It's a big and scary place.
You hardly remember what it was like to be concerned with your own mortality anymore though, things being the way they are.
Come to think of it, you've forgotten a lot of things. You've already lived over 9 times the best your race had to offer in terms of longevity. Sometimes you don't even feel human anymore. Not that you can feel much, after all, having no real body.
Memories. You can hardly be sure what's real from fabrication anymore. All you can remember for certain was that you too were once a human being... You came from... Earth? The unspoken word feels odd in the voice of your thoughts. It is a word used so infrequently anymore. You remember being chosen for something. They said you'd become a hero to your people... Not that you can remember them either.
Now, somewhere around a millennium later, without memory or reason to recall who and what you were, you are nothing more than a commander for hire. Your hundreds of years of command experience have made you well in demand with your alien overlords, and yet again the time looms for another assignment.
As the computer flashes images to you of likely contested planets,
you ponder what clan you've been chosen to lead into combat this time.
You briefly contemplate checking with the M.A.X. Commanders standard archives for information on possible strengths and weaknesses of possibly assigned clans, but of the few things you remember, these clans you know well.
All that's left to do is wait and see what and who you have been chosen to command...
