There were many men who fell that day. The death legions had mercilessly cut down their advances, wave after wave, but their commander barked out the order for yet another attack. The men of the 2nd battalion were exhausted. many expunged their stomachs at the after the sights of the previous assualt. They all knew they would die today, such was the way of war in these parts. what they didn't know is how when and in fact why. They were only told what to do, never why. What were they doing, they were out in the acres of acrid wasteland surrounding the final garrison on the planet. Dug in for six weeks now they new today was the final day. Either way they new they would not see another sunrise. But no bother, it was time assail the redoubt once more. Up and over trenchtop and out across the razorfield the sprinted, in and out of craters as automatic fire from pulse lasers raked back and forth. In the fifty metres to the start of the embankment 60% of the wave had fallen, charred and limp from the chattering zaps of the point defense turrets. One by one major "goose" Bertram's squadcom signals winked out and he knew as that final flash sizzled towards him and the static filled the air he had gone to join them. Unfortunately fate had an alternative ending to their story. Bertrams squad had always been reknowned for their bravery, skill and particularly reckless methods of war. It seems this reputation extend beyond the men of the 2nd battalion, even beyond their entire company. All the way in fact to the black op research department back on earth. It seems that these men had been selected for a post injury rehabilitation program involving advanced cybernetics. over the coming months they were held sedated and rebuilt with cold steel and hard iron. Muscles where with replaced with delicate hybrid nanoservo bundles. Bones with composite alloys and nerves with superconducting conduits. Their missing skin was grown from their own DNA so to the outside observer they looked human. The only sign of tampering was the heavy clunk of their footfalls and the busy whirr of internal fans.

Well that was 82 years ago...

Now project IR0NMAN had gone large scale. With over 2000 preselected recruits given literally a second chance at life, all for the measley price of a life in war. Over the decades they had been more and more extensively rebuilt and the few original members were practically all machine. Having shed weak skin within a few months of starting, instead favouring carapace armour. But at the helm of this prolonged sufferage came a bitter hatred for life. No longer was it merely a job, but extinction became the very driving force of their existence. They threw down ranged weapons in favour of charging through the maelstrom of shells and pulses to tear their opponents limb from limb. The sickening thing was they enjoyed it, perverting martial arts and using their overwhelming strength to devastate all oponents face to face.

Bound by marshal pride in close combat and the honour of a bloody death at the hands of a better fighter, the men of IR0N seek out glorious deaths at the hands of worthy oponents, and if none present then they merely exterminate all in their path.

Thus clan [IR0N] is suggested.

Would just like to thank goose once again for coming up with a great story which got our clan off to a great start.

Yeh ^_^ This story kicks ass