*Fortune smiled, and I was able to write-up Part 1 quicker than anticipated. Part 2 should be forthcoming within a week. Enjoy!
December 11, 3050
I now remember my true
identity.
For many years, I have wandered
the Inner Sphere, scratching out a livelihood as a soldier of fortune, selling
my skills as a mechwarrior to the anyone and everyone. Little has been sacred, and
I have rarely shown mercy. Until now, I have been adrift on a ship without a
course.
I
find it ironic, then,
that it was my recent contract with the Davions which led to my
“illumination”, as
they are largely to blame for my existential predicament. It was roughly
a month ago - myself and the other “Lone Wolf” contractors had been
hired by the AFFS to protect their interests inside the local port city.
Naturally, the liaison officer gave no details about what we were
defending, other than its
location, and how much pay we would forfeit in the event of failure.
As expected when a
large number of solo contractors are forced to work together, it was complete
disorder - the attacking mercenaries made short work of our disorganized forces.
During the melee, my Cataphract was gutted by a storm of autocannon rounds,
forcing me to eject… directly into an office building. My recollection of that
particular incident is somewhat hazy.
When
I awoke three days
later in the hospital, the good doctor informed me that it was
exceptionally
fortunate I survived, and despite my rather severe injuries, I would
pilot a ‘Mech
again. Though I was grateful to hear his analysis of my physical
condition, I
betrayed nothing of the thoughts running rampant through my mind. It
seemed as though my violent brush with death had caused a proverbial dam
of repressed memories to reveal themselves. The headaches were
excruciating.
Though
some memories are still fragmented, this much is clear: I was
once known as Moloch, the ancient deity of child sacrifice, and the
Davions are responsible for binding me to human form.
They will pay.
