*Author's Note: This is a revised version of a story that I have already published to another website (starcraft .org/user/mutalisk332). That sight is currently down for maintenance, but in case someone recognizes the story, I just want it to be clear that I am not stealing anyone's intellectual property but my own.

Also, I came up with this storyline a long time before StarCraft 2 was announced, and I'm hereby disregarding any cannon that the new game (or any of the literature that goes with it) establishes. Sorry to be such a bother.*

I often wonder what I would be if tiny things had been different, what led me to the choices I made, and what the universe might have become. Perhaps my race was doomed from the beginning. I had always assumed that the gods knew what they were doing, that their plan was flawless, but not foolproof, and that it was our mistakes that brought their plan to ruins. Looking back, I can't help but wonder whether we were wrong to assume they had a plan at all, that their actions were thought through, and the repercussions well considered.

Who can know?

Well, who can know better than I?

I was the first of my kind, or at least the first of my kind to survive long enough to earn mention in gruesome ordeal of history. I saw the Zerg Protoss hybrid race rise from its test tube and find a place in the center of a war. I watched, as we became the currency of power, and each faction scrambled to lay claim on our alliance. I witnessed the greatest celestial powers clash together. And as far as I am aware, I am the only one of my kind to survive the final peace.

We were given the power to shape cosmic events, and we were forced to use them. They made us powerful, yes. But in doing so, they hollowed out the mold of our slavery. They made us warriors, and by so doing, they prevented us from ever living at peace. Perhaps, had we been more powerful, we would not have needed to take sides. Had we been less powerful, perhaps sides would not have been forced upon us.

I wonder sometimes why the creators were inspired to create. Did they create me with some grand purpose in mind? Or did they look to find their own purpose in me? It's ironic then, that I should spend so much time reflecting on their intentions, their plans, their motives. Maybe they were just as clueless as I am now. Perhaps my purpose was to give them purpose, creating one big purposeless wheel of purpose: an end unto itself. Maybe everything is an end unto itself, and we are just fooling ourselves when we think otherwise. Does it really matter in the end? Who can know?

Well, who can know better than I?

I am the first and the last of my kind- a kind that lived and died like a supernova, lighting the skies for a brief, violent span, and then faded into the cosmic afterglow. I was the first and the last. I remember everything from the moment my mind discovered its capacity to remember. So here the story is, laid out before my mind's eye: the history, which is now all I have. A past without a future. Perhaps, somewhere in there, the meaning behind it all is hidden for those willing to look hard enough.

How can I know until I try?