<span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="text-decoration: underline">Athens, Greece</span></span><br/><br/>Xale sat at the bar, glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes transfixed on the large screen TV. Greece was currently hosting Germany in a match that would decide if Greece would receive a bid to the World Cup and the pub was packed with his fellow countrymen. It was a sea of blue as men and women with a scattering of young adults cheered on the<span style="font-style: italic">Ethniki</span>but with the score tied and the game going into extra time, the atmosphere was undeniably tense.  For the Spartan, it was nice to occasionally be amongst the people he had spent his immortal life protecting. It reminded him to have faith in humanity when everywhere else was going to shit.<br/><br/>The bartender walked past and pointed at his glass. “Another, Mr. Mercer?” he asked in his broken English and thick accent.<br/><br/>Xale nodded and slid the glass to him. Ok, fair enough, Mercer was a regular at this particular establishment. But when you spent 2,000 years involved in war and conflict, alcohol does wonders for your psyche. Unfortunately, 2,000 years of drinking also leads to one having an astronomical tolerance but it didn’t stop Xale from trying. Xale raised his returned glass to the man and downed it like a shot, the familiar burn emanating in his chest and through his arms.<br/><br/>Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed that the Germans had scored the tiebreaker, the disappointed and angry yells of the patrons ringing in his ears. Most of the spectators began to shuffle out, cursing and stumbling into the streets.<br/><br/>“Can you put the news on?” Xale asked. The bartender nodded and reached up switching the channels. A few patrons shot him a dirty looks including the drunkard next to him.<br/><br/>“I was watching that.” He slurred indignantly.<br/><br/>“Game’s over.” Xale replied, without turning to him. “The news is on now. Watch that.”<br/><br/>The man huffed loudly but even he, with the copious amounts of liquid courage he had ingested, wasn’t going to pick a fight with the man seated next to him. He had been observing him all morning and while he seemed pleasant enough, his body language screamed, “Don’t fuck with me” and his eyes sent chills down his spine. They were cold and blue, but they seemed almost dead like all the light had been sucked out of this man’s life. Not to mention, he was just a giant of a man. Of course if he knew anything about what went on in the Mercer’s head, he would realize it was a different story all together.<br/><br/>The jingle of the worldwide news program started up and a pretty blonde sat at her desk. In the upper right corner, a thumbnail appeared with the caption ‘<span style="font-weight: bold">War in Central Africa Ravages Millions</span>’ and a picture of a small African child. She jostled her papers and spoke in a British accent.<br/><br/>“The war in Africa continues into the fifth month with no resolution in sight. Logan Securities International armed with mechanized armed soldiers are battling the mechanized warriors of Transvaal Group Securities. Logan Securities International is a subsidiary company of Kinder-Logan International, a MNC headquartered in Bonn, Germany with interests in the diamond mines of West Africa. The Mech armed soldiers have occupied the war torn nation of Somalia to use as their base of operations in their fight with the Transvaal Group. Transvaal Group Securities is a subsidiary of Nyaminyami Zambezi Transglobal, a MNC headquartered in Nairobi, Kenya.”<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Ooooooo, giant robots?!</span>Mercer thought.<br/><br/>“Berhanu Diallo, Chief Executive Officer, for Nyaminyami Zambezi stated that the soldiers of Kinder-Logan are intent on over taking his possessions and eliminating the African based Multi-National Corporation. He believes the Germany and UK based conglomerate feels threatened by their operations in Southern Europe and the Middle East. They have taken up arms in order to damage the African corporation. This war has seen some of the finest in state of the art robotic assisted mechanized combat suits the world has ever seen. The Transvaal group consists primarily of African soldiers who are trained in the use of the ‘Mechs’, which the suits are informally referred to and the Logan troops are primarily Western and Northern European soldiers trained in the use of the suits.<br/><br/>On the battlefield, each side uses both traditional infantry and mech warriors. The traditional infantry ride to the battlefield in state of the art Infantry Fighting Vehicles (IFV), trucks, helicopters, airborne insertion or by foot. Those Infantrymen who ride in IFVs do so accompanied by the Mech Warriors which have replaced the Main Battle Tanks (MBTs) which were rendered obsolete twelve years ago, by the introduction of these new Mech Warriors. So far, the fighting has stalled out along the Kenyan-Somali border with raids conducted by the Logan Group in the MNCs capital in Nairobi. If the Zambezi group falls this would bring out a disruption of the balance of power in the region and send Africa back into its dark ages. It had only recently dug itself out in the past fifteen years.”<br/><br/>The report ended and she began another but Xale tuned that out, his mind a twitter at the thought of fighting giant robot and mechanized soldiers. He turned to the bartender and placed a few bills down before getting up to leave.<br/><br/>Stepping through the open door onto the street, the sun bright and warm shining down on him, the smell of the ocean wafting through his nose and the light breeze rustling his hair, he began making his way towards the nearest harbor. In a matter of minutes, an outline to the coast of his home appeared on the horizon. The island, according to the government, was uninhabitable and prohibited tourists or residents from sailing into the patrolled waters that surrounded it. However, the entire island belonged to Mercer and he kept a beautiful, large one-story home right on the beach, on an opposite end of the island, facing away from civilization. He approached the small harbor and the packed beach of the Athenian coastline, making his way towards his private yacht<span style="font-style: italic">The Aquaholic</span>, to sail home.