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[The Gruntmaster 6000]

Death and destruction. That is all the Succession Wars had taught me. I hated the battles. I hated the Inner Sphere. They took my home, my wife, my unborn child. THEY TOOK EVERYTHING!

I sat on a hard wooden stool across from the abused, slightly stained, chrome countertop at Berry's Bar (on the desolate wasteland people call a planet named, Hood IV). I was in a Olive drab jumpsuit (that was torn at the knees and shoulders), wore a black wrist band with a gold ring attached, hard steel-toed boots covered in Black glossy leather, a small laser pistol strapped to my right thigh, an Army knife sheathed against my chest, and a metal plated vest ,unzipped, hanging open across my chest and abdomen. I let my feet dangle from the high bench, and sipped at my glass of vodka solemnly. I looked straight at the glass, and watched my breathe fog the clear lip of the cup. I leaned back and downed the entire glass in a gulp. I laid a few C-bill notes on the counter top, and left the shady, unpleasant bar. No, one else was there to see me but the bar man and he knew I hated life itself and not to get in my way. Walking outside was like having pebbles thrown at your face by a group of kids, but it didn't stop here. I was at the Garrison Base in a lonely little desert because the damn Lyran Commonwealth cut my pay and I couldn't afford to move to a location worth seeing.

"Damn you Hanse Davion." I said to myself passing one of the many soldiers in the begotten place.

Slowly I made my way through the abused city to my dusty old apartment that was my home. I hated this place more and more, with every day. Ever since the Commonwealth pulled its forces back and allowed the mercenaries to ravage this place, and kill my family, I hated this building. Vengeance would be mine, I kept telling myself but no opportunity would present itself and all I knew is that this planet would soon be Jade Falcon or Wolf Clan Occupation Zone territory. I entered the sand blasted building, who's color could only be guessed, and went to my lowly ground floor, apartment room. Upon opening the stained, aged, dented, once chrome door I was greeted by the sand covered floor of my living room. Sand had drifted in over time and no matter how much I cleaned it, the sand always came back. The living room had a holo-projector in the corner, no windows, a cabinet along the back wall and a couch facing the projector.

"I'm here." I said aloud.

"Good, food is almost ready." Came the baritone voice of Cameron Miles.