Note: I put a little Terran history in the beginning. Anyone who is familiar with Starcraft more than likely knows this, but I include it anyway, because fictional history is neato. Enjoy y'all!
Unit 507
Chapter 1: Drafted
Deep in the endless chasms of space, amidst the stars themselves, and far away from the humble little planet called Earth, one would enter the Koprulu Sector. Also known to humans as the Terran Sector. A cluster of planets, far away from the Terran's native solar system. But though incredibly distant, it shares a common history, one that humans, it seems, cannot escape, no matter where they travel.
For there had been a lot of conflict in this place over the many years that humans had dwelled there, starting centuries ago with the Great Purification of the United Powers League, or the UPL on Earth. Their goal was to purge the planet of all those that differed from regular humans. Those that exhibited physical anomalies, those with cybernetic enhancements, criminals, synthetics and even more were slated for annihilation, four hundred million and more.
But a small group became part of a grand experiment meant to colonize planets beyond the Terran solar system. Sent out in interplanetary carriers, the prisoners in cold sleep met with an unfortunate twist of fate. When the navigational systems failed, the carriers wandered the stars for nearly thirty years, before crashing down on several hospitable worlds. These plants were in the Koprulu Sector.
Upon their arrival in that harsh new land, many terran colonies had been built and expanded over the course of the long years, and prosperity among them grew. But then, as one would expect, so did their military strengths, sparking conflict among neighboring worlds. Perhaps the best example of this comes from the planet Tarsonis, which founded their own government known as the Terran Confederacy many decades ago.
Fear of this powerful new regime spread, as Tarsonis was the largest most technologically advanced of all the Terran settlement. Other large colonies, such as the Morian cluster, a planet with the largest resource mining operations in the sector, grew nervous, believing the Confederates would attempt to use their power to subjugate them and others as well.
To avoid this, the Morian colony formed into the Kel-Morian Combine in order to stay independent. Tensions between these two factions ran high for a time, until it escalated into what was known as the Guild War, which raged for four years, ending with the Confederacy "negotiating" peace with the Combine.
As that conflict subsided, other certain colony's, such as the Umojan Protectorate, kept themselves separate, after seeing the Confederates use their influence to rule over all other territories, using their own significant military power as a deterrent. And because of the harshness of Confederacy law, it was not long before rebel forces began to arise, those that are known as pirate factions.
Perhaps the largest of which was the Rebellion of Korhal, which rose up, starting with Angus Mengsk, a Senator of the planet Korhal, one world within the Confederacy's control. He took charge of a rally, voicing the outcries of the oppressed people of the whole sector, straining against the Confederates leash. Eventually, after many attempts to buy off this dedicated delegate, Angus and his family were assassinated by Confederate Special Ops soldiers, called Ghosts, in order to quell this dangerous behavior.
Angus's son, Arcturus Mengsk, at the time a successful Confederate Prospector, became enraged at the cowardly actions of the Confederates, and took up arms against them, using his influence to rally supporters to his cause of revenge.
After numerous successful attacks on Confederacy outposts and bases, dealing significant damages, the Confederates had decided that enough was enough. In a merciless display, they launched a gargantuan salvo of nuclear missiles towards the world of Korhal, killing all life on the planet, and reducing it to a smoldering desert.
Arcturus was away when this happened, at his mobile base of operations, and yet, despite being labeled as a terrorist and a madman, he still refused to quit. Arcturus and his remaining followers, now known as the Sons of Korhal, have kept up their actions of trying to bring down the Confederates. No matter the cost.
But enough of old times, events that happened far in the past. The events recorded here take place many years in the future. The Confederacy still stands unchallenged, ruling the Terran Sector however they see fit, suppressing and weeding out any who might oppose them. However there was a certain situation that caused great panic to the officials of the Confederacy on Tarsonis. It was in regards to the recent destruction of one of their outlying colonies and the appearance of an unidentified fleet of alien ships. Here is where we begin…
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Video Data Uplink…………Established
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Record Recall Software…………Online
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Transmitting in progress…………Date: December 10th, 2499
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Tarsonis…a thriving world, with massive cities, industrial complexes, and a booming trade industry. Not to mention, the homeworld of largest most powerful military force in the whole Sector. The headquarters of the Confederacy itself, self-proclaimed and prominent rulers of the Terran Dominion. With a robust population and a healthy supply of natural resources, it is a mighty stronghold, with planetary defenses and a heavy assortment of armed forces. Truly, it is a well-developed planet, full of order and lacking chaos.
On the outskirts of one of the many sprawling cities scattered across the planet, there is a large complex, stretching for miles and miles, rows of squat drab building, unsightly and gray, no windows, and few doors. There is a daunting concrete wall surrounding this place, with sentry towers posted here and there, men walking along the walls, rifles and other firearms in hand, their faces grim, as if just waiting for a chance to use them. It is one of such places that is used to keep that chaos in check.
Tarsonis's primary detention center, aptly named "The Bottomless Pit" to those that have ever ventured inside, with a multitudinous population, what with the Confederacy arresting any who dares violate standard colonial law. In other words, anyone they don't happen to like, they lock up. Simple. So, it was no surprise that this facility was filled to the brim with criminals of all sorts, those that were thrown in there to be taught a valuable lesson about challenging the Confederates, as well as the scourge of humanity, those that actually deserved to be locked away.
Deep in the bowels of one such building, there is a long stretching line of convicts, snaking through the hallways, marching forward, as quickly as they are able, what with being shackled at the ankles. They were waiting in this line, grumbling, smoking, and cursing. The room was dim, being only a few measly lightbulbs overhead putting out the barest of illumination. A dank pit, not fit to house rats, filled with mold, rot, and a putrid stench. It even had the cliché dripping water pipe in the background. Oh yes, it was all there.
To ensure that no trouble started between the greasy cons, fistfights or worse, there were numerous guards standing about, all as dire as there comrades, the ones watching the perimeter of the facility. They were armed with anything from blunt clubs, rifles, to electric shock prods. Many looked rather uncomfortable, what with the humid atmosphere and lack of fresh air. More than half of the convicts were smoking; cigars, cigarettes, and other things as well, things that may not have been deemed as actually smokable. Yet they were still trying nonetheless.
But just what was the purpose of these cons all standing in a row anyway? They were slowly being ushered to an adjacent room, being called in one at a time, though no one knew as to why. In prison, you're never told what's going on or why, you're just told what to do, and if you don't do it, you get your ass kicked. Simple.
Inside this mysterious room, things don't appear too different. There is a long wooden table on the opposite wall, with three men sitting behind it. They do not wear prison uniforms, or even the garb of the guards. No, these men were well dressed, suits with papers in front of them, as well as personal computer systems. All three of them didn't seem to like their surroundings too much. And they weren't shy about saying so.
"Can you believe this shit?" the first one groaned, pulling at his mangy tie, "We gotta sit here and interview these pieces of trash, all day? Look at this dump, it's a certifiable hellhole! And I gotta work in here? That's got ta be a crime."
"Suck it up, you whining bastard…" said another, swabbing his brow, and then wiping the sweat on his pant leg, "It's what we're paid to do. Beside, I happen to find it rather satisfying to know that I'm sending them out to probably get their heads blown off or something."
"Yeah, I guess that does make me feel a little better. We're doing our part to make the world a better place for all of us. Alright, I'm finished with this one…" He ceased his scribbling, then turned to nod towards the third man. In turn, he glanced at the guard at the door. "Okay, bring in the next one…" The sentry at the gate nodded, and turned towards the console, beginning to tap in the access code.
"Though this job is crappy, at the very least we can make it a little interesting…Ten bucks says this next guy is even uglier than Inmate #462…"
"I'll take that bet…No one can be uglier than that motherfucker unless they intentionally have surgery to do it." With the proper code input, the door opened with a whir and click, and their newest meat was all but shoved inside, the steel door clanging shut behind him.
He was an interesting looking man, and most certainly not uglier than the aforementioned inmate. His garb was the familiar orange jumpsuit accompanying all criminals of the prison. Not to mention the same leg shackles as well as metal arm clamps, keeping his hands in front of him. But though he was dressed identically to all the rest, his appearance suggested that he wasn't quite the same as them.
His eyes were dark, hidden in the shadows, and his hair was no lighter, a slick sweaty black, tied up in a miniature ponytail, dangling down to his shoulders. He was strong looking, quite muscular, but not nearly to the same bulging extent as others that had passed through that door before him. One crucial and noticeable thing was that his face wasn't the same. Not the beefy heavy countenance, with the dour scowling grimace, one that made him look seconds away from drooling.
No, his face was narrow, and controlled. And while it wasn't exactly a glower, his expression didn't seem all that cheerful. If anything, he was hostile, glaring at guard as he passed, and then turned that wrath filled gaze towards the three men sitting at the table.
One might have considered him to be somewhat of a rugged pretty boy, with the exception of two large scars across his face. One was at the corner of his right eye, sloping upward, disappearing under his hairline. The other was along the left side of his neck, curving towards his trachea. Almost as if someone had attempted to slash his throat, but had botched the attempt. All and all, he looked a like a nasty fellow and one tough customer, with a clear quiet anger within, just itching to get out.
He gradually stepped forward into the light, in a slow gait, the chains around his feet rattling. His pace was very calm and unhurried, almost like a stroll. And even with the tension around, he didn't seem nervous. As if he wasn't worried about what this whole ordeal pertained to, but not thrilled in the least that he was here at all. Unhappy that he had lost his bet, one of the Warrant officers gave a snort, handed over the money to his counterpart, and turned towards his computer monitor where new information was being brought up.
"Sit," one of the deputies instructed. The con didn't move at first, giving a little snicker instead. Then when the guard behind him began to advance, he stepped around the simple metal chair, and eased himself down, leaning back, all but lounging in it. The officers traded looks, and a long silence followed, as they reviewed his file…
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Inmate: #1,239
Name: Logan R. Stone
Sex: Male
P.O.B: Tarsonis
D.O.B: 07/13/2473
Height: 6'2
Weight: 253lbs.
Former Occupation: Confederate Regional Correspondent
Criminal Records
Murder: XXXXX - NSC92572 GT
Grand Theft: XXXXX - 080910 ST
Trespassing on Restricted Area: XXXXX - KOS37721 ST
(No Parole)
-- Sentence: Imprisonment (Suspended) --
Terran Marine Military Status: --Active--
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After taking in all the necessary info, they at last turned back to him. The con was waiting, cool as ice. Not fidgeting, not grumbling at the wait, just sitting, as still as death, and just staring directly back at them, his face unchanging. Such calm behavior was rather odd for a condemned criminal.
"Logan Stone," one deputy addressed, "You have been prosecuted and convicted by a colonial Marshall of three crimes, all of which are very serious…"
"Says you…" Logan interrupted, still glaring, eyes sweeping back and forth across the panel of men before him. The officer, though not liking to have an intrusion in his speech, went on with a disdainful expression, "They are…Murder in the first degree, of one Captain William Barkley. Grand Theft, of the hijacking of a licensed star vessel, and Trespassing on to a Restricted Area."
"Oh, how terrible of me. I'm so bad…"
"And because of these crimes, and for the safety of all humanity, you have been incarcerated into this facility, with other dangerous criminals. What do you…"
"Dangerous criminals…" Logan again broke in, musing in a clearly cynical way, "Do you happen to know Carter Donaldson? He come through here yet? He's serving a sentence the same length as me. Hah, and all he did was forget to fully recharge the power reactor to a starship's engine, causing it to shut down in the middle of a training exercise…How dangerous indeed…But that seems quite normal for you…Confederates."
"Shut up!" one of the officers shouted, "You are not here to make chitchat, you sorry piece of…"
"Then quit with all the preaching you windbag, and get to the point of why all us cons are here, and why I should give a shit about any of this." The three officers were getting very annoyed at this attitude being turned their way, but they held their tempers down. The man in the center cleared his throat.
"Very well. Despite your serious crimes, and your substantial sentence, all criminals currently in this facility, as well as several others across the Confederate borders, their sentences are currently suspended, a decision passed down by the high officials of the Confederacy government. They feel it is necessary to sure up their power in the Sector, by any means necessary. Therefore, you and every other suckhole in this place are to rejoin the outside world as Confederate military soldiers, due to the current situation taking place. Furthermore…"
"Excuse me, not to be rude and interrupt, but what situation would that be? As you might not have guessed, but we don't exactly have access to UNN in here. Or any other good channels, for that matter."
"All new recruits will attend an in-depth debriefing after the initial screening process to determine your station. Other information will be given to you upon reaching your assignment."
"So," Logan commented, with a wry smile of understanding, "We're being sent out to die for the glory of the Confederacy. To get shot to pieces just so you three can sit here and continue your lovely little jobs, and the higher ups get to continue their defilement and molestation of the people under their heel. That's what I call a noble cause. Almost as noble as removing my own eyes with a rusty fork. Not quite, but almost…"
"Your cynicism is darling," one deputy responded, "But such vaunted hatreds…it certainly won't do on the battlefield. Therefore, you and every other piece of garbage out there will be put through Neural Resocialization, to make your moral outlook and views of the Confederacy much more…favorable. In other words, once you go through that, you will gladly give your life for the most meaningless of tasks. Personally, I think it will do me some good to know that you're brain is going to be all but fried."
"And you're also probably looking forward to me getting my head blown off, I suppose? Terrific. I bet your mother is real proud of you." They ignored this.
"Any questions before we send you out to go through the necessary preparations?" Logan lifted his glare up, there being a smoldering fury in them, right behind his dark eyes. The Warrant officers, despite having been at this sort of job a long while, flinched, as that stare was full of thoughts of murder. But not wild savage butchery. Cold and calculating. Unnerving to say the least.
"Just one. Are you three dipshits out of your fucking minds? I'm in here because those goddamn Confederacy assholes stabbed me in the back, and used me as a scapegoat to cover their own asses! And you think I'm going to agree to strap on a military insignia of that pack of lying bastards, and risk my neck to help the ones that fucked up my life, just so they can keep their oppressive control? I'd just as soon cut my own head off and throw myself off a hundred-story building. Get yourself another lackey you pricks."
"All convicts of this and every other facility have been approved for their military transfer. There is no refusing for you. You do it, and after Resocialization, you'll be damn happy about doing it too. That's all there is to it."
"Fuck you!" With a yell Logan leapt up, and though he was still bound at both the ankles and arms, attempted to charge and scale across the table. One of the officers called out, "Guard, stop him now!"
Responding at once, the nearby sentinel stepped forward with a club, and walloped Logan right across the mouth, knocking him to the floor.
"Any more retarded stunts like that, and we'll have you hauled away to the Nerulizer, and have your brain defragged. Do I make myself clear?"
Logan was yanked to his feet and jostled back into the chair, his head lolling around. Though there was blood running down his chin in a steady stream, he still held onto that defiant look, almost baring his teeth at those who represented what he loathed so deeply. He gave what could almost be considered a sarcastic nod.
"You will also be required to take an intelligence test and a physical before you are issued you equipment. Following that will be the debriefing and the distribution of assignments to all active armed units. Welcome to the Confederacy military…soldier. Get this piece of filth out of my sight."
Another door opened, and two new guards came in, grabbed hold of Logan, and all but dragged him out of the room. The door closed behind him, locking with a loud clang. With his departure, the three officers let out long breaths. Throughout the course of the day, there had been some scary bastards that sat in front of them, cold blooded killers and psychopathic bastards, but still, that was one of the most intense sessions they had gone through.
"Shit," said one, wiping the sweat off his bald head, "That fucker was out of his mind. I'd say he's got some serious personality issues to iron out."
"Probably," said another, who was also cleansing himself of perspiration, "But it doesn't really matter…"
"I don't like him," said the third, glaring at the door their recent con had exited through, "He's a crazy asshole, nutty as they come."
"You know, some people say the same thing about you…"
"Kiss my ass. But I still don't like him. His attitude doesn't sit right with me. I say we assign him to the most dangerous location we got, and pray he gets his ass blown up."
"Come on, you know it doesn't really matter what we say. As is standard procedure, we make only our own recommendations as to where he should be sent, after assessing his personality. But ultimately, it's the intelligent test, not to mention the whims of the generals of the military that make the final call. There's no telling where he ends up, regardless of what we say."
"I'm in here ain't I? You don't need to explain it to me like I'm back in the classroom! And besides, there's no harm in trying. So…what's the most active spot out there right now? That fringe world planet right?"
"Mar Sara…yes, that was the other threatened colony. And I am inclined to agree with you. Someone who has such blatant hatred towards the Confederacy, it would be best all around for him to be eliminated quickly. No sense in spreading bad karma throughout the ranks. That only leads to trouble."
"But after Resocialization, it isn't going to matter anyway…Just dump him anywhere, and lets get to the next one. After that, I'm going on break and getting a smoke."
"Heh, if you want some fumes, then just stick your head out into the hall, and take a big whiff. Saves you the money."
"Shut up you fag, and write that report."
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Out in the hallway...
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After being forcibly removed from the screening room, Logan was "escorted" down the labyrinth of hallways and passageways. As both he and the guards went on, they passed by other cells, where even more cons were waiting their turn. They traded looks as they past, some giving nasty grins. They continued through a covered walkway, connecting adjacent buildings, moving on to the next phase of Logan's journey. Though, he wasn't very happy about it.
No way, he told himself, No goddamn way I'm going to do anything for these fuckers. I won't do it, and they can't make me either…When we get to the Resocialization chamber, I'm going to make a run for it. I'd rather get shot full of holes here and now than to do anything to help them. I just wish…
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he was jerked to a stop. Getting ready to make a move, Logan paused, only to see that he wasn't at the Resocialization system just yet. Instead, the guards had been stopped by another enforcer, who was motioning them down another corridor.
"This one goes to visiting room #3 first. He's got someone who wants to see him before his Resocialization."
"Hear that," one guard sneered, "Someone wants ta see ya before you're brain gets melted. You should feel honored…"
And so, on they went, now there were three guards around him, and Logan knew he would be overpowered quickly and wouldn't need to be shot should he make any attempt here. Besides, his curiosity was slightly aroused, wondering…who had come to see him? Who? After all, he was a condemned murderer, the few remaining traces of family had made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with him any more. So then…?
The visiting area looked nothing like the rest of the prison. There were actually lights here, and things were halfway decent looking. Not to mention that everything, the doors, walls, the furniture, all of it, looked practically new. This was due to the simple fact that people sent to this institution did not receive many visitors, hence the rooms were virtually unused. This was in fact, Logan's first time being here.
The guards lead him into the awaiting room, and sat him down at the chair. This particular room wasn't like the other means of visiting. It wasn't the convict on one side of a glass wall, the visitor on the other, the two communicating with a phone system. No, this was a room, that both the criminal and the guest could be in at once. Naturally, it could be risky, unless you had nothing to fear from the convicted. All that was in the room was a metal table, and two chairs, facing one another. Logan was shoved once again into his chair, immediately giving the towering guard a curled lip sneer.
"You better put that lip away," one warned him, "Else I'm gonna make it fat and bloodied!" Logan did nothing to change his expression.
"Alright, you asked for it!"
"That's not necessary guard," came a suave voice, coming from outside the door, "Please reframe from such threats. I'll just need a few minutes." Both guard and criminal turned towards the voice. The door opened slowly, and from out of the shadows, into the room stepped…
