This is the first TRUE fic on this website for Starcraft: Ghost hehehe
I beat you all. Come to think of it… not sure if anyone has written any others period… unless they did something after that novel came out. Speaking of which, check out the original publication date. Beat 'em all.

Oh, yeah… I'm back. ^_^

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Starcraft or any characters units, or structures,
other then those I may create myself.


Prologue -


Explosions rocked the ground, as another tank burst into flames.

"KEEP UP YOUR FIRE!" screamed the Captain, shouting his order above the crashing sounds of battle.

The horde of Zerglings charging the walls of the outpost had begun to take a heavy toll on the outnumbered garrison. The flights of Mutalisks in the sky only added to the living nightmare. For every one they shot down, it seemed another ten appeared overhead. And the writhing swarm below reminded the Captain of the titanic ant colonies on his home planet; big, endless, and unstoppable.

He remembered—with a feeling of morbid amusement—his mission briefing at Division HQ.

"Captain Hammer, this fort is of the utmost importance. You must not, under any circumstances allow it to fall to the enemy."

"Of course, sir," he had replied.

"The walls of the outpost are designed to stand up to anything. I'd be surprised if a nuke could take them down."

"Good to hear, sir."

"Stand up to anything. My ass!" he shouted to no one. No matter how many bullets they emptied into the field of flesh, it made no difference. The supply of grenades they had prized above all else had been expended over thirty minutes beforehand. And with every passing moment the mound of Zerglings grew larger. Stacked against the side of the wall, the living ramps inched ever closer to the battlement. Glancing around, Hammer assessed the ragged remnants of his command.

"Sir, are you all right?"

Hammer recognized Private Smith's half-confused expression in the midst of the battle. "Goddamn it, Private! If I want something, I'll ask for it! Kill those motherfuckers!"

Hammer grabbed the back of the marine's suit and pushed him back to the edge of the wall. A moment later, he brought his own rifle to bear on the attackers and began moving his gun in wide sweeps to cause as much damage as possible. He made a mental note to let up the squeeze every few seconds. The last thing he needed was a gun jam at this point.

Within another two minutes of heavy fighting, the horde was at point-blank range; merely three feet from the top. Hammer knew they were less than two minutes from having the entire place compromised, and that meant only one thing. KIA. He didn't even consider having them fall back any further. If they were going to die they might as well take as many of the bastards with them as possible.

It was at that moment that he caught a thrumming in the distance. Hammer perked up his ears. It was unmistakable. As he looked over to the right, Private Hammer took a brief pause from his slaughtering to glance up at the sky too.

"That ain't no Zerg, Captain!" he grinned.

"Fuckin' a, Smith. You just might live another day."

Over the hill roared a flight of three Dropships, with a squadron of Wraith fighters in escort. A pair of the Wraiths swooped low and surged ahead of the rest, sweeping into an attack-bombing pattern to delay the clambering swarm.

"ALL RIGHT YOU MISERABLE MAGGOTS, LET'S GO! WITHDRAW IN PAIRS! COVERING FIRE! MOVE!"

As the marines began to file down the ramps, the large vessels emitted huge bursts of air as they descended to the ground. There were loud scraping sounds as the pilots made less-than-graceful landings to save time. Then the ramps on each vessel popped and hit the ground with a bang.

The loud roar of engines came to Hammer's ears as the two remaining tanks in their detachment came to life and moved to the loading area on the first Dropship. Hammer threw occasional glances down at the yard. It felt like it was taking forever. Thirty seconds had turned into nearly two minutes. The Wraith escort was unable to dampen the ascent of the Zerglings for much longer. He could tell they were having enough problems keeping the Mutalisks from swarming the Dropships. A pair of cluster bombs dropped fifty feet out had bought them some time though. He made a mental note to recommend the squadron commander for a commendation for having the foresight to bring air-to-ground munitions. As over appreciative as that sounded, it wasn't uncommon for some redneck dolt to head up a squadron in Fleet these days.

At last, only Private Smith and he were at the top of the wall. "All right, Smith, make tracks!" He turned and gave one last long burst from his rifle, and then turned to run down the ramp. He tried not to be surprised when he saw Smith was already halfway to the Dropship. "Goddamn it, Smith!"

He thundered down the wall after the fleeing marine. By the time he reached the loading ramp, the other two Dropships were already in the middle of gaining altitude. With a final sweep of the yard to verify everyone was strapped-in, he leapt into the hull.

"Let's get going! Take us the hell out of here!" he called to the pilot.

A few seconds delay yielded no response from the cockpit. He felt blood rushing to his face as he saw the first of the Zerglings clawing over the line of the wall. He was about to give the order again when he stopped. To his right stood a lone figure at the door. A woman. Uncommon enough to see outside of the airfleet, but almost unheard of at the frontline stations. And she wasn't a pilot. He recognized the color of close-fitting jump suit, and the unmistakable unit badge on the shoulder of her light body armor.

"A Ghost…" he breathed, almost forgetting the dire situation outside the ship.

Her green eyes looked at him for a very brief moment. Her mouth cracked a bit. He would never have called such a nefarious expression a smile, but it certainly reflected some kind of pleasure in her mind.

"One last job, Captain. Then you and your boys can go home." Her words came in a cold, but very firm voice. It wasn't a yell, and yet he could clearly hear her over the sounds of the on-coming swarm. The Captain felt a shiver go down his spine. Ghosts were rarely seen at the front lines. And when they showed-up, they were about as welcome as an Ultralisk on a Stim shot—and twice as dangerous. Hammer didn't buy into a lot of the campfire stories about the special forces squads, but that didn't make him any less wary of her.

She moved past him, jogging part way down the loading ramp, and brought her modified C-10 rifle to her shoulder. He saw a laser-beam emit from the eyescope she wore, and a loud set of beeps emitted from her equipment after a moment. As soon as the triple-beep finished, she turned and ran back into the ship, tapping a communicator strapped to her shoulder.

"Now we can go!" she said. Hammer wasn't sure where her words were being directed. He was certain of one thing in particular though. When she spoke those words, her voice oozed pleasure. It made the hair on the back of his neck tingle with discomfort.

Her timing had been impeccable. An Ultralisk, its tusks swinging in a menacing arc, had just sheared through the south wall. As soon as it was clear of the metal, it set its eyes on the Dropship in the middle of the yard, and lunged into a charge. When it was only seconds away from driving into the vessel, Hammer shut his eyes and braced for impact.

But there was no tearing of metal. There was no raking of his flesh. He briefly registered a pop and a hiss, followed less than a second later by a booming roar that would have made dead men rise from their graves. He brought his hands to his ears and forced his eyes open to see what had happened.

He looked out at the courtyard, rapidly moving away, and saw the Ultralisk in the throws of death. It was now a twitching, bellowing lump on the ground. He turned to face the Ghost. She was still holding her C-10 in a carefully calculated aim, a wisp of smoke evaporating from the rocket-pack strapped to the bottom of the rifle.

Captain Hammer was at a loss for words.

The Ghost backed away from the hole as the Dropship gained altitude, and the ramps hydraulics hissed as it swung up and sealed itself. They must have moved almost two miles from the outpost when Hammer saw a glare off of one of the portholes. Knowing what must have happened, he let the glare fade for a minute before looking out. A mushroom cloud was still visible even at this distance.

Hammer finally understood what the mission had been about. No way in hell HQ had expected his detachment to hold out. But their math on expected casualties had been perfect. They'd sent just enough Dropships to pick-up what remained of their bait. Ever the solid soldier, he checked his weapon to ensure it was still in operating condition. Then he carefully placed it at his side. He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. As they left the atmosphere he peered through the porthole. He could see their command ship, the Battlecruiser CSS Jefferson, in the distant vacuum of space. He went back to brooding for a moment, and happened to look over to the other side of the ship.

The Ghost was watching him.

Those green eyes were watching him.

Hammer had had quite enough. Any possibility of being shaken by the battle was gone. But now he was purely creeped out.

"You're crazy, you know that?" the Captain commented with a scowl.

She kept watching him; her cold, emotionless stare inspired him to keep any additional comments to himself. Then her mouth moved. What might have been a smile appeared on her face. But even truer than the last he saw on the planet, he would never have called it that. This time it was aimed at him. Hammer felt every nerve in his body go on edge. And for the first time in his very long career, he was scared shitless. If she hadn't decided to turn from holding his gaze then, the grin still plastered on her face, he was sure he would have pissed himself.

Her eyes were fixed toward the porthole now, gazing out at space. Then her voice sounded in that same, ecstatic tone from when she had targeted the nuke. Just loud enough that he could hear.

"I know."


Chapter 1: Nova


(From the personal log of Captain 25-A, "Nova", 6th Black Ops. Squadron, Terran Ghost Corps)

'I suppose I should start at the beginning. It is always good to start there. Because if I were to start at the end, you would already know it, and would not bother to hear any other parts.

How I came to enter the Ghost program was a mystery to me for a long time. I didn't even fully understand it until I had been enrolled for months. I lost everything before that day I woke up in the operating room. It is not a time I remember with fondness. But I survived. And then there was him… he trained me, and used me for… I'll get to that. I had no concept of my latent abilities then. But it was made clear to me—after a time—that I was very extraordinary.

That was a long time ago. And now I feel I need to tell the story, of how everything finally ended in the Koprulu sector, from my point of view. I'm unsure of how much time I can offer for the recollection, but I hope one day someone will read it. Much of what I am about to tell I learned only recently. And there is much that is still missing. I will do my best to relay everything I can in the short time I have here. Maybe you can learn something about everything that's brought me to this point.

My name is Nova. And this is my story…'

Taking everything into account, she may have been the most ideal candidate for the life she would experience. The girl was only ten years old, and lived in the slums of Lobet; an industrial center on the planet Tarsonis.

At twelve years of age, with no friends, little family, and no prospects for a good life in near-slum area she called home, the girl was possibly the perfect candidate for the life she would experience. There was nothing particularly unique about her on the surface. Cute enough for a girl of her age, with blonde hair—just the hint of a girly figure—the onset of puberty beginning to shape her. The only unique feature she had were her eyes. They were a magnificent, deep green; much like an emerald catching the light. If you were to hold the gaze for only a few moments, they were quite startling. Green eyes were not unheard of in the rim, but they were not common. And no one had seen a pair quite like hers. Behind them sat a deep innocence that was tempered with an ill-fitting maturity. The rough conditions of life in backwater towns were chiseled into the depths of her gaze.

Her life mostly consisted of performing odd jobs in the local marketplace. The earnings she received were stashed in a glass jar beneath her rickety bed for emergencies. Her only remaining relative—her grandmother—was caring to an extent, but woefully incapable of truly raising a child. The girl spent much of her life raising herself.

The level of chance involved in everyday occurrences is amazing. Things may have continued this way for the girl for a long time. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps nothing in her life would have changed much. She may have died within a week, or lived a fulfilling life, getting a job at one of the few successful companies on the planet. Anything might have happened, had a Lieutenant of the Confederate Intelligence Service not gotten lost that day. By the time it occurred to him to ask for directions, he was distracted by his stomach. For lunch, he stopped to buy beatfruit at a stall, just as the girl was coming down the alley.

It was that morning—many years ago—that all the variables in the universe converged on a single moment in time. As the girl walked down the alley lost in thought, she failed to notice the man walking away from the beatfruit stand, and consequently bumped right into him. He was tall and thin, probably only a few years into service. Despite his youth, he had a hard, unkind face.

"Watch where you're going kid! Next time you'll get trampled," he growled at her.

"Sorry…" she said, hiding her indignation over his rudeness.

The girl tried to be kind to people whenever she could. But the rent had been raised again that day, and she had been in no mood to be the target of unnecessary rudeness. She imagined saying something more impressive in response. She imagined taking one of the man's beatfruit and hitting him in the face with it. There was a loud SPLAT, and a curse from the man.

The girl whirled around to look at the source of the disturbance. Too her utter amazement, the pulpy remains of what had been a beatfruit was sliding down the man's face. After spluttering for several seconds, and saying several additional obscene phrases, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

The man turned and stared back at her, a look of uncertainty in his eyes. She went on staring right back, refusing to look away, as if that would imply she was intimidated. The man straightened up, turned, and walked down the street. The girl watched him until he disappeared down a street corner, then she too returned home.

The next few days went without incident. After a while, she forgot all what had transpired. It was completely out of her mind by that last morning of her childhood. There was no way she could have known about the monitoring that had gone on for the few weeks following the incident in the market. She could never have imagined just how much that one incident would change her life forever.

So it was that one morning, several weeks later; that the girl slowly came awake to the sound of arguing downstairs. It sounded like her grandmother, and other male voices she didn't recognize. Suddenly there was a scream, followed by three loud bangs. By the time she had crawled out of her bed, the door burst open to reveal two towering figures in metallic suits and helmets.

Picked up by her arms, the girl could do little to resist. She wished with all her might that she had the strength to throw these things out of her room. The next thing she realized was that her bedroom window was gone, and there was the sound of groans and curses coming from outside the house. Both men had been thrown out the window. All of a sudden she was paralyzed, unsure of what to do next. She was vaguely aware of footsteps running up behind her, and only tried to get away at the last moment as one hand grabbed her shoulder, followed by the piercing feeling of a needle in her upper arm.

She felt lightheaded. She could no longer stand, and fell, sprawled on the floor. Her position changed. She saw the man from the market-place, and two others she couldn't place at all.

The last thing she heard before losing consciousness was a brief part of conversation.

"She's definitely one. Good choice. We better get her to TGC testing facility before she wakes up."

"Right. Man that was a powerful resistance..." said another voice.

She blacked out.

The deep, dark state she found herself in seemed to last a lifetime. It couldn't be called sleep. She lost all concept of time in that long night. When the curtain of blackness that surrounded her slipped ever so slightly, she began to wake.

"It's powerful all right. I've never seen this before! In fact I never thought it possible..." went a voice.

The conversation continued fading in and out. She was suddenly aware of the sounds of machines, the scrape of tools, and the picking and clicking of metal. She also started feeling a slight pain in her arms, chest, and head. She must have twitched from discomfort, because another man noticed her coming around.

"She's awake! Quick, neutralize her damn it! She can't remember anything we've said!"

She didn't even notice The needle puncturing her skin this time. Again she drifted off into oblivion.

Slowly, very slowly, the curtain was drawn back. Not slipping with the failure of drugs, but an intentional and controlled removal. The girl became aware of the temperature of the room, of the numbness of her body. She had no concept of the time, day, or anything else.

There was silence for a long time. And then… "Open your eyes," a voice broke the silence.

She felt nothing. Only a curtain of eternal blackness draped over her entire being. At first, she didn't think she could even respond. And then she heard it again.

"Open your eyes."

Her eyes opened. Or she thought she opened them. She was looking at herself, directly in her own eyes. At least, she thought they were. It was like a dream. She couldn't possibly be looking at her own eyes. Besides, her eyes weren't nearly as green as the ones whose gaze she held. And these were strong eyes. Powerful. She blinked, and still seeing this illusion, closed her eyes again to try to make sense of it all.

Her head was still incredibly fuzzy. She thought she heard footsteps, and a door opening. She opened her eyes again, and despite the numb feeling all around her, she worked herself into a sitting position. She was on a medical bed. As she looked about, she noticed a few wires and tubes connected to her nearly naked body. She was stripped down except for what looked like generic linen underwear. It was then that she saw a man. She didn't recognize this one at all. He was an older man, but not too old. The lines on his face told more of battle-wear rather than age. Unlike the faces she had seen before, had the mark of a true soldier.

"Sorry we had to be so hard on you; I hope they didn't hurt you too badly."

She continued staring around, rather dumbstruck. Finally she worked-up the courage to speak. "Where am I?" Her mouth felt dry, making her words come out airy and just above a whisper.

He seemed to think a moment, and then gave a carefully considered—if unhelpful—reply.

"If you require anything, ask the attendant. One will be checking on you from time to time."

Suddenly that feeling came again. Feelings of anger and indignation at having been taken from her room, forced into this strange place, and all for reasons unknown to her. She whirled her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand up. The drugs still had some lingering effects, and she nearly fell over. Clutching the side of the bed, she looked up at the man angrily.

"You can't do this to me! What do you want!?" Her voice had finally gained strength, and she bellowed at him in full force.

The man shifted his weight to one side. "You are a very special girl, you know. We knew it the moment you arrived here. You have exhibited characteristics that make you perfect for our purposes."

"What are you talking about!?" she shouted at him. "Where am I? Where's my… my… my…" she stammered aimlessly, no word coming to mind to represent what she was trying to say. All of a sudden she felt completely helpless. She could not even explain why she stammered to herself; her mouth continuing to move with no sound to match it. As if she was trying to form a word she could no longer remember.

"Your family?" he offered, with what looked like amusement on his face. "What family? Are you saying you… remember?" his tone had become almost comical.

The girl froze. She clasped her head with her hands, causing her to slide the floor next to her bed. As her hands felt around her head, one of them came across a section and felt metal where scalp should have been. Her hair had been completely shaved off. But that was not what started making her tremble with fear. A fear that few could ever truly understand. Fear… because of nothing. The girl finally realized that she could not grasp what she meant, because there was nothing there to grasp.

"Wha… wha… What have you done to me?" she looked at the man with wide, unbelieving eyes. "What have you done to me?"

He said nothing.

"What have you done to me!? Why can't I remember!?"

He said nothing.

"My… my… my…" she panted desperately with each attempt. Her heart was racing, and water began to well-up at the corner of her eyes. She was terrified. "WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER!?"

He said nothing. He put his chin in one hand and seemed to ponder the girl for a while.

"You have no memories anymore." He said this without a hint of emotion. No malice, no pity, nothing.

"You have no name. No family. No home, history, or place of birth. You are what we would call a non-person," as he spoke, she sat back on the bed, her head between her hands. A small sob and some tears came as he continued, "I'd say the most likely event in your past is a disappearance or a death in a tragic fire. What does it really matter? No one knows. You will never know. There is no way for you to retrieve any piece of your former life."

He continued to stand there, the girl pouring out her grief into her hands. Grief for something she could not even define.

"You're taking it better than some, if that interests you. Most people we bring in would have attempted suicide by now. I suggest you get used to it as soon as possible."

She continued crying for several minutes. Or was it hours? Her mind was lost in itself. However long it was, she eventually worked up enough resolve to ask a question. "What are you going to do with me?"

The man smiled. "Do?" He paused for several moments. "We'll DO whatever we want with you, kid. It might not be so bad though. Take my advice kid, because we won't likely meet again for you to hear it. Do as you're told, and never look back... only forward."

She looked over at him, the tears now silently streaming down the sides of her face. "What does that mean…" she said, half to herself, the salty water continuing to flow. Her voice didn't even contain grief now. It was as if it were completely toneless; her voice as empty as her memory.

"You'll find out one day, pup."

The sound of a door opening was heard to one side. "Colonel Duke, sir. Your presence is required at G-56."

"All right then…" he took one last look at the girl. The smallest crack in his expression appeared just for a moment. "Seems like a waste, if you ask me."

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in that room with nothing but silence. There was nothing for her to do but sit there. Slowly, acting more on impulse than thought, she pulled herself back onto the bed. What else could she do but lie down and listen… to the sound of silence in the room. To the silence of her sorrow.

To the absolute, total silence of her mind.


Original A/N:

Huh? Good enough for the first chapter? I NEED REVIEWS, REVIEW PLEASE!
I'm taking the story in a slightly different context from my original plan. That is, I've pretty much changed the central p.o.v. so it's easier to do stuff later on. Hope everyone likes the new spins I'm planning. :D

Post-2011 A/N:

So, yeah… went through and tweaked a few things. LIES! Practically a complete revision in many places. Both to comply with FF standards and because it looks cleaner this way, I've combined the prologue and first chapter. With any luck, my renewed venture will prove fruitful. :D I'm still tinkering with this first chapter because I think I did a good job scripting it to be a powerful, emotional presentation. I'm still taking suggestions in order to perfect it. ^_^ Yeah, actually just now finished what constitutes a complete overhaul of this chapter. Yay!

2014 A/N:

Frosted butts. Technically this revision wasn't posted until now. It was sitting on an unused harddrive. Tweaked some more. Chapter 2 rebuild coming, followed by (finally) Chapter 3!