Maule was a free planet, even if just recently. People were finally able to fly whatever political flag they wanted. They were free to marry whoever they wanted, to be whoever they wanted.
Ockbald wasn't born in Maule, but a Lone Wolf mercenary like him might as well call it his home. The Silver-Haired regent that gave freedom to her people was a constant presence on his Mech's monitor. The speeches about letting it be, living life to it's fullest and growing a community through guts and a desire of better tomorrow gave him hope that the Inner Sphere was finally evolving to an utopia.
Despite such noble feelings pulsating on his heart and mind, his mech was a Centurion. A machine created to kill, to destroy, to conquer other mechs in the field of battle. To impose his will through sheer speed and firepower.
Unfortunately for him, someone was quicker and with bigger guns in that fateful evening.
"You god damn Jenners! I swear, I will kill you all! You will die screaming!"
Ockbald barks a bloody, rough hate tirade. He was surrounded by Jenners, a quick and small Mechs know as scouts throughout the Draconis Combine. Despite all his yelling, three of them concentrate their laser fire towards the left hand of his Centurion, mangling and cutting his main weapon systems.
"Tough talk, Lone Wolf. All mercenaries must die! So says House Kurita!"
The mangled English, the smug young pilot of a Jenner blasts off his taunt through Ockbald's comn device. Suddenly he wasn't feeling so combative yet. A barrage of missiles from the Jenners do a large damage to the sides of his Centurion, his cockpit suffers from the impact, some of the fuselage enters through the control panel and lodges itself on his left arm. A mangled cord flies through his left eye.
Ockbald was in pain, and his mech was barely functional.
In silence, he bites down his lip and turns his joysticks towards the woods, right through the Jenners that were shooting at him. By a miracle, he manages to surprise them with his daring charge, and they miss all their laser shots aimed at him.
Luckily for him, his desperate scramble led him into heavy woods. His mech was bigger, tougher than a Jenner so he easily trampled over trees and rocks that were on his way. Because of this fact, he manages to put some distance between his would be pursuers and himself.
The adrenaline starts to die down.
He seems to be safe for now, no Jenners on his radars. His left eye bleeds. His arm is in pain, his entire body is shaking.
He lived his entire life as a lone mercenary. But today his skills were not enough. He got ambushed and ran over by numbers.
"I'm going to die alone." he mutters to himself.
He keeps his right hand in a tight grip over his joystick, pushing forward. He can see a bay over the distance. His grip slowly loosens.
"What's the point, anyway? I'm all alone here." he coughs a painful laugh.
His hand softly grips the joystick, still walking forward. He closes his eyes. And let's the void surround him.
Lived like a wolf, butchered like a dog.
Gone the void, the silence.
Ockbald opens his eyes. He was laying in a makeshift bed, inside a green tent. He glances over his left arm, but there was nothing there, just a bandaged stump. He looks over a small opening of the tent and he sees his wrecked Centurion.
He was in a loading ship.
"Hey there big guy. Feeling a bit better?"
Ockbald shifts his attention to a pudgy, dark haired female. Barely conscious, he mutters.
"Why? Why did your crew save me?"
"Because you were all alone there, left to die. It was the right thing to do. Now that you are up, I'll go grab you a cup of water. You must be thirsty after all that excitement after all!"
She excuses herself and leaves the tent.
Ockbald smiles. He didn't die alone, he is living among others.