Summary: Jim Raynor never fancied himself much of a Hero but with his best friend back from the Dead for the third time, the threat of a Zerg Invasion looming over the Galaxy, and yet another cosmic horror in the shadows, just about anything could happen now.
Chapter One: Old Friends
War was coming to the Koprolu sector, or so Jim Raynor, rebel without a plan, had figured from the statistics. The Dominion Military had been busy wiping out smaller Hive Clusters of Zerg for the last seven years, and their most recent movements had suggested a far larger operation than standard hive burning.
If he'd been on the Hyperion Jim Raynor would have had an inspiring speech, or a wisecrack. But he wasn't Jim Raynor at the moment. He was James Eugene Raynor, and James Eugene Raynor was a bit too tired to care.
He was tired of fighting Zerg, tired of fighting Dominion, tired of fighting Pirates, and pretending to be some kind of all knowing badass. Most of all though, he was tired of being admired.
What was it about him that made young men in the Colonies want to join up with his Raiders? He was thirty something years old, but looked forty, and spent most of his time fighting two hopeless wars that he was almost glad were hopeless, since victory over one enemy would make him and his crew the largest threat by process of elimination. Possibly. With the number of factions in mess of a Sector he couldn't be sure.
He'd only stuck around this long because he felt that someone had to stand up for the people who got forgotten, and possibly because people admired his clumsy attempts at it.
Of course, one didn't just walk out of their status as a folk hero, and wanted man. He was too recognizable, and as such here he was.
Sitting in an empty bar, drinking a particularly low effect form of alcohol for the sake of dramatics, with a loaded pistol right in front of him. It was, he reflected, absurdly thematic, and that was the idea.
People needed heroes, and it was better if they looked up to him, than looking up to no one, so he was going to sit here, nursing a drink, until either a Bounty Hunter came in and shot him before he shot them, or until he ran out of bullets and was shot afterward.
Everybody loved a Martyr.
...
It was a couple hours in that two men wearing Marine Armor and carrying Gauss rifles walked through the door. "You know," said one dryly through a modulated voice. "for a man with a price on your head you really aren't so hard to find." Raynor spun round on his seat, hand absently falling to his pistol on the table.
"I've heard it before." he said "If you have any sense, you'll leave me to my drink and start running."
One of them chuckled, as they spread out five feet from one another. "You gotta be kidding me." he said. "You've got a pistol, and civilian clothes. We're clad in full Marine Armor, and have rifles."
"Yeah, your right." said Raynor "This ain't exactly fair is it? You want me to give myself a handicap. How about only two shots?"
"To hell with this." said the other. "We don't need ya alive. Just recognizable!" He raised his rifle, but Raynor was faster, and put a bull through his visor, before turning to the other, cocking the gun again and gunning him down in the same manner before he could ready his gun.
It all took less than a few seconds.
Raynor cursed his extraordinary skill at firing from the hip.
Not sure of what else to do, he went back to his drink and glanced over to the spot where the former proprietor of the Bar, Joey Ray, used to polish glasses while getting a look at incoming customers. He'd been dragged off by Dominion Marines on suspicion of something or other at some point, or so the locals said. Pity. Raynor had liked him, even if he had suspected him of being dishonest.
A few minutes later the door behind Raynor opened again, and in came a third Marine clad gentlemen. Raynor sighed, and noted that he only had one shot in his gun left.
"You know," said a modulated voice behind him. "for the most wanted guy in the sector, you ain't so hard to find."
"Never heard that before." said Raynor ruefully, while cocking his gun again and turning slowly around.
"I had to-"
'FSHHH!' The Bounty hunters monologue was cut off abruptly by a pure blue blade of what looked like flame stabbing right through his chest. Raynor stared, as the air flickered, and the mouthless face of a Protoss appeared, while the flames spread through the mans armor, causing flame to emerge from all the openings within it. He didn't scream of course, because he had been dead the moment the blade passed through him. The blade was removed, and the Armor fell down, as if empty.
The Protoss sheathed his Psi Blade and stretched one arm out. "Hmmph, I am out of practice. My time within the cold shell of a Dragoon must have interfered with my reflexs." He glanced up at Raynor. "You know, a long time ago I said to you that I'd never underestimate the motivational effects of human greed. I can see from this ones decision to target you that my opinion was not in error."
Raynor stood up, not believing his eyes. "…Fenix?" he asked, despite himself.
"Indeed," said Fenix, glancing over one hand. "I am alive and whole once more. You did not seriously think that something as insignificant as being slashed to pieces by and army of Ultralisks with the Queen of Blades at their would be more than a minor inconvenience, did-"
And then Raynor hugged him. It was an action taken out of instinct, and one that Raynor quickly withdrew from after realizing that, old friends or not, he had just hugged a Protoss.
"Sorry." said Raynor, stepping back and raising his arms, while Fenix looked as close to surprised at he got, which wasn't much since Protoss didn't have facial expressions. "I think the Alcohols getting to me." There was a long pause. What did you say to someone who had just come back from the dead again. "So… it's good to see you alive again."
"Yes, well it's good to be alive." replied the Protoss. "There is a story unto itself behind that, but we not the time for it now. A detachment of Dominion troops is heading this way as we speak. I cannot comprehend what possessed you to take such an exposed position."
"Would you believe a combination of self hatred and general despair."
"No," said Fenix "the Raynor whom I met was not one to give up. If you have reason to despair, you should channel it into something productive, not drink it away with..." He paused. "Alcohol, was it?"
"Yeah," said Raynor sheepishly. Why was it that every time he met a Protoss he suddenly felt like the kid sidekick in a cartoon special? He supposed it didn't matter much. "It's been a bad seven years, man. Can you blame me for taking to drink a bit."
Fenix raised one hand and sent a psionic shockwave which destroyed every single glass and bottle in the Bar, sending the substance all over the place. "Yes." said Fenix quite bluntly. "Ignoring a problem does not make it go away, so it stands to reason that drinking a substance designed to interfere with the senses is just silly. Let's go."
"Not an expert?" said Raynor "You people were speaking in run on sentences when we made first contact with you."
Fenix did not bother waiting for an answer, grabbing Raynor by the hand and pulling him through the door without any further conversation, pulling Raynor into the air of daylight. The planet Antiga had become a home for all kinds of refugees after the Brood Wars, thanks in part to the fact that the Protoss had merely scoured the surface, leaving potential for terraforming by those willing to risk burrowed Zerg.
Still, most of what grew there were bushes, and other low plants, that didn't require a lot of upkeep.
"Look man, will you let go of me!?" he said as the Protoss Warrior pulled him behind a large bush that hid them from the sight of the hill. "I can-"
"Quiet." said Fenix flatly, and Raynor shut up.
A few moments later, a group of Red Clad Dominion Marines arrived in full force. "Alright guys." Raynor heard one of them say. "The report said he was hanging out here. Let's get in there, and make this quick. He's not well armed."
"It appears I came just in time." murmured Fenix, as the Dominion Marines went into the house. He snapped his fingers as the last of them entered, and the entire place exploded into a pillar of flame. Raynor stared at him. "What?"
"Okay, I'll admit, I'm not an explosives expert." said Raynor "But I'm pretty sure that is too much fire for a bar."
"I set a few charges of homemade explosives." admitted Fenix ruefully, while pulling out a textbook on chemicals. "I find the destructive capacity the Terrans can achieve with a few household materials a truly astounding. Even more astounding, none of them realize it."
"You set up High grade explosives while I was still in there?!" Asked Raynor incredulously. "What the hell is wrong with you?!
"No, Raynor." said Fenix "I set up High grade explosives in every single bar on the planet. They are due to go off around midnight. I plan to breweries the factories when I next get the chance."
"Why the hell are you going around blowing up bars when the Dominion are going around shooting people!"
"Because there isn't a single person in the whole of the universe who doesn't have something more productive they can do then sit in a bar and whine." stated Fenix with a shrug. "And because I thought you would have it handled. Now let's get to work."
"On what?" asked Raynor incredulously.
"Fighting the Dominion. You've made it a goal, and as long as I'm here I intend to aid you in it. There is an Xel'naga Artifact some two hundred miles north of here, which the Dominion is very interested in. Let's go steal it."
"You have got to be kidding me." said Raynor "Do you even know what it does?"
"No. But I know that they saw fit to put an extensive military presence guarding it, which means they think we could use it." said Fenix "And I know it comes from the Xel'naga. Those two things should be reason enough for both of us to take it off their hands."
"Alright! Alright!" said Raynor, pulling out com unit from one pocket. "Give me a couple of hours to contact the men I have with me, and have them get my Marine Armor! Just calm down!" He sighed, and prepared himself to put on his commander persona.
This wasn't what Raynor had been expecting when he walked into the Bar, but he'd take it over a bullet to the head any day.
…...
…...
Authors note:
Okay, this marks my first attempt at a serious Starcraft Story that I've actually seen fit to post.
Starcraft II is a controversial storyline for many people, and opinions vary from 'Best story ever written.' To 'an unforgivable derailment of everything that is Starcraft'. For my part, I think of it as a story with a great deal of potential and many interesting elements that are ultimately dragged down by terrible execution of several key plot points and a distinct lack of perspective.
My goal is to make a story that has the same gray and gray morality feel, without changing too much.
That said, there will be changes, as you can see from the opening.
Please review, and I hope you enjoyed it.
Edit: 3/2/2014
Geez, I barely post the first chapter, and I already do a complete revamp. I guess I figured I wanted to jump straight into the action, without too much build up. And yeah, I kind of skipped the first mission, because it doesn't really have a lot to do with the plot, and I've always thought it was more Raynor mulling over his hopes for the Rebellion.
Also, Fenix is apparently a rapid prohibitionist. I honestly don't know where that came from, but if you think about it, it starts making sense. Protoss are all about using psionic power, which is a direct tie to the mental. Something like drugs or alcohol, which weirds out the senses would be an abomination in their eyes. Combine that with the Terrans tendency to drink, and suddenly their distaste for the Terran species and society starts making a lot more sense. It wasn't the government. It was what they did in their off hours.