The interior of the Hyperion had certainly seen better days. The narrow metal corridors, rumored to be resurrected from a junk heap on some fringe world, were beginning to show their age, and the stench of lukewarm, filtered air filled the spaces between walls. It made everything, he mused, smell like a corridor in a hospital. Sterile, but with an underlying feeling of disease that he just couldn't shake.
It was fitting, somewhat, that a growing band of idealistic rebels saw this as their flagship. And now, he was one of them.
The former Colonial Magistrate of Mar Sara thought this to himself, as he followed a red-haired young woman in a form-fitting hostile environment suit silently through the web of hallways that made up the battlecruiser Hyperion. The heart of the ever-growing Sons of Korhal rebel group, they had grown to be quite a thorn in the side of the Terran Confederacy. They had won over the hearts and minds of the Magistrate's people, preaching how the Confederacy was wrong, and how the only way that they would get the freedom they deserve is to fight for it. The pair stopped as they stepped aboard a lift, waiting patiently as they ascended to the command deck.
It had been a very close call, the evacuation. The swarm of aliens (now identified as the Zerg, according to the Confederates) was on the verge of overrunning their last defenses. With the arrest of Marshall Raynor and pretty much the entire colonial militia, the Magistrate had put every able-bodied individual with the ability to hold a gun onto the line, with orders to 'hold the line.' The people didn't need any more incentive then that. They knew rescue was coming, and they knew that they had to stay alive until then.
But even then, so many had died that night. Faces the Magistrate had gotten to know and respect, revile and hate, and even love. And they died. Died because the Confederates, damn them all to hell, took away their only source of protection. Died because they didn't have a choice. Died so that others could live.
"And how many more would have died if they didn't fight?" The Magistrate looked up, surprised to be hearing another voice, noticing that the woman was looking in his direction, her eyebrow raised. "Think of it this way, Magistrate." She continued, the edges of her lips forming a small smile "When there is a chance of total annihilation, those threatened aren't going to just lie down and die. No, they're going to fight. They're going to fight as long as there's hope. Hope for a tomorrow." Her smile brightened as she leaned against the lift's railing, gripping it with her hands. "You already know that, though. But you feel a little better now that you've heard it from someone else."
The Magistrate chuckled, shaking his head slowly, knowing that she was absolutely right. She was a ghost: a telepathic stealth operative. The suit should've given it away. He suddenly felt himself tense up.
"Don't worry, Magistrate." She consoled, tilting her head to the side. "If I was going to kill you, you wouldn't even have time to worry about it."
She let him think about that for a second, as the lift finally slid to a halt at the top level. A short corridor stood in front of them, in front of a pair of metal doors.
"Wait here a second." She said, disappearing behind those same doors, reappearing a moment later. "The General will see you now."
The General? Now that was something new.
The bridge of the Hyperion very much seemed like the personal quarters of it's captain. Nearly empty, save for a single figure overlooking a number of automated LED screens, data flashing across. The woman took a position at the door, leaning against it with her arms folded. Noticing his presence, the man turned. He cut a tall, imposing figure. A well-groomed beard ran across his face, and his steel gray eyes seemed to piece his already compromised mental fortress.
"Good evening, Magistrate." Arcturus Mengsk began. "It's nice to finally meet you in person…"
