The following is a MechWarrior/BattleTech/MechAssault fanfiction.

I DO NOT OWN any pre-established characters, vehicles, planets, or BattleMech diagram rights to the I.P. This is a passion project and is in no way, shape, or form officially connected to FASA, TOPPS, Catalyst Game Labs or any subsidiary companies associated to these companies.

Please, enjoy.

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'Cyrus heard them, and found nothing to marvel at in their design; "Go ahead and do this," he said; "but if you do so, be prepared no longer to be rulers but rather subjects. Soft lands breed soft men; wondrous fruits of the earth and valiant warriors grow not from the same soil."'

-Herodotus, The Histories

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PROLOGUE

PLANET: Bison XII

LOCATION: Deep Periphery

DISTANCE FROM TERRA: 658.47ly

DATE: NOVEMBER 07 2040

The wind blew through snow covered mountains. Below, on a yellow grassed prairie, a weather research compound sat silent. Inside, Ben Cole, a tall, husky, hatchet faced man with oily, cool brown hair, greying at the temples, leaning back in his chair, sat counting the white dots on his nails. He wore a thick leather work jacket, black pants, and a red long sleeve shirt. The sound of scratching filled the air, and the smell of fresh ink wafted from the fresh printouts that were slowly folding in on themselves into cardboard crates that sat at the foot of each machine.

An exasperated sigh was forced out of Ben. 'Out of every possible assignment I coulda' been given: I am stuck on a rock, outside the borders of the Inner Sphere, with five years worth of food, and not a single damn other thing to do, other than watch paper drop into boxes' Ben thought. A frustrated groan bubbles from his throat, as he slams the front two legs of his chair on the ground. "Why in the hell couldn't I have just been assigned to a post with other people!" He yelled to no one.

"I guess this is what a 'Far Looker' is all about. 'Look' at how 'far' you are from anyone and anythin' that could be considered sentient life!" Ben stands up and heads for the door leading outside. Damp air hit him in the face as the doors hissed closed behind him. Autumn came fast this time of year, on Bison XII.

The compound consisted of a small group of three buildings, and a landing pad within the perimiter of an aluminium chain link fence. Ferrocrete anchored the fence into the soil, keeping burrowing animals out and away from the cables that power the outpost. The main building: a single story, ferrocrete, eyesore had a large antenna that connected with the Hyperpulse Generator. A second, smaller antenna, had a sensor at the top that measured atmospheric pressure, wind patterns, humidity and various other environmental factors. The smallest building, also made from ferrocrete, housed the power plant that powered the outpost.

The third, and largest, building was a mechbay/garage. Inside was a wheeled sensor scout. It was used for: everyday tasks, light route clearance, chasing off stubborn animals who won't leave the fence alone, and any environmental surveys that geologists, botanists, biologists, or any other '-ists' that the Far Lookers brought in, who might be looking for God knows what on this rock.

In the mechbay though? An 'LM1/A, Lumberjack'. It was only used for heavy route clearance, or for the scientists to move either geological or biological samples too big for the scout. Ben could still smell the ozone from the repairs the techs did to it when they were here, the week before. He wished that they didn't only stop by to shutdown the 'mech for after winter was over.

As Ben began checking the fences for any damage that curious, or hungry, animals may have been trying to get inside, he saw a glimmer in the sky, far off. 'Is that a dropship? Don't tell me that I have to go out before any snow or sleet hits!?' He thought, more angry than confused. Ben turned to go get the scout warmed and ready to go meet his unexpected fare where they were going to land, eight kilometers out.

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When Ben got there, there was no markings on the massive 'Cargoking'. He hailed the ship from the scout, and there wasn't an answer. 'Leave it to these science types to waste time.' Ben thought as the dropship began to deploy it's off ramp. "There is a bad storm comin' thisaway, unless you want to get blown away, I'd su-" The last thing Ben saw was a flash of metal, and a piercing red light, boreing it's way out of the back of his fried brain pan.