Chapter 1- A.C. 188

Rashid looked over the once peaceful village he had called home. The soldiers had been ruthless. From the survivors he learned that his friend Tauluk had been helping a rebel heal from his wounds for the past few days. The men had been fast and their wrath terrible. Without warning their giant walkers lay waste to the huts and wells, their soldiers herding the survivors into a large group, then shooting them on the spot. The ones who had escaped did not do so uninjured. They to were all near death. Rashid was only saved thanks to his job as a herder in his small mountain home.

The walkers had gone now, along with the soldiers. Slowly, Rashid walked to the village. He looked everywhere. He looked in basements, he searched attics, and even stuck his head into the many wells. There was no one. He fell to his knees, all will gone. But one thought, one desire started to grow. He swore that he would do anything he could to destroy the force that had done this.

The force known as OZ.

Days later, Rashid found himself in his uncles Mobile Suit factory. His family was wealthy, but they were also grounded. They did not needlessly spend their money on frivolous things. They did not go out and buy large houses or flashy cars. Rashid's great grandfather, when he made his money, swore that neither he nor his descendants would lose their link to regular people. Rashid didn't need to be a herder. He was currently invested in three different European technology firms. Slowly, he opened the door to his uncle's office.

"Rashid! How are you?" Rashid's uncle was a big man, and very jolly, even in the worst of situations. But when it came to his family being in trouble, he was dead serious.

"Not to bad, uncle." Rashid took a seat in one of his uncle's chairs.

"So," said his uncle, his voice growing serious. "I understand that OZ attacked your home. No survivors, right?" Rashid could only nod. His uncle plowed on. "Well, I know that you are only here because you want revenge, so I will make this quick; yes."

Rashid did a double take. "I'm sorry, uncle, but did you say-"

"I did." The man grinned like a fool. "I am not to fond of OZ either. They want me to start making their mobile suits, but they don't like the fact that I manage in my own way, not theirs. So, they threaten to shut me down, under the pretense I am a subversive." He took some plans out of desk and showed them to his nephew. "These, these are how I plan to strike back." Unfolding them, Rashid saw a new mobile suit before him. "I call it 'Maganac'. I plan to manufacture it in protest against the Earth Sphere's attempts at complete control."

"A MS that holds the name 'family'?" Rashid looked at the design. It was not that dissimilar to a Leo.

"Exactly, Rashid." His uncle sat down again. "Rashid, I have come to the conclusion that OZ has its hands in and on everything. I also believe that the colonies are our best hope." He turned to look out the window onto the factory floor. "Those men out there, they want true freedom. We must give it to them." He turned back to his nephew, his best look of seriousness on. "I have a secret factory under construction near an oasis in the desert. As far as I know, neither Earth Sphere nor OZ knows about it. I intend to keep it that way. In time, this factory will be destroyed by an extremist's bomb. And you, I and all these men will become history." He turned to the window to the outside now. "I am growing old, Rashid. I won't be able to fight in the suit. I need a younger man to do it for me."

Rashid could only cry tears of joy. "Thank you, uncle."

Production of both the secret factory and suits was quick. The new Maganac Mobile Suit was a masterpiece in Rashid's eyes. The suit was nimble, could take a beating, but still keep its pilot safe, and, best of all, OZ knew nothing about it. The suit was built for any environment, but was especially adept at desert combat, where it could be sunken into the sand at a moments notice.

"The production is coming along well," observed Rashid's uncle. In the past months the man had aged considerably, but still kept his young spirit. "I just read a report from the Earth Sphere. They bought the story. They think that every man here was killed." Then his demeanor changed. "We don't have enough qualified pilots. So far I have about twenty-three men lined up. I have at least forty suits, Rashid. Along with that, I don't have enough leaders. Can you find them?"

Rashid was as quiet as he could be in the bar. It was in the rough side of town, and the most dangerous. He couldn't simply get up and ask one of the men here if they were pilots. That would be stupid. Many of the men here were criminals, after all.

"Nice job back in Merakesh, Auda! Now, not only are we suitless, but we're on the radar!" Abdul threw his drink back and glared again at his partner. "Now what do we do!"

"Can you keep it down, you idiot!" Afmad looked again around the bar, trying to pinpoint any Sphere agents. "Listen, we just need a new plan. Maybe we can infiltrate a suit factory?"

"Wouldn't work," said Auda. "After Merakesh, our pictures are everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if someone came up to us right now and turned us in for the bounty."

Rashid was watching the news he knew was doctored. It was still news, though, which was why he watched it. The news anchor droned on endlessly about how the colonies kept "defying" Earth rule, but then something caught his ear. "Reports coming from Merakesh indicate that the three pilots responsible for the attack are hiding somewhere in Kabul, Afghanistan." Then Rashid turned to look at the three men, each wearing a fez. "Maybe…" He walked over to talk to them.

"Eyes up, gentlemen, we have a visitor." They all looked up to see the man with the strange beard get up from the bar to talk to them. "Excuse me," he said "Are you the men who attacked Merakesh?" Without another word, the three jumped him.

The bar's patrons watched helplessly as the three men fought it out in the middle of the floor. The man with the beard ducked a kick from a man with some glasses. Another one of the men in fezzes tried to grab the man by the neck, but ended up getting thrown on the floor. The tall man with the beard then towered over them. "Now listen," he said, command in his voice. "I was looking for you because I have a job for you. If you agree, you will be well paid, well protected, and take part in overthrowing OZ. Do you accept?"

Every pilot in the bar stood up. Surprise crossed the mans face. Some were Afghani. Some were western. Some were Asian. But he knew all were pilots. Finally the three men stood up, dusting themselves off. "Where do we sign?" said Abdul jovially.