Receiving incoming transmission . . .

Magnus Scriptor: Good day to you all, and welcome to my first fanfiction published here. I'm working on quite a few writing projects right now, so I am afraid I won't be able to update this as often as I would care to. Please review if you liked it, or if you didn't; I'd just be glad to hear what people have to say. Oh, and a final note before you begin, I do appreciate the similarities between this concept and that of Ryodin's Starcraft story. I do assure that this is a coincidence, although I am a huge fan of his. Anyhow, my approach is different from his, as you will see below.

I have completed over 125 pages of a single Starcraft fanfictions in the past few years; but it's all in a fairly raw form. However, I will post it if anyone requests it. Some of it really isn't suitable for this site yet, but some might be worth your time. Any comments, etc. are welcome. MS, out.

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New Gettysburg. The region had seen its fair share of conflict, as it was situated on one of the main trade lines between Tarsonis and the rich mineral deposits of Moria. Pirates, smugglers, and rebels had all come through at one point, whether for a quick drink and a visit to the brothels or for a more deadly purpose, each renegade group had made its presence felt throughout the decades. The Confederate military had thought to deal with such hostile incursions by dispatching a Marine regiment, complete with armor and air support, to the city. Of course, this only served to irritate the majority of the locals. Only the bartenders and whores seemed happier, the soldiers had their own needs, and were paid well enough to afford a night out every so often. But the rest began to feel resentful; taxes soared as a complex to house the regiment began to be built, and few citizens did not resent the swaggering bravado with which the officers acted. Equality through money had always be the rule in New Gettysburg, but the Confederate officers seemed to think they were a whole new social class. Of course, all that had changed when the Conflict began. That was all anyone called it, there was no need for qualifiers. Once reports began filtering out of what had really happened to Chau Saran city of Los Andares, the citizens began taking a greater appreciation of their guardians. Of course the Marines assumed that the battle would be fought far from there, in the darkness of space or on far-off worlds, but the fighting rapidly began to enroach on the trade lines, and soon interworld communication had been severely damaged. With that damage came a severe decline in trade, and soon the city began to decline. As the fortunes of the inept Confederate military worsened under the assaults of the Sons of Korhal, now under the tactical leadership of former-Confederate general Edmund Duke, and the insectoid Zerg monstrosities, people began to emigrate. In a few months, the entire settlement might have been deserted, but events came to a head before that. After the Sons of Korhal broke through Tarsonis' orbital defenses, and brought the Zerg with them, a Protoss expeditionary fleet suddenly appeared several light years away. The Protoss quickly landed on New Gettysburg, and razed several sections of the space station, to clear room for their bases. The Sons of Korhal, fearing that their Zerg pets would be eliminated before they could level Tarsonis, sent in a force under the command of Sarah Kerrigan, a former Confederate Ghost. Their fleet engaged the Protoss in high-orbit as their ground forces clashed with both the Protoss and the Zerg. The Protoss who had landed were outnumbered by both the Terrans and the Zerg, and after a long struggle, they fell to the Sons of Korhal.

Victorious, the Sons of Korhal returned to their base and sent a transmission for evac to Mengsk. Kerrigan sent the comm. staff away and awaited the reply alone. But it was not what she had expected.

"Sir, how long has she been in there?" asked Corporal James Lanndon, unconsciously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Those Zerg are making me damn nervous."
"You and me both, Corporal," replied Sergeant Al Talran. "Don't worry, we'll be back in space before you know it."

The two Marines had been assigned to Command Center security, as the location of the base near the Zerg outposts had necessitated a Red Status alert level. It was unusual to see the soldiers in their CMC-300 Powered Armor walking through the Command Center hallways, but no one doubted the effectiveness of their weaponry and defenses. Kerrigan chose that moment to leave the room. Her red hair fell over her face for a moment, obscuring her green eyes. With a slight sniffle, she pushed her hair back, and Talran saw her shake for a moment. Ghosts were normally unsuited for command, as their emotional-blockers proved to be a severe impediment, but SoK technicians had reprogrammed Kerrigan's chips to allow her to feel a broader range of emotions, so as to better suit her to her position. Still, it unsettled both the Marines to see their invincible commander crying.

"Boys, prepare the perimeter defenses, I need every man we have armed and ready to fight. Zerg are going to be all over us in a bit; I want to give them a warm welcome." Kerrigan gave them a wan smile, and turned to leave them.
"Ma'am, when's evac?"
Kerrigan half turned, a strange look in her eyes as she gazed into the sergeant's own brown orbs.
"We're not going anywhere, sergeant. The fleet's moving out. Without us."
"But they can't-" began Lanndon. Talran cut him off with a look.
"So be it," he said. "Then we'll do what we do best."
"Sergeant, report to my personal bodyguard. Corporal, my best wishes. Now get out there and rev up our defenses. I want every Bunker overflowing, every Goliath surrounded by ammunition crates, every Arclite in position. You got me?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" barked Lanndon, and began to run. He hit a button on his suit, lowering his visor. The dimly lit corridors of the Command Center were shrouded in a green glow, and menus and symbols began to appear over it all. "Open comm. link," he muttered. "Full range, emergency channel." The suit beeped obligingly. "All units, evac's a no-go; man defensive positions ASAP. Zerg are going to drop a shit-load of warriors on our backs, and we'd better be prepared to shake them off. Authorization code 98105. Move it people!" Lanndon quickly muttered: "Close comm. link" His suit beeped once more, and he rounded a final corner in the Command Center. A door lay in front of him, and he slammed his armored fist down on the access button. The door quickly opened, and vertigo siezed Lanndon for a moment. In the past few days, he had been stationed in the Command Center, enough time for him to forget the vastness of space, space that he was now staring down into. The Command Center had been built close to the edge of the space platform, and Tarsonis slowly spun before his eyes. Shaking his head, Lannndon quickly strode around the Command Center to where an M352 APC was leaving to reinforce the Bunkers. Ducking under the top of the hatchway, Lanndon quickly seated himself inside the Armored Personnel Carrier, and enabled his magnetic restraints. Five more Marines filed into the APC, bringing it up to its full complement of twelve. Engines roared green fire, fed by the volatile Vespene Gas, and propelled the hovering APC off into the distance.

The Sons of Korhal had made their base in the middle of a city, below a steep hill where the furthest Zerg outpost was located. Bunker complexes filled up entire street's widths, and security was at a high. Attacks had happened before, but were always repelled with ease. Even the mammoth Ultralisks had falled to the relentless fire of snipers hidden in the ruined city buildings. Waves of Zerglings were cut down by Goliath autocannons and Marine rifles. The nightmarish Hydralisks had left their mark, however. Red Terran blood mingled with the green acid of their spines in more than one place, and few buildings did not have a Marine slumped in death against them.

As Lanndon began to feel reassured that his unit would be able to hold off enemy attack, the APC suddenly swung around and stopped. Only the magnetic constraints saved him from smashing into the Marine seated opposite him. The back hatch of the APC swung open, and the Marines leapt to their feet, grabbing ammunition for their C-14 Gauss "Impaler" rifles off of the APC's interior walls, and storming down the ramp. The twelve man squad found a surprise waiting for them, however. Instead of finding a Bunker Complex to reinforce, a charred ruin, heaped high with corpses and flowing with blood and dark ichor greeted the new arrivals. One Marine slapped a button on his suit, barely raising his visor before he dropped to his knees and vomited on the ground. Lanndon took a closer look at him, and saw that he was just a technician, his glasses would have been rendered unnecessary by the proper surgery if he had been an actual Marine.

"Corporal," said a sergeant, spying Lanndon's insignia. "My comm.'s down, check with the APC driver. We need to get this info back to base on the double. Northern defenses are breached. Judging by the path through the usual amount of rubble, we have a sizable force moving towards Central. Get on it, now!"
"Sir, yes sir!" said Lanndon, and moved back into the APC, fast.
"The rest of you dogs, form a perimeter around the APC; we're staying here until we get word otherwise, but that don't mean we're about to abandon our ride back if things do get hairy."
"Sir, yes sir!"

Inside the APC, Lanndon beat his fist twice on the door leading to the cockpit. Suddenly there was a crash, as of broken glass. Screams filled the air as Lanndon unslung his rifle. The hinges on the door were not recessed, unlike most cockpit access points. Lanndon put the muzzle on the upper hinge, and began to squeeze the trigger. Then, suddenly, the screams stopped. Lanndon paused for an instant, and then threw himself forward. A long claw smashed a jagged hole through the door just where Lanndon had been standing. Another followed it, and tore the door apart in a screech of twisting metal. Lanndon raised his rifle and fired a burst of metal spikes into the creature beyond before he could even identify it, knocking it backwards into the control console. But another like creature jumped at him, and its claws bit into his rifle. Lanndon stumbled backward and dropped his hand to his pistol holster. He drew it and fired just as the second creature leaped at him. It hit him hard, the gyroscopes in his armor straining to keep the massive suit upright.

He batted the corpse away from him with a backhanded blow from his free hand, and turned to its twin. It's red blood mingled with that of the two pilots. One's chest had been ripped apart, as if something had burrowed out of it. That was in fact the truth. Lanndon had seen the effects of Broodlings many times, the parasites that grew too fast for their masteres and literally tore them apart. The copilot had been decapitated by the monsters as he tried to draw his sidearm. Lanndon stepped forward and grabbed the pilot's pistols and his spare pistol magazines, slipping the magazines into his own holster and holding the second pistol in his free hand. Then he surveyed the cockpit. The control consoles had been damaged badly when the Broodlings had shot out of the pilot's chest, and their claws had finished the job. Sparks flew from the shattered electronics, and Lanndon grimaced at the thought of being so far in front of the lines without communication. In the field, only sergeants and the ranks above them could contact home base, and his sergeant had lost comm. contact.

Then, screams sounded again, but this time from outside. A frightful crunch broke off one of them, and a sickening thud ended another. The harsh reports of Impalers began to sound, but one by one they were broken off. Then, as only a few still sounded, another sound began to fill the air. The screech of the Zerg. The thuds of Zerg hooves began to shake the ground, and the Impalers suddenly switched. No more firing bursts, now the roar of full-automatic fire began to drown out all other sounds. But the high-pitched shrieks of Zerglings only intensified. Lanndon sprinted towards the exit hatch, but too late. As he covered the short distance, the last Impaler coughed and silenced. A new sound was heard, and Lanndon cringed, and stopped in his tracks. Claws tearing through skin, the thud of severed appendages impacting the ground, the grinding of bone on bone. Enough to pause even the battle-hardened Corporal. He raised his pistols and took a deep breath. "This one's for you, Mom," he muttered, and took a running leap out of the APC, rolling as he hit the ground. He slammed his pistols outwards, and knocked down a pair of Zerglings with them. The dog-sized furies were a bundles of claws, teeth, and bony carapace, a living nightmare. Lanndon was surrounded by them, dozens. One pistol in each hand, he began to turn around, slowly. He looked each creature in the eyes, their red pupilless orbs staring back at him, and refused to quake at the sight of their slavering jaws, saliva stained with the red blood of his comrades.

They began to snarl, quietly, then louder and still more loud. Lanndon stood his ground, still with both pistols pointed outwards. The Zerglings had surrounded him in a tight circle, but none of them wanted to be the first to dare the wrath of this silent and unafraid warrior. Then Lanndon heard a rush of air, and sidestepped to his right, bringing one of his pistols around. A Zergling tumbled past him, its target missed, and he sent a round through the back of its head. The snap of the bullet seemed to galvanize the other Zerg into action, and they began to charge forwards.

Lanndon smiled. "Just like brawling at the Academy," he said, and crouched down. Just as the Zerg leaped towards him, he exploded forward, his powerful legs combining with his armor's power reserves to launch him straight into a group of airborne Zerglings, knocking them backwards. Lanndon's mind suddenly cleared, and the Zerg seemed to slow down. He thought he saw a blue glow engulfing his hands as he swung his pistols around and fired and fired, never missing, dropping a Zergling with each shot. His armor strained to keep up with the motion of his body, and his muscles tensed each time he pulled the armor along with his body as he stepped, ducked, swerved, rolled, and fired. Then a noise cut through the focus of his mind. Not a loud sound, but a very quiet one. The short clicking of a hammer on an empty chamber, and then another along with it. Lanndon rolled to the side as five more Zerglings jumped at him, and dropped one pistol, using the free hand to slam a magazine into the other. He reached for the dropped pistol, but a Zergling gouged it deeply with a claw, and he knew it was useless now.

Lanndon hit a button on his suit, and twin razor-sharp blades extended along the length of his forearms. The blades sliced through the Zerg as he flipped a switch on his pistol, and emptied the magazine full-auto into a cluster of Zerglings. Then his hands were free. Two Zerglings jumped straight at him, but he jumped higher, grabbing their necks in his hands and twisting his wrist so his blades cut straight through them. Lanndon was breathing heavily now; and suddenly seemed to get his second wind.

"Stim packs," he breathed, energy rushing through him. Suddenly he crouched down and under the four Zerglings that jumped towards him again, and cut them down with five quick motions. Only pieces of them hit the ground. Then silence reigned throughout. Heaps of bodies surrounded Lanndon, but he was still alive.

"Thank the Creators," he sighed, raising his visor and inhaling deeply. The scents of battle hardly affected the corporal any more, but even that air was fresher than what he breathed inside his suit. Then he looked around, and gasped a second. Hydralisks surrounded him, their hellish faces glistening with saliva and bile and blood. Their shoulder plates slid apart, revealing row upon row of acid-coated spines that they prepared to launch at him. Lanndon raised a hand and cringed within his armor, but nothing happened. He blinked, and saw the Hydralisks closing their shoulder plates. Lanndon sighed with relief again, not caring why he still held his life, but only that he did. Then he saw a dozen creatures leaping through the air and towards him. They landed a foot away from him, surrounding him on all sides. At first he had guesed them to be a rescue party, but up close he could see the reality. True, the Marine armor was unmistakable, but these Marines had tentacles sprouting from behind their shoulder blades, and carapace broke through the armor in over a dozen places. These Marines had been infested, turned to the Zerg through toxins and parasites, forever slaves to their new overlords. They still carried their rifles, and as Lanndon tried to summon up the strength to fight again, one smashed the butt of his Impaler into Lanndon's face, his armor's visor still raised from before. A mist seemed to drift before Lanndon's eyes, and then all sunk into blackness.

Awake.

What? Where am I?

You are here, and here you will stay until it is time.

What, time for what?

Time for you to receive the fruits of your labors, time for you to recover your birthright.


I don't understand.

Understanding will come in time, as will all things.

But I don't have time. My men are still out there, Kerrigan's still out there!

No, they have all been saved. They have all received what you will soon receive.


But the Zerg, they were about to kill them all.

The Zerg did not kill them.

Who are you? You have the most beautiful voice . . .

I am your mother, your loving parent.


Am I dead, then?

No, you are only just beginning to find your true life.


But I saw you dead!

She awakened being in you, I awaken life in you.


More riddles. Why can't I move?

Because that would undo all I have done for you. It is not yet time for you to move.


When will it be time?

When it is best.


At least tell me your name. And that of my father, if you are my mother.

I will tell you my name, but I must show Him to you. He would be displeased if it were otherwise.


Then do that.

I am Sarah Kerrigan, James.

What a delightful coma. And who is my father, then?

I am sure you will understand that this is no coma, when He makes His presence felt to you. I may only act as a conduit.


Go ahead then


Greetings, young one.


That feeling, that energy, that voice. Oh gods. Kerrigan, what have they done to you?

Given me the greatest gift, and one which I will gladly share with you.


The gift of death would be preferable, you bitch.

Death. Yes, that is too a gift. But life as a ruler of the Swarm is one I am sure you will find infinitely more appeasing.


Do your worst, I shall never give in.

Ha, I've heard that so many times and I still find it amusing. You will join me, James. Then Raynor and Mengsk and any other fools who cross me shall join you. This is the future. I am the future. And you are nothing, Terran. Nothing.

Receiving incoming transmission . . .

Magnus Scriptor: I hoped you like it. I'm already well into my next chapter, which will probably end up approximately the same length. And after that, I'm planning at least two more before I move on to another battle. MS, out.

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