In hangar 12 in the<em>Betelgeuse Technological Research Center</em>complex sat a solemn party of five. Two older men were quietly finishing their bowls of rice and stew, their heads hung low. A younger man and woman sat with their bowls empty, the woman smoking a cigarette while the man rubbed his rather sizable gut a little distraught. The fifth was a man nearing his late 20's, reclining nonchalantly in a divan next to a massive Cataphract, eating the occasional olive or taking a sip of water. He looked over to a cart of tools over by a much smaller 'Mech and gave a heavy sigh.<br/><br/>"You act like it's my funeral."<br/><br/>He scratched the itch on his nose, which had a rather ugly scar across it. The same with the left side of his lip. It gave him a crooked smile and a patchwork-like look. his nose especially had a jagged edge in the middle of the bridge where he almost lost it. Who knew peeling off plates of damaged armor could be so dangerous? And who knew you could balance a 100 lbs plate of ferro-fibrous on your nose? Or rather in your nose.<br/><br/>"You are being taken away tomorrow, son..." the taller and more wiry man answered. He had a grey and haunted look, as if he had been under great stress the last couple of months. He had. "Servitude might as well be a death sentence."<br/><br/>The young man spit an olive core at the leg of the Cataphract, which bounced off with a happy ping. He smiled his crooked smile at the old man, showing off the missing tooth underneath the lip-scar.<br/><br/>"You are so melo-dramatic, Father. Millions live perfectly ordinary lives as servitors and their hard work ensures the prosperity of the state! Also who knows, perhaps a swashbuckling mercenary band will swing by and save me from the shame."<br/><br/>He gave a clear laugh while the others looked at him puzzled. Clearly he was going through some sort of denial.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The buggy stood silently in the tall grass, lights turned of and engine running quietly. The commander in the  front passenger seat stood up through the small hatch with the light machine-gun and watched through the nightscope as five large shapes slipped out of the edge of the forest and slid towards the city. Then five other, larger behemoths did the same, but heading towards the Research Center. He gave a grunt as he turned and knocked on the windshield of the drivers cockpit behind his own and then slid down through the hatch. He flipped a switch on his radio panel while dotting out some symbols on the tactical map.<br/><br/>"Alright Davids, a recon of five and an assault of five, recon heading for city. We'll follow them, they might be going for the expo. I'm relaying the others to HQ. Roll out!"<br/><br/>Ten engines roared to life as the buggies flew across the field towards the back of the lights. Each was armed with one medium pulse laser and a rotary heavy machine gun. They were the Betelgeuse Davids, 'Mech-hunters extraordinaire. Once the lights entered the streets they would split up and create their own version of Hell around them...