I was always disgusted by my meat body. Weak, frail, clumsy, not to mention all the messy chemical things going on. I always admired machines... so powerful and wondrous, with nothing that couldn't be fixed or cleaned with a little know-how... the purest examples of Humankind's ingenuity. I spent years studying them, learning from them, and finally knowing them so well I could feel them. As I learned, I worked on perfecting my masterpiece: a robotic body, one that would respond to my every command, and would serve me better than the bag of meat I was trapped in.

Each time I used it, I grew more proficient in the ways of a powerful body, but more frustrated with the meat I was in. I constantly refined the matrix which held my mind when I entered my body, finally selling my services as a technician to the Noro, in exchange for their technology. Each second in my true body was precious, and I took each advance farther and farther, stretching out the minutes into hours, hours into days, and days into months.

The last time, I knew that my time in my true form was waning... I would not have long before I was stuck in the meat again. I just couldn't go back. Would you? Would you want to go back to a disease-ridden piece of worthless meat, full only of pain and incapable of doing the least of tasks without great effort? I could see the ties that bound me to the meat strain, snapping one by one, until only one remained. With a casual swipe of my arm, I severed it, becoming one with mechanical perfection. I was at peace... I am at peace. I am alive in a purer sense than other men, and so must aid them as I can. It is the duty of a superior being.

We are not aware of when we were made thus. Each of us was once separate, but now we are one, and that is good. As one, we are a pack unto ourselves, and in a pack there is strength.

Soon after we were made, we found ourselves in pain, and unable to control ourselves. The gifts in our minds were beyond our control, and each step brought uncontrollable knives of pain driving into our body. We wandered, blind and in pain, through the lands, often falling into our own waste and bile, wracked with the tortures of movement. One came. She was only one, not a pack, but she was strong in the way of Men. Her flesh was colored with pictures that we did not understand, but her touch was as cool water on a heated wound. She spoke to us, and we knew no fear.

We spent many risings of the sun with her, learning her speak, and of her people, the Illiad. We grew strong, stronger than three wolves ever were. Our minds were quick, thinking of things we never knew before, and doing things that we had never seen done.

We grew to feel affection as towards a mate for the she of the Illiad, and asked if we could join her pack. She did not know, but spoke beyond us, to the air and to her pack, to learn if we could. She called us "adopted", and said that the Alpha of our new pack had something for us to do. We now work at this task, hoping to learn more of the ways of our new pack. We are a pack unto ourselves, but the pack Illiad is greater. We shall magnify its greatness with our own.

One good thing about the law: You always know where you stand with it. You're either on it's side or against it, and you can usually tell when that is. When everything is in anarchy, though, you can never tell who or what or why things are happening... they just are. Sloppy, pointless, and damn annoying. That's why I volunteered to do this, to lose my old body in favor of this new one.

I wandered for a bit, trying to find where I could best fit in, until I found the small world of Honshu. Wonderful world, with a quiet culture that one could really enjoy. It was home to an outpost of the Atlantean clan of Amateratsu, and working with them was almost like coming home. They appreciated a man of honor who was willing to work hard to enforce the rules, so they hired me to serve as part of their police forces. I worked with them for many years, growing in rank and experience, and attracting more and more attention for my work, until, finally, they approached me with an offer to join the Clan, to take the Marks. I was honored, of course, but I pointed out that their Marks wouldn't really work on me... too much metal and ceramic in me. They assured me that these Marks were only cosmetic, simply Marks that would show I belonged to the Clan, and so I jumped at the chance. Now I'm proud to call myself part of Clan Amateratsu.

Years passed, I guess. You know how it can get when your body never ages... things just keep going, and you wake up one morning and realize it's 20 years since you last checked. My head computer was letting me know I had a message, so I called it up. The Clan has a new job for me. We're taking back Atlantis, on the Homeworld. Looks like it's time to earn my keep.

You ever really felt a machine? I'm not talking about putting your hands on it and going "vroom", or even shoving one underneath your skin or in your head and trying to act like everything is ok, but I mean reached down into the wires and circuit boards and figured out everything about the damn thing. Beautiful thing, that.

Of course, it can get tedious at times. After all, life aboard the Alcheon Battleship is mostly putting things back together after those damn line troops get them blown apart. If you're lucky, and Mace is in a good mood, you'll get something to fiddle with on your off-hours, even if it is just a piece of Naruni tech no one else can figure out.

Of course, with the War gearing up like it has been, what with those bastards the Aerihman getting wiped out, a lot more interesting things have been happening. They say we're gonna invade Atlantis, and that they've even got a group doing the clean up and scouting already. Hate to be those poor bastards, having to roam around down there. Hold it, let me take this.

Oh shit. Mace, you fucking bastard! You rat-fucking piece of Ugglie shit! Damn bastard. "We need to show more loyalty to the Clan counsel." Bullshit. "You've been specially selected to be part of the contingent that scouts out Atlantis and finishes the job on Aerihman." Specially selected my ass... this is because I slept with his sister! SHIT!

Oh, well. He commands, I go. Happy little worker bee that I am, I follow orders... even when it comes from the brother of the worst fuck I've ever had in my life.

Life, as a whole, is unmanageable. If you break it up into little chunks, though, I think you can accomplish almost anything. I guess that's part of the reason I object to the current plan of attack against Atlantis... not enough chunks, just broad, sweeping ideals.

Growing up on Alexandria, you get a sense of chunking. As a whole, the Atlanteans would be too difficult to govern effectively. We'd be all over the place, with even more breakaway factions, and few of them controllable. However, the clan system works. Everyone gets divided into nice, small, units, who answer to a central authority. You can really see this at work on Alexandria... the Acherean do their thing and listen to their leaders, we Bagh-Dach do ours, and every thing works out fine.

Back to Atlantis, though. I got this letter today, and it seems they've finally taken a notice of my planning. Gods know I've shown Kilian my plans often enough. I guess they want someone on the front lines, now, who can handle the figure-juggling and tactics end of things. Take a look at that roster. I'm surprised they've accomplished as much as they have, with that group. That Illiad 'Slayer is barely more than a boy, for crying out loud! And how in the name of all that is good and holy they let that smarmy bastard Harakhamis into a position this important I will never understand. Fortunately, though, I'm going in to make sure things get done right. All it takes is a little know-how and a willingness to think before you act.

No wonder they're in trouble... this bunch couldn't think their way out of a paper sack... one with no bottom, at that.