Prologue:

Creed

Faith

Esperanza

Oath

Act I:

Jonathan I

Alejandra I

Jonathan II

Christine I

Lucas I

Lucas II

Jonathan III

Christine II

Alejandra II

Lucas III

Christine III

Alejandra III

Act II:

Lucas IV

Jonathan IV

Christine IV

Lucas V

Jonathan V

Alejandra IV

Alejandra V

Christine V

Lucas VI

Alejandra VI

Christine VI

Jonathan VI

Alejandra VII

Lucas VII

Christine VII

Act III:

Alejandra VII

Christine VIII

Lucas VIII

Alejandra VIII

Christine IX

Jonathan VII

Lucas IX

Alejandra IX

Lucas X

Christine X

Alejandra X

Jonathan VIII

Jonathan IX

Jonathan X

   "God created man,

Sam Colt made men equal."

- Unknown

    A corpse lies there. Not on its back or stomach, it lies there on two feet; blood still pooling through veins into its heart; neurons still hopping along, forming thoughts and ideas. Not shambling about aimlessly, a lust for neural gray matter; but walking with defined purpose executing a job it knew it had to do, a job that likely supported its once held family. The moment the corpse put on its uniform, and stepped out to the watch of the labor camp was the moment it had become a corpse. Without the sights chances are it may not have been a corpse, however with a state of the art thirteen times ocular lens on a .308 caliber Remington the poor bastard was dead before I even pulled the trigger.

    Nestled into the rock outcropping some odd hundred-two hundred meters away my body was perfectly still, relaxed, prepared. I don't particularly enjoy shooting in desert, but hunting is still hunting, no matter you be in the midst of a sequoia, or wearing all brown in the cliffs of Utah. Daddy was always very specific about the methods by which one should go hunting, only when he stopped calling me Christy, it truly followed a few simple rules; 1. Respect your prey: no matter if you're hunting something that'll fight back or something that'll look you in the eye while you point lethal force straight at it; 2. Waste not, want not: if you take more than one bullet per five hundred pounds of flesh, you're doing it wrong, and lastly; 3. If your prey represents a threat to you, your kin, or your cause you rip and tear their flesh asunder. I miss him, he always knew to put family first.

     My earpiece picked up, the mark was confirmed. Deep breath. Tense finger. Squinted eye. This would not be the first, nor the last time I pulled the trigger on another life. This is, however, the first time I would pull it for my cause, my friends, and for war. The next moments will define coming generations, a fitting anniversary for the very first shot heard round the world, not yet three hundred years since the first musket balls fired in Lexington and Concord. Hard to conceive that my being here for a bit over five percent of the history of this nation, would I find myself making a mark in history no matter the victor. Gentle exhale, release of bodily tension, trigger pull, whip-crack, pull of the bolt, another notch in my stock.

A corpse lies there.

"Sometimes it's the people

no one imagines of doing anything

who do the things no one imagines"

- Alan Turing

    "Oil makes the world go 'round, and I ain't just talking 'bout no 'gas' oil: I's talking 'bout all kindsa oil.

    Sure gas makes cars go, power turbines spin, but it ain't what makes the right arm o' the free world; that honor belongs to a different kinda oil: gun oil. See even though they may not be made o' the same thing ya see something in 'em that gives each of 'em the name o' oil. Back in '65 -when I was hardly a man- pa, well, he was sent off, go fight the Chinese up in Alaska. Now why in the God's green earth would the goddamn Chinese invade Alaska? It's simple, one o' the last vestiges o' bountiful gourds o' oil left were left up there, my pop went up to defend black gold. He came back later that year missing his legs, I put the rest o' my work into making something that'd fix him up. Make 'im whole again." I drawled out, dragging my tongue beyond the words spoken. I sat quaintly in an oak pew in the First Oaksfield Church, the preacher sitting just beside me, listening keenly to my words. The sun's rays beginning to finally get past the point where everyone could stop saying 'Good Morning!' and instead change things up with a 'Good Afternoon' considerably late for a Monday at church.

    "Lucas" the preacher interrupted, voice sharp and clear, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand where you're going with this. You said you had something to show me... that you'd be afraid I'd reject. And all I'm doing is hearing about your father and the semantics of the word 'oil', you have a point son?"

    "I was getting there preacher. If you don't want some context I guess I can skip ahead some."

    "Thank you Lucas"

    "Uhhh" I flustered; searching once more for my caravan of thought. "From what happened, and the stories pa told me about pilotin' the exo-suit, there was a significant flaw with 'em. They needed live pilots inside to make sure the damned things worked properly. So I started workin' and workin' and workin' til my arms wouldn't work any more, and I made something preacher. Something that might get me in a lot of trouble."

    "With who?" Rebutted the preacher leaning, spine arched further than typically, with anticipation.

    "Well, given the nature o' my 'work'" I said while strolling along through the church, passing pew after pew. "And the fact I may be creating something that could be classified as an armored weapon" Continuing, pushing the old oaken doors of the church clean open, allowing the high sun entry into the land of God, revealing a large tarp covering something hitched to an old 21st century Ford.

"Thinking it might be the gov'ment"