Author's Note: I do not own the rights to Rifts, or any other Palladium system. This story is currently a work in progress and is the back story for a character I am using in a game. His adventures will make up the gist of this story.
Chapter 1
The mighty winds blew across the desert. The heat draining the souls of the men in the march. They had been traveling for days, their water supplies were nearly out. Some times the mirages would play tricks on their minds, and then their body armor's optics systems would kick in. They had been traveling along a path chasing some fugitive of the state. The wilds of the western United States had a small desert once. Over the years this desert grew and it was partly due to magic users like the fugitive they chased.
A mage they were told. He was responsible for the massacre of a small village on the outskirts of the Ishpeming border. He crossed into Illinois under the cover of darkness and was spotted by a patrol of dog boys. They were no match for him he dispatched them with ease and the few that survived had told their tale to the high command in the area.
The fugitive wore a black trench coat with a big blue leaf sewn into the back of it. Three lines of words were written in it, but the dog boys were even more uneducated than the rest of the citizenry of the state and thus had no clue to what was written. The dogs were out for blood. Their pack leader, both the Psi-Stalker that led them and their Alpha male were killed in the confrontation and they had a score to settle.
The man wore with his trench coat an older suit of ceramic body armor. One almost forgot that these types of fugitives were still vulnerable to energy weapons. He carried with him trophies of his victims, or so the story went. Trophies that included contraband weaponry and gadgets. There was a rumor that he had some alien tech, and not just dimensional tech like those found in the small villages of d-bees, but rather the type found to be made by such weapon smiths as the Naruni.
The APC's traveled smoothly along the hard desert bottom and they avoided the sand dunes where ever they appeared. This gave the fugitive plenty of time to flee as he wasn't so restricted by the sands. The small force of soldiers rode inside the APC's anxious to get a crack at this monster. They listened to a broadcast of the Emperor as he spoke to the millions of citizens across his vast Coalition.
A war was brewing, never before had the forces of the Coalition actively sought fugitives this far away from their beloved city States. Two APC's seemed a little extreme, but they had information that the fugitive was going to be around friends. The extra firepower of the APC's and their soldier compliments would be needed.
Alan walked the deck of the troop bay. His metal frame vibrated on every footfall. It was years ago that he had been converted to this state of being. An unlikely encounter with high ordinance made him this way. He lost everything that fateful day. His wife couldn't live with him in the state he was in. She filed for divorce a few years after his encounter. His family took him in and wanted to euthanize him. His ex still cared for him, and knew deep down that she loved him, stood up for his rights that day. A word from her to a high up officer made certain that his family would not be allowed to carry forth their plan.
The officer put him into the newly commissioned 'borg program. A successful program that had spared more lives than they had hoped to save. He was first reconstructed partially. Just enough for him to rejoin society. He tried this for a few months but like all vets, he couldn't cope. He needed to belong and, despite almost fixing his relationship with his ex, he rejoined the coalition but had opted to undergo full reconstructive surgery. He officially became a machine five full years after being left for dead.
He reflected on his past. His ex was now long dead. She would have been one hundred and twenty. His children had all grown up, his youngest still alive in the 'Burbs. Their family took care of Oil Can Gramps when ever he was on leave. Oil Can Gramps was a nickname he never got used to. But his family lived on. That was the most important thing.
The news of the emperor's goal to rid the world of all d-bees disturbed him. The coalition he grew up in didn't have a fondness for the likes of any dimensional being. But this was borderline genocide. He walked to his commanding officer. The Major had been around a long time, but not nearly as long as him.
The Major acknowledged his salute as he approached. "What is it that I can do for you Sennet?"
Alan had watched this man rise from a private to his current rank. He was the only one below the Major's rank that was allowed to address him informally. "Marc. This plan the emperor has. It isn't right." His mechanical voice box sounded so inhuman even to his mechanical ears. "I think, I think after this mission, I would like to retire from active duty. I have served my country, my emperor and my fellow man for nearly one hundred years."
"Shush Al. You needn't say any more. I have watched you for years first serving under you and now as your commanding officer. I have never seen a more loyal soldier, no, Man in all my years of duty. You have a soft spot for d-bees, that I know and I know that this direction that Emperor Prosek is going isn't for you. Once we're done here and return to base, I'll throw you the best damned retirement party you have ever been to."
The Major's eyes showed concern. Even a little bit of fear beneath the surface. Al could sense this and he started to ask what was wrong when their APC was struck hard. The radio chatter fed to his brain via his head jack. They were in an ambush. The few SAMAS pilots on duty were fighting several well armed men and machines but were in need of support. The back hatch opened up on the APC to allow the troopers out. Dog boys and Dead Boys piled out. Guns immediately started lighting up.
He fell back to the troop bay to pick up his gear. He saw a private, newly transferred in, dead I his seat. A hole the size of a basketball was seen behind him where the high explosive shot tore into the APC. Alan grabbed his SAMAS Rail gun and ammo drum and just calmly walked out the back.
Squads were hunkered down to the ground. Laser, ion, plasma and the like were screaming towards them. Alan's armor took a hit and he turned towards the offender. A three man team manning a jury rigged plasma turret. He aimed the rail rifle at them and pressed down on the trigger. Cartridges spewed forth at the men who thought the higher ground would save them. He watched as two of the men were turned into a red mist, the other one was a little luckier, he leapt away only to have his leg sheared off. His luck was short lived. One round struck an ammo crate near the weapon and the area was lit up like the fourth of July.
"Get on your feet and fight like real soldiers." He barked out. "The Emperor asks that you serve him and you ain't doing that on your bellies."