beast. This did nothing. 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 arm broken.

With his other hand, he struck the Silithys in the snout. This only served to anger the beast. 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 you 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.