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When you focus on doors that have been closed, you never realize when new doors are opened for you.

—Unknown—

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Torrent IV was a dry and desolate place. A planet filled to the brim with rusty old junk. It was the perfect place to pick up a nasty case of tetanus, but one man's junk was another man's treasure. Junk that could be made useful to the trained eye of the cheapskates and scavengers that hovered over these forsaken lands like a pact of vultures. Vullards were the main race that encroached there. They were accustomed to making their wealth off of abandoned technology. Scraping together leftover parts, they managed to build an impressive compressor factory.

Out in the desert and positioned on a cliff in an old guardian golem robot lived a lombax. The nights were chilly and the days filled with scorching heat. At this distance, the low hum of the machines cranking away could be heard without rest. It provided a strange sense of comfort to Alister Azimuth. That and he really didn't have anywhere else to go.

The key to the Great Clock was knee deep where he resided in the Bernilus Sector. For the last ten years, Alister became engulfed in his research. It had become his only reason for living. He lived just for a chance to undo a single mistake. It was one flawed decision that would lead to even more grievances. On his shoulders, he bared the responsibility into exile. Each day Alister was sure he was getting closer. He knew about the Chamber of Time and its endless possibilities. The only problem was getting there to use it. It was like the missing puzzle piece that eluded him for well over a decade.

Alister was not at all pleased to share his ambition with a robotic doctor who crash-landed on a Fongoidian homeworld. Later he recruited a cyborg assassin named Vorlesen to his cause. Alister made sure to let them know their presence would not be tolerated. Despite the trouble, Alister caused them, Dr. Nefrious was persistent, if not ruthless in his search. Unlike Alister, the duo had the resources to rebuild quickly and to hire help to prevent waylays.

After Dr. Nefarious had hired the Terachnoids any of Alister's rebel attempts were now considered a stumble over a pebble. The last rebel act Alister managed to pull off was blowing up Vorlesen's flying saucers in the cargo bay and damaging his quad 675 processor. After that, a bounty was placed on his head. For now Alister had little choice but to retreat back to his makeshift home on Torrent IV.

Where he spent his days training and skimming over his research notes for any possible lead he could have missed. By luck or by chance Alister managed to come across some lost Zoni hovering around his training grounds. Unfortunately there was no way to contain and harvest their bio-energy. He built several models to try and contain one for a limited time, just to study their functioning, but no success whatsoever. Even the most technologically advance scraps he could put together couldn't contain them. Besides he had other problems.

The assassins had started showing up when word got out about the generous reward for his hide, but Alister was lean, mean and ready. It was a welcomed distraction from his mounting failures and repeated dead ends. His challengers, however, were disappointingly amateurs. Alister killed most of his attackers in a matter of seconds. A few he let flee with their lives so that they may spread tales about him. The most notorious group Alister had encountered were a gang of runaway space pirates hoping for a hefty lump-sum of bolts for his head. Instead their mechanical skulls now decorated his hideout.

A few weeks later when the humidity was down and a cooler breeze flowed on the dusty wind currents, Alister stood at the entryway of his home what he nicknamed his perch and surveyed the land before him. His mind would drift from time to time but all senses remained on high alert.

"Hey there!" A voice called. "Excuse me…Um, hi! I'm looking for Alister Azimuth?"

Alister narrowed his eyes hatefully at the sight below him. It seemed that his assassins had finally gotten smart. No longer did they try to ambush him at dusk or challenge him blatantly to his face. Now it was a psychological attack. Perhaps the mercenary thought that if he or she masqueraded as one of his kind, he would hesitate and come closer. Close enough for the sneak dagger. Alister pulled out one of his lethal glove bombs.

...Oh they would pay dearly for this one.