Gonna put a big ol warning here. It gets kinda dark. Like i dont know if i can get away with a T level. Warning has been given.

Impossible…

The heart rate monitor was starting to beep faster.

It can't be!

He started to thrash. Ripping the IV line from his wrist.

She's supposed to be dead!

He screamed.

There's a saying that goes, "In space, no one can hear you scream." Sumire begged to differ. They could probably hear her commander all the way to Terra itself.

"Hold him down!" Darius shouted. He and Yang rushed to Will's bedside to try and pin him down. "Get some tranqs in him now, he's gone into shock!"

Will's arm ripped loose of Darius' grip and swung wildly into Yangs face, knocking him back onto the next bed over with a yell.

"Hey some of us are tryin' to heal over here!" Glitch's voice rang out as the ships 'MechTech landed in her lap. Will was halfway through a swing at Darius when he felt a sharp stab of a needle in his shoulder. It was a weak but fast acting sedative. Sumire had taken Yang's place and jabed the needle into him. Will's eyes locked with her's, just for a second, before falling back onto the bed. He looked as if he seen a ghost. Not that he was wrong in that regard.

It was an hour before he roused again, though to Kamea's astonishment he just demanded he be taken to his spot on the bridge. An awkward silence fell on the occupants as the battered 'MechCommander conducted his usual tea ritual. It was only after his second cup before the weary expression he wore twisted into his family's trademark scowl and gave the term piercing gaze to a whole new level. Kamea knew he was checking every detail on her body, looking for any sign that she was a body double, she gulped.

"Darius." He started, started. Stirring a frankly alarming amount of sugar into his cup. "Open the line for Centrella."

"Right away Commander."

Anna Centrella's visage flickered into view next to Kamea, she had a knowing grin that only seem to get bigger as she saw Will's expression.

"Ah, Commander McLean. Excellent work, I trust you've figured out your real client? You two are well acquainted I'm sure." The young man in her view screen gave a visible huff as he downed the contents of his cup brought himself to his feet.

"And all the skulduggery, why?" Kamea was the one to speak up.

"I needed to be sure you were the 'MechWarrior I remembered before I reached out to you. And as I expected you're everything I remembered and more." Will's lips started to peel back into a sneer.

"Three years," his tone was accusatory. "You played dead for three years! And all you have to say is that I'm 'everything you remember?!'" He brought his fist down on the console with a loud bang.

"I nearly got my lance killed, all our 'Mechs are walking slag heaps, and you're congratulating me for it?!" He was shouting at this point. "Mastiff would have knocked my ass back to basic and never let me touch anything but an AgroMech and you know it!" Kamea flinched.

"Go easy on her Commander," Centrella intervened. Will whipped his glare from Kamea to the image, though this time the recipient wasn't fazed. "She's been in exile since Espinosa took the throne. It's rather difficult announcing you aren't dead contrary to propaganda broadcasts when you have legions of assassins pursuing you for months on end, isn't that right Kamea?" Kamea nodded lightly touching the scar across her left cheek.

"And you sent us after the Argo, why?" Alexander Madeira stepped forward this time.

"In part to test your abilities, as have the last few contracts you been on. We needed to ascertain that your performance on Coromodir wasn't a fluke.

"What do you mean 'last few contracts'?" Yang interjected, holding a rag to his bloodied nose. Alexander went on without a hitch.

"Since the Majesty Metals contract, you've been doing staged contracts for us." Will had forgotten how blunt the guy could be.

"That explains the Commando bein' so good." Will muttered, falling back into the Frontier drawl. He glanced at Kamea. "Guessin' this means you're fixin' to start a fight with the Directorate then?" Kamea nodded.

"My uncle has made of mess of things and I intend on fixing it."

"We have resources," Alexander said before Will could ask. "An army drawn from all across the Frontier, and the tacit support of the Magistry, that means money-a good deal of money."

"I wasn't aware the old government and the Magistrate were on such good terms."

"It wasn't, but the directorate has made things unstable in the area so Kamea returning to the throne is an asset worth paying for."

"The Periphery is a powderkeg Bullseye." Kamea started. "Tensions between the Concordant and Federated Suns are high and my uncle's military posturing could be see as a provocation by either side. If they were to start a major war the entire region would be dragged into it the Magistry included."

"So the Magistry removes the Directorate from the board using you and they let the tensions between the Taurians and Federates simmer down naturally, I'm reading this right Lady Arano?" Darius asked. Kamea nodded.

"Though this isn't just about defusing a tense situation, for me, it's very personal. Our people's very identity has been stripped from them, and I aim to remedy that." She locked eyes with Will who had cooled down to an impassive glare at worse. "House Espinosa is long due for a reckoning, and with your help, I will give them one."

Will sighed and looked around the bridge, at Markham's crew, his crew now. "Emergency Vote." He called out, the others snapped at attention. "We join Lady Arano's cause, or do we tough it out on our own?" They looked at eachother. Yang clearly didn't want to be under a noble for the foreseeable future but nodded. Sumire sighed and looked sadly at her data pad, deleting her travel plans for a tropical world deep in Federated Sun borders and nodded. Darius, ever hungry for C-bills nodded straight away. It was decided. "Kamea Arano, the Marauders pledge themselves to your cause."

Will let a yelp as Kamea closed the distance to pick him up off his feet into a tight hug. She was prattling on how they'll do Mastiff proud but the mind numbing pain caused him to blank out until she pulled too tight and made his back pop only to have him let out another scream that could be heard in the depths of space.

"Commander!" "Sorry, sorry!" "Get a medic up here!"

Medusa was half through one of Yang's old tech magazines when he heard the med bay door slide open, revealing the Commander laden with an especially large order from the local fast food chain of the fried avian variety.

"Foods up guys."

"Finally." "No more of this med bay slop." "Ya got my drink, right boss?"

It was greasy, it could've been seasoned better, but after nearly getting splattered on a godforsaken moon: it was the best meal they had in a long time. The medic would chew them out for not eating their current ration later but they'll cross that bridge when it comes.

"So," Behemoth started, biting into a particularly tough thigh. "Any word on our next job boss?"

Will swallowed his mouthful of food, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "That's the million C-bill question right now. Our 'Mechs are out of commision till we can find new parts. The fastest repair after the Jenner would be Vindicator, and that's if we can get away with fitting a large laser instead of a PPC-" He looked at Glitch who had just started gagging. "-but we quickly decided that wasn't an option."

"So you're saying we're out of a job for the next good while?" Dekker asked as he ducked under Glitch's dislodged choking hazard.

Will took the chance to look over them, nothing was broken but they were heavily bruised. Dekker was the worse off, having an arm and leg in splints; somehow twisting his limbs when he took his fall. "More or less Dekker. Even if we could get the 'Mechs back to battle ready condition you three are stuck in bed." Wil said starting to wear a guilty expression only to have a food wrapper bounce off his head.

"Don't go wearing that face kid. It ain't your fault for what happened down there." Behemoth started in a huff. "We were expecting a run down 'Mech, not a fresh light hunter. We all got blindsided down there."

"If anything we're still alive 'cause of you," Dekker followed, Glitch nodding along with the sentiment.

Medusa had since kicked his chair back to continue reading. For someone with not even ten years experience in the cockpit, their young commander had done about as well as anyone would hope. The worst set back they had until now was semi major battle damage and bruises, the loan shark problem had been Darius and Markham's blunder to try and recover their losses from Fjaldr. He chuckled earning a look from his compatriots.

"What's so funny?"

"Just occurred to me. This ain't the first time we've been blindsided by pirates." Dekker gave an involuntary shudder.

"Don't remind me man. Things went to shit real quick back there."

"Was it really that bad?" Will asked leaning in. He never got the full story of what happened to the other pilots.

"Oh yeah," Glitched swallowed her food. "Back then we were the rookies, well...Dekker and Medusa were anyway. Me and Behemoth had been signed on for less than a few months. We even had a proper dropship back then, Union class." Will raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to it?" Medusa spoke up.

"Repo'd, Markham borrowed a lot of money. Fjaldr was supposed to be our way into a long term contract with the Aurigan Coalition but we ended up going from a small but reputable company with a proper set up to a tiny bunch of no namers who can't even arm a Leopard." He turned a page and quirked an eyebrow. Weaponizing CattleMasters? That'd never work.

Will started to scratch the back of his head. His predecessor sure did leave a right mess for him to pick up. He stood up.

"I'll be heading out. You guys focus on getting better for now."

Medusa waved him off, eyes never leaving the article. "Don't worry boss, I'll keep the three stooges here in check." A food wrapper bounced off his head with after an annoyed protest by his fellows.

With a few painful pops and a groan, Will settled into the chair of his quarters giving a weary glance at the screens of his work station. Projected expenses, timeline updates from the 'MechTechs and Medbay, and their current standing with notable employers from the Mercenary Review Board. The tech report was the most distressing, at their current capacity it'd take them a couple payment cycles just to jury rig repairs. They need a proper refit facility and proper replacement parts if they wanted to get the ShadowHawk and Vindicator battle ready in a reasonable amount of time. The Jenner had proven to be more resilient than a light as any right to claim to be so they'll have it and the Spider and Locust ready to go by the time they reach the next system though that'd still leave them with only two pilots. The BlackJack would be the next fastest repair but burning out all its energy couplings and warping the barrels of the ACs would keep it in the refit bay well into the next system jump at their current pace. Christ O'riley, what a mess.

Will took the moment to stretch his arms over his head, groaning as his back popped again. He should be in medbay but he'll be damn if he'll let severe seat belt bruises, minor whiplash, and nearly suffocating to death keep him down, there was a war on the horizon dammit! Credit he'd have to figure out how he was going to turn a Merc company with only a Leopard to its name into a proper fighting force. First, they have to get their 'Mechs back in working order and to do that without getting bitched out by his resident ex criminal pilots he needs to find their 'Mechs replacement parts, the question is where? He sunk back into the seat thanking his predecessor for splurging out on a luxury chair. He was halfway asleep when the center console gave a loud ping.

INCOMING HPG MESSAGE.

Odd, it should have went through Darius first. No one has his personal address these days, well except "male enhancement" ads but everyone gets those. Sitting up he opened up his personal mailbox, it was a letter. It was brief, a request he come to bar on a planet in their current system, wearing his gear, signed by a LD….LD. Will's hand flew to slam on the intercom to the bridge.

"Sumire! I'm sending coordinates for our next stop, full burn….Yes its urgent, just do it!"

Sumire can be a hell of a nag when she wanted to be. Will thought as his boots splashed in one of the many neon illuminated puddles lining the street. He shouldered pass a particularly rough looking man, earning a nasty curse thrown his way though they weren't backed up. The Serrek on his hip wasn't for show and face concealing helmets tend to mark out individuals that have absolutely no problem shooting someone in the street. Much less a wannabe tough guy in a back alley. It was only when he was in the light of a gaudy neon sign did he stop walking, a skull and crossbones with the words "Drunken Buccaneer" under it. Never was one for subtlety was she? He opened the door while sticking his left hand in the pocket of the leather jacket he was wearing over the cooling suit. Time to get this over with.

Paula Trevaline, Lady Death if you had respect, or Peanut if you had a deathwish, downed the final dregs of whisky from her bottle as she kicked up her feet on the large desk in front of her. An entire bottle and not even buzzed, being the daughter of a dead beat gunner turned barman had it drawbacks; namly a large alcohol tolerance. Oh well, the main event was still to come. She thought as she tossed the bottle up to catch it by the neck, repeating the process till she got a feel for the weight. She smirked at the sound of boots outside the door and cocked her arm.

It was only when the door opened fully when the bottle flew. Though her target had deftly sidestepped its path and it caught his escort square in the head, shattering and knocking him flat on his back unconscious. Darn, thought I had him this time. She thought. Her target, without missing a beat, stepped in front of the heavy wooden desk she had her feet on. He's grown since she last saw him, though still had that hardline frown under that bug like visor of his helmet, obvious cooling veins on his full body suit noticeable even with the beat up leather jacket covering up the bulk of it. His stance told her he was on the balls of his feet, one hand ever so slightly hovering over the piece on his thigh and the other deep in his jacket pocket.

The men at her sides leveled their shotguns at him, the one on her left barking. "Hands where we can see them creep." Pirate Slayer complied, pulling his hand out as a fist: a black wire trailing out of it. The man on her right sucked in a breath and muttered a curse. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Long way from Tortuga." Pirate Slayer said slowly, she could tell he was fighting off an urge to spit. He held his fist out. The bottom of the deadman switch sticking out. "Now why are we here, and more importantly; why haven't I killed you yet?" Her guards tensed.

Paula gave him a smirk and snap her fingers. The guard to her left put a rolled up poster into her expecting hand. With a swift movement, she whipped it out onto the desk revealing an advertisement for the local gladiator stable in its garish of black and red.

BATTLE ROYAL!

BRAVE THE TRIALS OF HELL!

TEN MILLION TO THE ONE TO SLAY THE DEMON KING!

The bottom of Pirate Slayer's face grew red as his lips peeled back into a snarl.

"Absolutely not!" He yelled slamming his fist on the desk. The guards clicked off their safeties. Paula held up a hand.

"Ah, but you're missing the best part." She grinned. Pirate Slay had turned around and was making for the door. " The name Gobbo ring a bell?" He stopped.

"What?" His head turned ever so slightly.

"Gobbo, ya know, Scourge of Herotitus, Rapist of New Hathor. Rumor mill says you operated in his territory for a time." She clicked her tongue. "The one that kept getting away if the stories are true." Pirate Slayer's free hand was curled in a tight fist as he spun around.

"Keep talking."

Paula chuckled and fished out a small cigar from her jacket pocket, a guard obediently holding out a lit lighter for her. She took a short drag before continuing.

"Gobbo's gotten a bit big for his britches, started talking shit. So I wanted to remind him were he stands on the food chain. Problem is my representative got shanked in a whorehouse last week. And it's been hard finding a suitable replacement." She pointed the cigar at him. "That's where you come in. Since you took care of that cunt Sybil for me-thanks for that by the way, she was on my list-you deserved a little favor."

"Word travels fast." Pirate Slayer intoned. Paula chuckled.

"You know what they say, 'Information is Ammunition.' Well, I have a lot of ammunition, have to when you got on my level." Another drag. "'Sides. You have an excessive amount of down time these days." She blew a ring of smoke his way, which he swiped with a growl.

"So you want to show the Frontier pirate bands you have me at your beck and call?"

"Close," Paula mused, "I just want this upstart knocked down a peg or ten. Far as anyone who matters knows, you being here is a complete fluke."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch, well, none that don't come with your line of work anyway. You still have to win."

"How? You already know my 'Mech is out of action for the next month at least. What's in it for me for even listening to this and not just ending it here?!" Pirate Slayer yelled, brandishing his switch hand. Paula simply blew another ring in his face.

"Keep your panties on, I'm getting there." She tapped the poster. "Two things. The first is that you get to keep all the prize money. The second-" She snapped her fingers again. A rolled up document was placed in her hand."-A first priority session of the Cluff's Stand Refit yards. With this your mechs will be patched up good as new within the week you touch down. I'll even send word for you have access to the special inventory of the supplier there." She took her feet off the desk and leaned forward, getting right in his face wearing a self satisfied smirk.

Pirate Slayer's lips pressed down into a hard line before he let out a growl and yanked his switch hand up, ripping the wire out of the switch. The two guards, in a panic, yelled and jumped away; their guns clattering on the floor. A loud slamming followed within the long second of them waiting for the boom.

When the boom didn't come the braver but considerably dirtier mouthed of the two crawled over to peak his head over the top of the desk, finding his boss staring down the nutcase better known as the Pirate Slayer. Whose "switch" was slightly oozing out of his grip, a slight fragrance of flowers barely registering under his boss' putrid cigar. He let out a curse, he'd been faked out by soap!

"You cock sucking mother FU-Gack!-" Pirate Slayer's switch hand crashed into his face, shoving the offending bar of soap into his open mouth and then proceeded to grip the top of his head and slam his face onto the desk. Leaving him to slump down to the floor spitting out bits of cheap soap and grasping his now bloodied nose. Couldn't even be bothered to get the good stuff!

Of all the thoughts running around in his head, he didn't need the rantings of a pirate with a limited vocabulary distracting him.

"Your men need to learn to clean their mouths." Lady Death widened that infuriating smirk of hers.

"We're pirates, not poets." Death quipped, putting a finger under his chin, the sharp tip of the nail threatening to prick his skin. "I haven't heard a no. I take it you're in." It wasn't a question.

Will gritted his teeth, Death was locking eyes with him even under his visor. Every instinct told him to end her, her guards were on the floor, he could draw his gun and be done with it before whatever poison on her nails could do him in. He would've sold his soul to be in this kind of situation when he was freelancing, he could've walked up to his ancestors and say he had the death of a pirate lord to his name, and few pirates were bigger than Lady Death. Even Espinoza would honor that feat, the McLeans were the scourge of anyone who dared call themselves a pirate in these parts. He could see it now: locking eyes with his grandfather, awaiting his praise for a grand feat...only to get whapped in the thigh and rapped over the head with his grandfather's cane. Getting chewed out for dying in his prime and for what? Big as Lady Death is, her domain was still intact. She would be replaced by someone just as ruthless, just as cruel, and just as dangerous if not more. While he died without leaving an heir, leaving the family name to fade as nothing more than a semi-fond memory. Failing to avenge Mastiff, his legacy would fade away too. He'd fail to keep his pledge to see Kamea restored to the throne, going back on his word would get an extra hard beating. Not but not least, Victoria.

No, tempting as it was, he had more important things to do than blindly go for a kill. He needed funds, ten million was a lot. He needed his 'Mechs back up and running, a trip to refit yards that big would make short work of that. As much as it killed him, he had obligations, to his crew, to his lord, and to the people of the Aurigan Reach. In order to see them through, he had to live.

Lady Death's time would come. He'll see to it personally if he has to: but that time wasn't now. This was a contract negotiation; and the payout was too good to pass up, especially considering the target. Gobbo.

"Yeah," Will growled through his teeth. "I'm in."

It was within the hour that Will found himself at the Arena's 'Mech stable, Lady Death had dropped him off and proceeded to go get the "best seats of the house". In front of him was the imposing figure of an ENF-4R Enforcer, the yellow cockpit glass contrasting against the 'Mech's green paint job. He noticed that someone had taken the liberty to paint a mad grin of triangular teeth where the "mouth" would've been and a single X were an eye would be. He couldn't help but shake his head. A knock-off job. Made it look like a sharp-toothed goofy jester with a missing eye. Couldn't even bother to put on a proper retical. Oh well, it wasn't his 'Mech so he couldn't complain. He looked over its spec sheet.

The Enforcer looked fairly fresh and completely stock if he was reading the sheet right. A Federated AC/10 and large laser in the arms and a back up small laser in the torso. His teeth clicked in displeasure seeing the AC. Usually, a class ten would fire one large projectile as instead of firing multiple in a burst to achieve its rated damage. An AC/2's damage came from rapid and precise bursts into damaged or weak sections to get results as their low mass couldn't brute force through fresh armor in any acceptable time frame. AC/5s were the heavy chain guns to the AC/2s' machine guns, their rounds increased mass allowed it take significant chunks out of any 'Mech dumb enough try to weather its barrage. AC/10s was when the cannon part of the name come into effect, delivering all its damage in one shot or a burst of two. Not to mention AC/20s.

Though that went out the window with Federated ACs. It achieves a class ten damage rating by firing a burst of ten shots. So instead of one big shot that could easily stagger an enemy 'Mech, he had to control a burst twice the length he was comfortable with in a 'Mech he had never piloted before. Mastiff had the foresight to let him get some practice in the Centurion and on paper, the Enforcer and Centurion were very similar 'Mech. Same tonnage, same speed, only difference was the Centurions Missiles and lack of jump jets. Except the Centurion had a standard single shot AC/10 and arguably more durable with its shield arm and while the Enforcer front loaded its armor like it was going out of style its arms were essentially shrouded barrels. Not only not providing much to block incoming fire with, but also doing so meant you were taking the risk of losing half of your meaningful firepower.

Will shook his head. His work was cut out for him. He mounted the stable's lift. Once situated in the Enforcer's seat his suspicions were confirmed. Dual sticks as oppose to the stick and throttle. In theory, it worked the same. Just that you had to juggle a couple more controls so that you didn't run full tilt when you meant to lower the left arm. He took a deep breath, thinking why he was here to begin with. Gobbo. He felt colder now. He was getting back into the old mindset. He reached into the jacket's pocket and squeezed, feeling the small medallion dig into his hand through his gloves. He should've tried harder at New Hathor, he shouldn't have let Gobbo get away the first time. The 'Mech shook as it's platform moved for the arena's lift.

Will never learned Gobbo's real name: not that doing so would've made it easier to find him. Once an underling of the pirate boss that conducted the attack that robbed him of his family Gobbo was one of the few to survive the retaliatory raid Will, Mastiff, and the remnants of the McLean House Guard conducted on his former band. At the time not stomping him didn't seem like that big of a mistake, especially when a Grasshopper heavy 'Mech was threatening to overpower your beloved mentor. Turns out a Leopard full of half scraped 'Mechs and a handful of pirates would grow into a band able to successfully harass major trade hubs for years without being pin down and exterminated. Then New Hathor happened. Not six months since the lost of his family he ended up on Herotitus. He still had plenty of funds, more than plenty, but Will was taught to not live beyond what his cashflow allowed, and since it was a net zero at the time of landing he took contracts to deal with minor pirate activity plaguing the more isolated agricultural areas of the planet.

Will found himself culling small raiding bands. Stalking areas pirates were known to drop off their forces. At first, they were small and poorly armed, easily manageable with long range AC fire. Then came the Vacation Season. A time were the resort world would experience a massive spike of commerce as rich nobles came to indulge followed by the traders seeking to make bank on said nobles. The Pirates came in force but rather than raid the resort centers they targeted the agricultural centers. Ambushing food shipments and taking entire farming towns hostage, making millions from the planetary government who wouldn't risk the civil unrest and, more importantly, loss of business a lack of foodstuffs would cause. Though pirates, being prone to boredom when there isn't something to blow up, soon turn to attacking what were deemed "unprofitable" farming towns.

One such town was New Hathor. Located in the southern continent it lacked any tourist appeal outside of a particularly above average bakery. It's population was made up of almost entirely of descendants of the original colonists, being rather staid, they shunned the hedonism of the major cities and tourists traps and had become fairly isolated because of it. Often being the target of numerous small raids even before the sudden spike. As such Will had taken it upon himself to set up shop in the area. His interactions with them were strained at best at the start. No one wanted to believe the miserable looking sixteen year old was in fact their assigned garrison pilot. He had lost count the number of times the truant officer tried to drag him to the local school. Not that many wanted to get chatty to an outsider, much less one dressed in lostech gear and carried a plush toy on his person wherever he went.

Over time he grew to be more than tolerated at best. He wanted to say he made friends. Though it was nearly impossible to have a normal conversation with his peers. Always asked what it was like being in the cockpit. Their parents weren't much better, every look and word was colored with an oppressive amount of pity. The number of times he heard "Oh you poor boy." made him want to weld himself inside the BlackJack. Every wide eyed little girl reminded him too much of his sister for him to even be in the same room without risking breaking down in public. He paused to pull the medallion out, the silver's luster clearly visible in the dim cockpit. One side showed a cow with its calf. He turned over in his palm. The other had a personal message.

May fortune favor you Sir William.

It was in the second month he was given it. Pirate attacks were getting more frequent. Requiring him to venture out far from the town to assist other garrisons. Every time he came back he had developed a habit of visiting a small cafe near the towns only claim to fame. The owner, a pretty woman in her mid twenties, had been the only person Will could hold a semi normal conversation with. The pity was there the first few times, he'd speak tersely while drinking the overly sweet tea she served him. Then she started to shift the topics, things that wouldn't cause his voice to hitch thinking about them. About her hopes and dreams for the future of her shop, her friend's wedding plans, teasing him about his nervousness around town. In what felt like a lifetime he felt mundane, he wasn't "The 'MechWarrior" he was just the guy who came to get his bloody twelve o'clock tea!

Eventually, they started calling him Sir William, it started as a joke among the more jovial of them; but by this point, his skill in a 'Mech was irrefutable such as they started to take him just a touch more seriously. The cafe owner would often tease him by curtsying when ever he came in with an over the top call of "Welcome sir knight!" It never failed to paint him red. The routine held until one day, while he was staying till closing time, she plopped a small box on his table.

"What's this?" He had asked. She gave him a hard to read smile.

"A little something to remember your time here."

His interest piqued he gingerly lifted the top, pulling out a silver medallion on a chain. This couldn't be cheap.

"I can't-" He had started only have her fingers on his lips.

"It's a good luck charm for us here," She said while pulling out a similar medallion from under her apron. "It'll safeguard you and its proof that you're welcomed here," She went to hold the hand he was holding the medallion in with hers. "So no matter how far you go or how long you're gone, you'll always be welcomed here." Unable to fully unpack the meaning behind those words he has simply nodded.

The cockpit jolted as the lift began its accent. It would be starting soon. Will rubbed the etching once more before slipping the medallion into a secure inner pocket of his cooling suit, making sure it wouldn't fall out. He breathed deeply trying to find his center. No luck, the trip down memory lane would have to be in full.

It was not but two weeks after getting his new good luck charm when it happened. The pirates, having their fill of C-bills, turned to start wreaking havoc before the planetary government started having ideas to make their next payment be in lead instead of gold. The PG had send a recall for all mercenary and freelance forces to concentrate in the equatorial regions. The plan, to group up and start edging out any band that had set up shop. It was simple enough, the outer camps were lightly defended, occasionally the token 'Mech. But when they reached the region that was suppose to have the strongest concentration of pirates they turned up with nothing but temporary earthworks. It looked like they cut and ran without much fight, or so his fellows in the ad hoc battalion had thought. Within the day isolated towns nearby began sending broadcasts requesting immediate assistance.

The Pirates had moved south. Pillaging whatever they came across. The PG forces had scattered across the southern continent, trying to head off the pirates and forced them to stand and fight, that was the hope but the reality was that turned things into a painful running battle. The ad hoc 'Mech battalion Will was assigned to had lost a third of their number by the end of it. The only positive result of it was capturing one of the pirate 'MechWarriors, who turned out to be very easy to get information out of.

"H-hey, listen man, I'll talk I'll talk!" The scrawny pirate had screeched as a large Lyrian held him by the ankle.

"Tell us where the rest of them are going! Or do I need to break this leg?"

"G-Gobbo's boys headed south-west, he's the one ya want. He fragged the Pirate Jaegers, it's not pretty when he rolls into town!"

Will was already halfway to his 'Mech before his lance mates noticed he was gone. South-west was New Hathor's direction, there were already infantry and armor there but none of the pirate's heaviest 'Mechs were seen in the last battle. His fears were confirmed when they arrived at New Hathor's outskirts. Most of it was either in flames or in ruins, burned out husks of PG tanks and corpses littered the place. Not again! He ignored his lances calls to wait and he barreled into streets. All the landmarks he knew were destroyed, the park, the school, the town hall….

The BlackJack came to a skidding halt in front of the narrow street the cafe was located. By some miracle the street was intact. Wasting little time in clambering out of his 'Mech and fast roping to the ground he made a dead sprint. Every door on the street looked like it had been kicked in. He could see the bodies on the floor as he dashed by, men had been shot or stabbed outright, women had their throats slit by the looks of it and he had yet to see one that didn't have ripped clothes. The implications made him start pleading to whatever deity that'd listen. He spotted the cafe, its front door kicked off its hinges. The inside told the same story as the street. Corpses of all ages littered the floor among the upturned tables. He made a beeline for the kitchen and tripped over a body. Fearing the worse he scrambled away. Only to find it to be a corpse of a man with a kitchen with a kitchen knife shoved into his neck to the handle. He wasn't civilian and his uniform didn't match any of the PG's forces. Despite himself, he laughed in relief, it was a pirate, just a pirate. Half delirious from relief, he turned his head and any chuckle died in his throat.

No.

The cafe owner's body laid next to him.

This is a nightmare!

Her eyes black, throat slit open.

No no no no NO.

He scrambled up to hold her up.

Someone wake me up already this isn't funny!

Her charm hung freely, her apron and day dress ripped open.

"DAMMIT!" He had yelled again and again, breaking down and sobbing into his helmet. He cried himself hoarse until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Bastards!

Despite his grief, his hand flew to the Serrek began to whip at whoever had entered, it was only by the other man's reflexes that he wasn't shot in the head. Juking to the side and grabbing hold of Will's arm, twisting it in such a way it made him drop his gun against his will.

"She's gone lad!" It was the Lyrian, Will sagged and let out an anguished yell.

"Why her? Why any of this?!"

His lancemate swallowed hard.

"I don't know lad, but I think we can find out the who exactly."

As fortune held. The PG forces that were there before them actually have back some of what they took. A pirate FireStarter that had been the victim of an inferno rocket attack induced ammo explosion being the main evidence. They just so happen to have captured a number of pirates, the one most in the know proved to require...violent means of persuasion.

"I swear all I did was shoot some blokes I didn't touch no bird!" The pirate yelled before catching another punch to the face.

"Give. Me. NAMES." Will emphasized each word with a blow. The Pirate spat out a tooth before shouting.

"GOBBO! It was all Gobbo! It's that wanker's kink. There you have it now please for the love of god someone stop this loon!"

It took two of his lancemates to pull him off the pirate, they needed prisoners alive. It nearly busted his knuckles but Will had a name. One he had pursue across that region of the Frontier relentlessly. By the time he was seventeen people had started to refer him as Pirate Slayer instead of Bullseye. Less a young 'MechWarrior and more a human embodiment of hatred. There were no survivors when he was called in, even if his 'Mech was knocked out he would see to it that every pirate hung from a tree. An exceedingly few ever got to see him relax much less say that there was, indeed, a person under that helmet.

The cockpit jolted again as it reached the top of the shaft. The door slowly opening up. He took another breath. He felt cold. The sounds of the arena were filtering in, the crowd and beginning of a thrash song washing over him. This was it. He urged the Enforcer to take its first step.

You'll take it all Gobbo

He was calm, there would be no heat of the moment this time.

My pain

He reached forward to toggle off the safeties, the autocannon locking in its first shell.

My sorrow,

The lasers hummed as they charged.

My hate,

He popped his neck, blinking as his helmet feed appeared in his eyes.

And all of my anger!

It was time.

Ok so I owe an apology. Over the Christmas break, I had ordered new computer parts, But my case's USB headers broke off in the socket of the old motherboard and i had to order a new one. And lemme tell ya getting a new case fast on a budget is painful. the Corsair 100r is not a pleasant case to work in. Sucker is cramped AF. And on top of that my windows installation got corrupted. While i was able to save some personally vital files I'm afraid that getting the saves to my current campaign i use as a reference was not one of them. Did you know its possible for a one skull panther to headshot all your mechs in the same mission? I had set it up to be on the harder side so could use my moment to moment play as inspiration but at one point I had to go fug it and cheat the files so i started with a jenner instead of that Piece of shit spider. I had forgotten how light the default armor is on the starting lance honestly I may have to go into the files to make it wher they have the free tonnage as if they had endosteel frames. I dont care the game is BS incarnate sometimes. Missing an 85% twice in a row my ass.

Ok so my ranting aside. Hopfully you liked this. I was gonna write out the rest of it but this just felt like a stopping point. The flash backs were suppose to be short but they just took a feel of their own. Also I need to start Copy pasting in chunks. Doing it all at once seems to make a few words outright disapear.