Quasar Endeavor

by QuasarPhenomenon

Another battle of Terran vs Zerg. Rated PG-13 for cusses and violence.... please R&R.

Prologue:

As James Raynor ex-marine groggily awoke to the sound of his alarm clock and realized that he had overslept; the birds were already chirping cheerily and enthusiastically a song, one that only they could comprehend.

"Mmmfftxczczzmm." groaned Raynor as he despairingly threw off the covers and swung his legs in a lazy arc off the side. "Mmmmtfscxvzxtm."

He groped around in the darkness that shrouded his four-room apartment for his slippers. A desk placed on the right corner of the modest sized bedroom was covered with a blanket of hamburger wrappers and crushed soda cans. The color of the desk was unknown to all but Raynor himself. It is rumored to be a beige color with a coffee rings littering its surface. In the corner opposite the one of the window, lies a beaten down, disheveled dresser whose drawers creaked, squeaked and groaned every chance they had. The bare wooden floor placed over the titanium alloy provided a somewhat more comforting feel.

Here in the year 4001, all houses were constructed of a titanium alloy. In order to save money and building time, the titanium was merely molded in a Factory into the basic shape of a house. After the war, large chunks of the numbers of Factories were converted into producers of household items such as windows, kitchen utensils and various electronics. The Factory was however, not only a producer of Siege Tanks, Goliaths and Vultures, but many other items as well, many, which were essential to life. Houses, hover cars, various electronics and personal hygiene items were all produced in mass quantities. During the war, however, the Factories were converted to produce mainly weapons, vehicles and artillery. As a safety precaution during the war, lift-off buttons were installed within all homes and major buildings. The switch, located in a small, novel sized glass-door fronted metal container, was mounted upon a wall of every room.

A few unsuccessful tries and stubbed toes later, he finally accomplished the endeavor. Fumbling for his remote and tuning into channel 192: the interplanetary relations network (TIRN) he wandered dizzily over towards the blinds. He pressed the button located beside the blinds and squinted while his arms shot up instinctively to shield his eyes from the startlingly bright rays of the sun as each individual slit slowly turned until horizontal. A bright yellow sun smiled happily upon the Earth, a jewel sewn carefully within the azure sky. The day was almost perfect, clouds that appeared to be of the purest white, the white found on angels' wings floated lazily across the sky as if having not a care in the world except for the increasingly threatening dark cloud. As he watched this malignant cloud growth, his thoughts turned toward the television. The Terran victories he saw on TV were somewhat like that.... seemingly glorious, but always with a Zerg presence still permeating every corner of the Terran Dominion.

"Wonder what its so darn happy about." groaned Raynor as he stumbled back towards his bed musing about the sun and flopped down again to continue his television viewing.

"Humph." mumbled Raynor as he watched the screen of his television, a design that still hasn't changed much from the olden days. The program happened to be the development of the war between the Protoss and the Zerg. "Lousy aliens. always so darn violent."

Raynor hadn't been clued in about any of the incidents leading to this war between the two alien races. He was still confused as a drunken monkey. The reporters didn't seem to feel like clueing in people who have just tuned in either, after noticing the "Live" note located in the top left hand corner, he understood why. After a half hour or so, Raynor began to get bored of the program and sat up to reach the remote but got tired and dropped it. Not even bothering to click the off button, he laid back once again. He regrettably stumbled out of bed and donned his plaid colored robe and begrudgingly trudged into the small but adequate kitchen. The Kitchen consists of a stove, a light, a countertop, a dishwasher and a few cupboards and a table. Raynor, upon remembering he still had a stash of coffee crawled into the closet for this life giving liquid, the mere thought lending him some energy. Grabbing the coffee maker and pouring in the beans he waited patiently for the light to shine: signifying that the coffee was ready. After 30 seconds his legs failed him and he had to go slouch down on the beautifully crafted ebony chair. As his eyelids began to grow heavy once again the light upon the coffee maker shone and the buzzer buzzed: signifying that the liquid was ready to be consumed. Once again, he was required to relinquish his seat and acquire a cup to pour the coffee in. After pouring the coffee, he carefully sat back down again, cautious not to spill. Staring at the pool of shimmering black liquid he allowed it cool off a bit before gulping it down.

Suddenly, he heard the reporter of the TIRN station shout bloody murder.

"We are under attack! I repeat we are under attack by a rouge band of Zerg forces!" Shouted the reporter over the wail of sirens, grunts, shrieks and groans of the Mutalisks and Guardians. "We are under attack! I repeat.."

At that statement, the camera was knocked out of service by a ricocheting Glave Wurm shot from a living cannon, dragon-like wings flapping madly, folds of skin rippling and screeching like the end of the world was near. This jerked Raynor from the clutches of drowsiness and he ran back to the bedroom to watch the horrific events unfold.

Meanwhile.

Chapter 1:

The crab-like silhouettes of the Guardians floated lazily across the sky accompanied by the fearsome bat like: Mutalisks. The beating of wings and screeching of aliens seemed to be everywhere. You could hear the sounds of battle, the horrific cries of death and triumph. Ultralisks lumbered around slashing and clashing their giant, glittering, wickedly curved ivory white scythes tapering down at the tip for a razor sharp point. The blades swished and clanged their way through buildings and trees and humans without any trouble at all. Trees toppled like rag dolls, falling over with one swipe of those oversized scythes. Hydralisks patrolled the area destroying everything within their path. Regrettably the peaceful, herbivore herds of Slothien were assimilated into the Zerg Swarm in order to produce on of the most fierce and diabolical of the Zerg strains. The evolutionary matrix of the caterpillar-like Slothien was supercharged by the Overmind, twisting the hapless creatures into the nightmarish killers known as Hydralisks. These once mild creatures now hunger for blood and violence, and they are infamous for acting in a particularly sadistic fashion. The spindly, snake-like Hydralisks house hundreds of armor piercing spines within their upper carapace plates. These spines can be fired in volleys at enemies approaching from either the ground or the air, and massed groups of Hydralisks should be approached with extreme caution.

The huge bloated balloons of the Overlords floated overhead above all the other units. Their hard carapaces occasionally splitting open to drop down another Zergling, Hydralisk, Ultralisk. Humans were shredded into bits by the Zergling claws and turned into pincushions by the needle spines of the Hydralisk.

The massacre of helpless civilians continued for sometime, until the Terran Dominion Army arrived on the scene. The heavy thundering of the Siege Tank treads hammered the ground with every inch they were spewing dust clouds as far as eye can see. Clanking of Marine footsteps in armor accompanied by the Medics, ricochets off the stone walls of the trench and provided a rhythm to the beat of the treads. It was a glorious sight to behold, the entire Terran Dominion's army marching forth, guns at the ready, Arclite cannons loaded and Wraiths flitting by, trailing sonic booms followed in its wake. Immense dust clouds rose and hovered slightly above the ground providing a haze cloak, providing the units with a minute bit of cover against the most hated creations of long-gone Xel'Naga race, the Zerg. And thus the Army marched towards the swarm of Zerg minions through mountains and the trenches until they caught sight of the foe, which awaited them. They marched on towards the increasing melee heads held high and self esteem soaring.

Suddenly, chilling screams of Marines and scraping of supra-dense spines against titanium alloyed Siege Tanks echoed through the canyon. All heads and guns turned to meet this new enemy. Silence blanketed the canyon completely and utterly, all save the whistling of the wind and humming of Zerg wings in the distance. Then suddenly, a row of menacing spikes shot out from beneath several Marines, penetrating the armor and impaling them upon the bone spikes and left holes that pocked the ground in a row all leading to one spot. The entire army retreated out of the expected range of the spikes. Anxiety and fear spread throughout the ranks of Marines, Medics, Firebats and Siege Tanks. All were eager to kick some Zerg ass and they were sure this new adversary was of the menacing Zerg race. However, they were not sure what they are and where they were. A few of the marines got an idea that could very well save their lives. Instead of waiting for a Science Vessel to show itself, they would merely blast the expected location of the adversary with their Gauss Rifles and liquefy whatever was burrowed under there.

The General raised his hand for silence as he informed the ranks of a few precious bites of tactical data on the foe.

"Ok! Silence in the ranks!" shouted General McGinnis in his gruff and deep voice as he lowered his hand when he felt that every ear was tuned to his voice. He paced around and spoke with confidence and experience, "What we have here, is clearly a breed of Zerg known as the Lurker, one of the newer and deadlier Zerg Strains. These creatures serve as defense warriors for the Hive Clusters and outlying Zerg colonies. Bred from the Hydralisk strain, Lurkers emit waves of supra-dense spines against their enemies within a 20 feet radius of its body. Any warriors on the surface who are caught by these spines are instantly impaled. The spines themselves are capable of tearing into flesh, steel, and even reinforced armor plating. The only weakness of the Lurker is that it is virtually defenseless while above ground. It is a mutated form of the Hydralisk a foe of which you all know plenty about, whether through first-hand experience or stories told by your comrades. When spotted and shot at while burrowed, they have a habit of unburrowing and locating itself to another location, deemed safe through hasty calculations. Now, we can't let it rebury itself or we will never kill it. We also do not know if there are anymore, and if so how many. Therefore we must first annihilate this here sucker first and wait for a Science Vessel to show up. Now all of your surround the lurker, keeping out of the 20 feet range of these spikes and keep your Gauss Rifles trained at the spot in the center. Use the row of holes as your ruler. Proceed!"

The Marines carefully positioned themselves around the expected foe and hoisted their Gauss Rifles and trained them at the center.

The general promptly raised his hand once again after seeing the soldiers in place.

"Ready? Aim!" here a small pause was issued to allow the marines time to prepare. He swiveled his head around a few times, verifying that all the troops where indeed ready. As he dropped his hand he uttered the one word that started a chain of events, a chain of events that would lead to the army suffering heavy losses and ego deflation, "FIRE!"

Every Marine pulled their triggers on the ending of that syllable. Rifle muzzles flashed and bullets ricochet off the ground and off Zerg carapace. Tortured screams arose from the ground by the Lurker as it was being turned into a living pincushion by the bullets of Gauss Rifles pounding thousands of holes into its body. Shouts of glee and the dying sound of Rifle fire echoed through the canyon as the Lurker suddenly exploded with a shower of blood and entrails. It burst out of the ground; guts and blood spilled everywhere followed by the front claws utilized for digging. The falling scythes impaled a couple Marines; reminding everyone that a dead foe may still be a dangerous one.

At last, the science vessel Magellan was spotted soaring above the landscape, a sphere with three pods evenly spaced around the spherical body containing the missiles including the Irradiation missiles and the Defensive Matrix. As soon as the Magellan arrived within a close proximity to the now halted army four more burrowed Zerg forces were revealed. Every Marine in the frontal rank jerked backwards, pondering what might lurk within the newly discovered burrows.

"Good afternoon, Sir! We have you on visual!" beamed William the pilot of the Magellan though the speakers in a slight British accent, "It seems that I have arrived in the nick of time."

General McGinnis pulled out from his front shirt pocket a mobile communicator and spoke into it.

"Good afternoon, William," said McGinnis while pointing at the large holes dotting the landscape, "I must request a unit status report. We must know what is burrowed over there."

"Yes, Sir," came the enthusiastic reply, "I'm on it."

Seconds dragged by, somehow stretching themselves into minutes; the faint smell of anxiety filled the air.

"Ah ha!" exclaimed William, "It seems that there are 21 units: 15 Zerglings 5 Hydralisks and just one more Lurker, it's the largest of the 21 holes. No not that one, the one in the middle, yes that one."

"Thank you, William," came the slightly relived voice of the General, "I request that you standby with all sensors active and be ready to assist in anyway you can."

"Acknowledged, General," replied William, "I shall standby with all systems ready until you specify otherwise."

The General once again turned to face his troops. Stone faced, McGinnis barked out the battle orders.

"All Tanks organize yourselves into a tight circle, standby in Siege Mode and do not attack until I say so," commanded the General with certainty boosted by William's report, "Marines surround the tanks and hold your position, have your Gauss Riffles ready to assist. Dismissed!"

The whirr of motors grinding, clanging of metal parts latching together and the hissing of hydraulics filled the air as the 12+ tanks Sieged in succession. The clanking of Marine footsteps once again echoed through the canyon, medics on standby to heal any injuries as a result of Stim Pack usage.

"Alright! All tanks aim your Shock Cannons at the Lurker!" General McGinnis shouted over the sound of whirring motors as they quickly swiveled the Cannons around, "Marines standby! Tanks! Fire on my mark!"

There was a slight delay before the General uttered the decisive word, the word that could mean victory or defeat depending on the general's stratagem.

"FIRE!" bellowed the general as the deafening sound of Shock Cannons releasing their missiles filled the air one after another.

A short but agonizing bellow of the Lurker rang through the cannon, blood and guts exploding everywhere. Entrails scattered around the radius of the Cannons' blasts. The nearby units within the vicinity of the blast also were eradicated. The bellows and squeals of those units alerted the others to unburrow and attack the intruders. There was a sudden sound of scratching, the sound of claws against the dirt: the sound of Zerg units unburrowing. What reared its ugly head of those holes was not at all like the reports given by William. What appeared was not 15 Zerglings and 5 Hydralisks but thirty Hydralisks, ten Zerglings and another new strain of Zerg.

This new strain called the Defiler is the perfect example of the fanatic and sadistic nature of the Zerg. Like the Larvae, the Defiler carries within it the genetic code of every other Zerg breed, but it does not produce them. On the contrary, the Defiler uses these genetic matrices to produce cancer-like toxins, which have dramatic and deadly effects. The Defiler prefers to avoid direct combat, relishing instead in the use of its unique bio-chemical abilities. Defilers can also burrow into the ground like their lesser brethren. A common tactic of these vile creatures is to attack until they run out of prepared toxins, and then burrows down until they can rejuvenate their stores of venom. Their burrowed holes, masquerading as Zergling holes can be a mistake for anyone to make. It is impossible to judge the unit burrowed within the hole with just the top view. One can merely make an educated guess as to what is situated under all of that dirt and soil.

"Shit!" cried the Marines in fear and surprise, "Damn it! How are we supposed to fight all of these guys!?"

"No time to argue!" bellowed the General as he aimed his C-14 Impaler Rifle, "Just do it! There is no retreat against a Zerg force this big!"

The sound of gun and cannon fire filled the air. Bellows of wounded Zerg forces mingled with the artillery fire and produced an eerie melody. Every Marine had already Stimed up and was blasting away at random Zerg forces. Users of Stim Packs are able to summon near berserker strength when necessary however tissue damage result, but with the Medics around who need to worry?

The battle was starting to heat up once again. Hydralisks launched volley after volley of needle spines at the Marines and the dog-like Zerglings slashed at the Terran units, showing no mercy to any who stood within its way. Muzzles flashes, cannon bursts and death cries of Zerg forces blanketed the area so thickly you could cut it. The ground was covered with blood and guts: Terran and Zerg, bits and pieces of carapace and armor littered the floor. However, it was still four Terran Marines to every Zerg unit and the battle was turned in favor of the Terran army. Marines aided by the Medics increased their chances of surviving drastically until the Medic ran out of supplies, and then the Marine pretty much doomed and have to rely on his wits to decide his fate.

Everyone was focused upon the deadly battle, no one ever bothered to keep an eye on those Defilers; those lobster shaped insects that never seemed to do anything. The defilers merely stood its ground behind the melee and squiggled its behind and waving its claws. Little did the army know however, that the Defiler doesn't just appear to be fierce looking. The Defiler isn't just all bark and no bite, the army knew little about this rarely encountered foe. What they did know, didn't cover the fact that the body of a Defiler is covered with a countless number of smaller creatures that feed off each other. By launching a mind-boggling number of these creatures into the fray, the Defiler can create a thick cloud of living insects to distract the Swarm's enemies and provide cover for the other units. This technique was dubbed the Dark Swarm by the Terran scientists, though never witnessed first-hand. Suddenly the Defilers stirred, they lowered their tails and suddenly flicked it upwards, creating a buzzing, living, seething dark orange cloud of insects that blanketed the circle of units, both marine and tank alike. All the Marines hastily flipped down their visors for safety from the buzzing insects that surrounded them. The technique, protected units from aerial and long-range attacks, however provides no sanctuary for melee attacks. Thus rendering the marine gauss rifles, arclite shock cannons and even the Hydralisk needle spines useless. However, the marines and tanks were able to fire their weapons at targets outside of the Dark Swarm fringe. Thus they were able to eliminate the Hydralisks without much trouble but the cloud provided no safeguard against the melee claw attacks of the Zerglings.

The Dark Swarm forced the tanks to unsiege and the marines to back up and away from the living insect cloud in order to save their lives. The living cloud of insects prevented any aiming, the ammo launched by the tanks and marines would simply miss; the insects distracted them by stinging them and performing a kamikaze attack, splattering their guts on the visors and windows; thereby preventing any form of aiming. At the fringe of the cloud the tanks sieged again, Shock Cannons loaded and ready. The Marines stood their ground once again, rifles trained at the fringes of the Swarm, ready to blast anything that came out of the border. Just as the army was growing confident once again, the Defilers once again launched an attack. The red glob of spores traversed within a lazy arc, spreading itself farther and thinner with every foot traveled. With this ability, the Defiler produces a batch of corrosive spores that it then explosively projects in a dense cloud around its enemies. This highly toxic cloud called the Plague corrodes anything within its midst.

Marines who foolishly left their visors up scattered and ran around clawing at their unprotected eyes as the cloud of highly corrosive spores splashed into their eyes. Trying unsuccessfully to wipe off the spores, those Marines dropped to the floor, rolling and screaming in agony. Those Marines with most of their armor already corroded off were then made short work of by the Zerglings. Tanks were abandoned and the drivers ran for their lives as Zerglings clawed at the already dead machines. The explosions of tanks rumbled the ground beneath the army, shrapnel flying everywhere, the stock of Shock Cannon ammo added to the spectacular explosions. Pale gray mushroom clouds arose in rapid succession as they were ripped to shreds by claws, needles and corrosive spores casting eerie, light shaded shadows across the canyon walls.

The Defilers suddenly launched another Dark Swarm attack, the cloud of insects buzzed towards them with frightening voracity. The Defilers then slunk around and consumed a couple Zerglings and burrowed again. As the most likely breed in the Swarm to show tendencies of cannibalism, the Defiler feeds off of its own species to regain lost energy. While this practice is particularly repulsive to most civilized species in the galaxy, it has proven to be an effective, if unpreferred, tactic.

"McGinnis to base, McGinnis to base. We are under attack, repeat we are under attack," shouted McGinnis into the transmitter while standing on a nearby cliff shooting Zerg from the safety of above, "Request assistance or reinforcements immediately. Do you copy?"

Five seconds later the cackle of static poured through the speaker followed by a gruff voice.

"Yes General, we copy," the voice said in between cackles of static, "Reinforcements are on their way."

Then the connection broke, a solid wave of static oozed out through the speakers. General McGinnis placed the transmitter back within his pocket and gazed at the smoke infested sky, "Oh dear God, please let them arrive in time to save my men."

The General continued sniping with his C-10 Canister Rifle from overhead. Although nobody knew of this, the General was a ghost. Ghosts epitomize the height of human evolution and physical conditioning. Born with incredible psionic potential, these agents are quarantined by the Confederate Government and trained from infancy to channel their psionic energies to augment their natural physical strength and endurance. As a precautionary measure, Psychic Dampeners were surgically implanted in all Ghosts. However, McGinnis chose not to retrofit his Hostile Environment Suit (H.E.S.) with the cloaking technology. He believed it to be cowardly to hide oneself in the midst of a battle merely to save your own life at the expense of thirty others. He believed it wasn't right to have a higher caliber power than that of his men; it improved morale within the ranks.

Chapter 2:

The sudden ringing of Raynor's phone jerked him suddenly from his bed. He sat up suddenly, nearly falling off and scrambled to the phone and picked it up.

"Hello?" asked Raynor

"Raynor," replied the voice from the other side, urgency dripped from his voice; "We have an important message for you from the HQ."

"What is it?" asked Raynor again, a frown forming upon his face and fearing the worst, "What's the message?"

"You are to suit up and report to the Canyon near the attacking Zerg force. The Terran Dominion army is being attacked and is unfortunately losing. They need your help Raynor, I know how you don't want to participate in a battle but this is one battle where we can't afford to lose." The voice on the other side stated again, slight hints of begging tinted his voice, "The Zerg forces are invading our home. If the army loses, this planet will not be hospitable anymore. When that army falls, there will be no resistance against the Zerg at least not for a while. By the time the Terran forces from other planets arrive to save this one, the Zerg would have already had a chance to establish a well protected hive cluster; they will overrun the planet and when the planet goes, you go with it."

"Alright," stated Raynor, "I'll do it, you can count me in. I'll head on over on my Vulture hover bike."

With that he hung up and jogged over to his garage. The garage is where he kept all of his Marine belongings, armor and weapons that he didn't use anymore. The door creaked open and Raynor stepped in. He grouped around in the darkness for the switch that turned on the lights. Ten tries later, he finally reached the switch and flipped it. His hands shot up to protect his eyes from the sudden brightness and ran down the flight of stairs, two at a time.

He found his specially designed Armor Suit made to be nearly five times as strong as the regular suits. The added weapon holsters on the back also allowed for more weapon carriage. Fitted with stronger servos and ball bearing joints, the added mobility and strength allowed him to carry the stronger and faster firing rate C-20 Shock Rifle. This rifle has twice the firing rate as the old C-14 Impaler model and held ammo with explosive heads. When fired, the projectile detonates with a powerful explosive capable of blowing up boulders. They also had two ammo containers on the side for quick access. Sharp metallic pinging sounds arose as the ammo half fell half rolled into the spare containers and into the main body. Raynor took two of these guns filled it with ammo, a few Stim Packs and set them upon the table in the corner; he then proceeded to suit up. He pressed the button located on the inside of the gauntlet and the armor fell to reattachable pieces. The main chest plate split open with a hiss allowing Raynor to suit up with ease.

Raynor thread his arms through the armholes and sealed the chest plate with a slight click as the internal NeoSteel clamps bit down on the other pieces, locking it in place. He then proceeded to step into the leg armor, which also attached with a click at the base of the chest plate; the latching on of the arm sections proceeded with the same ease as the rest of it. Raynor walked back to the table where left the guns and Stim packs and proceeded to slide the guns into the holster on his back. Then he placed the Stim packs within the holder under the armpits and clamped his helmet into place, leaving the visor up for a better view of his surroundings. Raynor gazed upon the inside rim of his visor where tiny lights and digital gauges glowed and blinked. One of which displayed a vertical bar status chart in the middle of a schematic diagram of the suit that showed suit damage and the remaining fuel. Every section of that chart glowed green, signifying that everything in the suit was fine and the fuel gauge was also full meaning Raynor could battle for a long time without worry of recharging.

Raynor strode towards his Vulture, entered the code and pressed the ignition key. The Bike's engines and body hummed to life, dials were going crazy and finally stopping to settle on one point. The armored Vulture Hover Bikes, used primarily for scouting the myriad wastelands of the Terran Colonies, are designed for speed and reliability. The Limited Gravity Hover Technology used by the Vulture allows it to travel over rough terrain without loss of traction or speed. Although ill suited for heavy combat, they make excellent skirmishers and the bike-mounted grenade launcher is extremely effective against lightly armored targets. Raynor's bike however, was equipped with a newer and more powerful version of the Frag Grenade launcher that allowed it to launch two at a time. Raynor clicked the garage door opener and it slowly creaked upwards.

"Oh crap," said Raynor slapping his head and walking over to his stash of Spider Mines and picked up three and loaded them up into the Vulture and then to himself muttered, "Never leave anywhere and go into battle without these."

Then he swung his legs around and sat on the Vulture seat, revved up the engine and roared out of the garage leaving a thick trail of dust clouds. Over hills and through valleys went Raynor's Vulture not even losing an ounce of speed or friction. Fuel gauges indicated that the tanks were full and Raynor could travel for a long time without worrying about stalling in the middle of a battle.

Somewhere, many miles away, another hero was also receiving the same call as Raynor.

The private rushed down the hallway of the Starport with a look in his eyes and told everyone that he had a mission to fulfill and nothing would get in his way. Sweat beading up on his face and streaming down his neck; the private huffed and panted his way through the hallways searching for Tom, the best pilot in all the Terran Dominion.

"Tom! Tom!" he yelled between gasps of breath and panting, "Tom! Tom!"

Suddenly, he bumped into another wraith pilot with a crew cut. The private quickly stood straight as a board and saluted.

"Sir! The HQ requests your help sir!" panted the private, "Colonel Kazansky Sir-"

"Yea, yea, I heard you the first time," answered Tom in an annoyed voice, "Alright kid, is the guy still on?"

"Sir, yes sir!" said the private, "He wishes to speak with you sir!"

"Very well," said Tom as he jogged down the hall to the transmission room, "Prep the other wraith pilots I have a feeling we have to go into battle."

With that, he jogged out of sight and into the room where a blown up version of a human face occupied the giant transmission screen.

"Tom! We need your help. Prep up the other wraith fighters and go down to the canyon where the Zerg were attacking earlier." said the figure on the screen, lips and face unmoving and yet, sound still emitted from the screen, "The Terran army that was sent earlier to meet the attacking Zerg force is starting to weaken. They need reinforcements."

"Alright, I'm on my way," yelled Tom at the screen as he ran back down the hallway to the hangar, "Consider it done."

The hangar door slid sideways with a swish and Tom stepped in.

"Hey everybody! Prepare your fighters, were goin out!" yelled Tom as he jogged over to his own ship. "C'mon guys hustle!"

Tom's upgraded CF/A-17 Wraith with extra thick armor plating and a dual burst laser mounted at the belly of the ship. The Wraith's Burst Laser's muzzle was upgraded to twice its normal aperture and capable of being fired in rapid succession, one after the other. The cloaking device was upgraded to suck up less energy from the main power supply. Tom and the twelve other elite pilots in his squadron were the best of the best. Each had ships far outclassing the others.

Tom jumped into the cockpit of the ship and shut the window with the touch of a button and turned the ignition key. The ship roared to life, antigravity thrusters humming and throwing out thick cones of flame. All around him the other ships in his squadron were doing the same.

"Alright! Let's rock and roll!" hollered Tom as he rocketed through the open hangar door, "Wooooohooooo!"

Chapter 3:

As Raynor arrived on the scene, he parked his bike a little while away from the battle. He whipped out his guns and jogged over, muzzles blazing.

All heads turned to meet this new addition to the battle. Was he friend or foe? What one side thought, was the opposite of what the other thinks.

"Alright you lousy alien scum!" yelled Raynor defiantly, "If you want Earth, then you gotta get through me!'

With that, he fired; sending a hail of bullets towards the enemy and shredding Zerglings with ease. Blood and guts splattered across the canyon walls, creating abstract paintings.

"O praise the lord!" murmured McGinnis as he tromped down the cliff, "Help has finally arrived!"

"Not now old man!" protested Raynor in between volleys of fire from the Zerg and himself, "Get back if you're not gonna do anything. Otherwise I could use some help here. C'mon what are you waiting -? "

"Sweet Mary mother of Jesus," said Raynor in a hushed tone and then a grin crept upon his face as he realized who that was, "Haha! Tom made it!"

Tom's elite Wraith squadron blazed past him overhead, burst lasers blaring and Gemini Missiles penetrating Overlord carapace. Explosions and howls of agony from the Zerg were growing every more frequent.

"Alright!" whooped Raynor as he marched forth once again, rifle muzzles blazing and bullets penetrating carapace, "We can win this thing!"

Within a half-hour, most of the Zerg forces have already been decimated from hundreds to tens. Raynor and Tom's squadron quickly destroyed those few that were left; leaving the landscape covered with bits and pieces of armor, Zerg carapace, guts and bones of the deceased: both Terran and Zerg.

"Oh man, this was one hell of a battle," awed Raynor as he surveyed the surroundings, "What happened?"

There was a muffled thump as Tom and his squadron set their Wraiths down for a landing. The cockpit window opened with a hiss and Tom hopped out and onto the ground.

"Yep, we sure made short work of this," said Tom, "Where's that general guy? I want to know what happened"

"Right here," said McGinnis, "I failed, I have failed to be victorious at this battle. I hid up in the cliffs to get help; I left my troops alone and without any guidance. I was too cowardly to assist, and therefore I do not deserve to be a General."

He leveled his handgun up to his head and cocked the trigger, shut his eyes and prepared to fire. Raynor rushed over and pried the handgun away from his hand, preventing him from ending his life.

"Hey! Watch it!" snapped Raynor, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm ending it all," said McGinnis in an eerily calm tone of voice, considering the fact that he was just about to kill himself, "I don't deserve to live, I was a coward, and I left my troops to die while I took shelter on top of the cliff."

"No! That is not the answer," said Raynor, "Don't always take the easy way out of things."

"But-"

"Killing yourself to prevent the shame that awaits you is even more cowardly," said Raynor in a stern voice, "You made a mistake once, and now you're gonna face up to it like a man."

McGinnis jerked, like he was slapped, as he realized that he was about to cover up a cowardly deed with one that was even more so. There was a moment of foreboding silence. Then, McGinnis spoke.

"You're right," said McGinnis, "I will face up to my mistakes like a man."

"Alright!" said Raynor enthusiastically, "that's the spirit!"

"Hey, if it's alright with you, I'd like to get going before reinforcements arrive," complained Tom, "I'd like to live to see tomorrow."

"You're right," said Raynor as he hopped on his Vulture, "Let's go! Come on old man, you too!"

Tom turned around to face his squadron; a smile plastered upon his face and spoke with a voice dripping with pride.

"Good job men!" said Tom, "You did good out here. If you do this all the time, it won't be long until one of you gets promoted. Now come on, get in your ships and let's head on home."

In the midst of Wraith engines roaring to life, the smaller but more high pitched sound of the Vulture engine could be heard as Raynor and General McGinnis sped away; shortly afterwards, Tom's squadron made a beeline towards HQ again. Back at the Starport, Tom parked his Wraith in the hangar once again. The cockpit window slid open with a hiss and a slight click as the hydraulics locked into place. Tom heaved himself up from the seat and stood up. Breathing a sigh of relief as he removed his helmet and turned around to see the others in his squadron doing the same. Suddenly, a wave of cheers hit as a other crewmembers ran up to greet and congratulate Tom and his squadron on his recent victory. It wasn't everyday you heard about Tom's famous squadron defeating a large Zerg invasion force; one of the crewmembers that identified himself as Jorge stepped up to Tom and shook his hand.

"Great job Tom," said Jorge as he patted Tom on the back, "Why don't you come to the party? We're celebrating your victory!"

"Yah, I'll come," Tom said gratefully, "I could use some recreation."

At that moment, the door to the hangar creaked open as Raynor and General McGinnis staggered in. They stood in the doorway for a few seconds, gasping and panting deeply, and then they both collapsed upon the floor, unconscious. Pandemonium broke loose as the crewmembers rushed to their aid. A sea of hands reached in for them and hoisted them to the table. Raynor's armor in tatters; the helmet was the only part, not severely damaged. Even that had spider web cracks all around. General McGinnis was in worse condition; he had several deep cuts along his arm, oozing blood and only just beginning to coagulate. There was a gash along his eyebrows that was dripping blood down to his closed eyelids. The dirt and grease stained faces of both Raynor and McGinnis suggested that they had crashed somewhere as a result of some sort of attack.

"Hey! Somebody call a Medic!" bellowed Tom into the halls, "Raynor needs help! Get a Medic."

"Raynor's specialized Vulture couldn't have crashed due to mechanical failure," suggested one crewman, "He always maintenance it every week, making sure to keep it in tip-top condition!"

There was a large commotion that resulted from this statement. There was a groan that was barely heard and then Raynor snapped open his eyes and abruptly jerked up. Tom rushed over and gently pushed him back down again.

"Hey, take it easy," coaxed Tom, "You were hurt, now you gotta rest!"

Raynor tried to sit up once again, but gave up when the pain hit again. He breathed a sigh of frustration and slumped down again on the bed. Meanwhile, McGinnis had still not stirred from his deathbed. Down the halls, Raynor could hear the faint clanking of armored footsteps. They grew louder and ever more articulate as they drew closer. All who heard, turned to see what was happening, which started a chain reaction that eventually had everyone's gaze fixated upon the hallway where the approaching footsteps made its home. Seconds later, a suit of bright white had appeared, bearing a striking resemblance to the Marine HES suits. A brilliant red cross was painted in the center of the chest plate, signifying that this was a Terran Medic, a unit who's sole purpose was to heal the other organic units. These miracle workers can fashion a new leg from a shattered torn stump. Their only weapon is a small grenade launcher that fires small packages that detonate on impact, sending a brilliant flash of light and thus blinding the adversary. The Medic abruptly turned and snapped a salute.

"Medic prepped and ready," said the Medic in a cheery tone, "State the nature of your medical emergency."

"Raynor was hurt," began Tom as he stepped away from the table and motioned for the Medic to come closer, "It might be because of the explosion of the Vulture."

"I see," said the Medic in a thoughtful tone, "Well, I guess ill just have to take a look now won't I?"

Chapter 4:

The Medic proceeded to hunch over Raynor and examined him from head to toe and stood up once again.

"He appears to have been wounded by claws," reported the Medic, "You had said that Raynor was hurt in the accident because of the Vulture. However, based on my observations I believe that the initial attack is what led to the Vulture accident. Otherwise Raynor in his armor wouldn't have been injured that badly."

"Hm." pondered Tom, "Perhaps you're right, that does make sense. We can hear the first hand report from Raynor himself after you fix him up."

"Right away," said the Medic and got to work fixing up Raynor, "This shouldn't hurt."

The Medic, reached down into her frontal pack, and pressed a button. The altered gamma-theta waves emitted by the machine began to travel through the steel fiber optics cables that ran from the box to the glove. Although no one was sure of the origins of the Medic, the previous pilot of the Magellan science vessel, Ferdinand, discovered the healing gamma-theta rays. While on an away mission to a distant planet, the ship was badly damaged due to a plasma surge in the atmosphere. Unfortunately, while the ship was repairable, Ferdinand wasn't. He painfully crawled up to a large boulder and leaned his back on it; all the while thinking he was going to die as well as hatching plots to escape from the planet. Although he knew that the Science Vessel was repairable, he was too badly wounded to fix it. After a few minutes he fell into the clutches of a deep sleep; when he woke up, he was surprised to find that he wasn't hurting and aching anymore. At first Ferdinand was confused; his scans had showed no form of life on this planet, and yet, somebody must have healed him. He wandered for days, living on his reserves and looking for the Good Samaritan's village or hut, but to no avail. Later, he stumbled back upon the rock that he was sleeping on before, and proceeded to do just that. When he woke up, he was surprised to find himself healed and free from the hunger and headaches. He reached a conclusion that there was something about this rock that could heal.

The marvelous implications that this discovery would have on modern Terran life would be astounding. He immediately set his mind upon fixing his vessel, since all science vessels had spare parts within one of the three external pods, it did not take very long. At once, the scanners hummed and buzzed, indicating some form of radiation within close vicinity. Ferdinand was alarmed, and quickly shut the door of his vessel and began to calculate the exact location of the source. Yet again, he was surprised to find that it was the rock that had been emitting the radiation; it was the reason that he was still living. Ferdinand used the crane to hoist up the boulder and brought it into the cargo hold. He set off at once back to Earth; on the way, he figured out a way to harness its power and even figured out how to manufacture this form of radiation from scratch. Months of travel later, he had already discovered ways to have a small machine to produce the radiation in concentrated amounts, to speed up the healing process. He arrived home to find himself already famous, and when he demonstrated the new apparatus, he was made an instant celebrity. However, he had never intended his discovery to be used in war; the Medic unit was founded based on the discovery of Ferdinand Magellan XXV. The Medic unit was founded based upon the principal of healing soldiers during war, to allow them time to fight and maybe make a difference in the battle.

The Medic's gloved hand started humming as the gamma-theta rays reached the glove and glowing with an angelic halo. She hovered her glowing hand above Raynor's head, and the wounds healed with lightning speed, disappearing without a trace. Her hand moved up and down Raynor's body, to each wound individually. Each time having the same effect, wounds closed up as if they had never been. If this was merely the outside work, imagine what was happening on the inside. Then she moved onto McGinnis and after a few more moments, the Medic stood up again.

"Well, its all done," said the Medic, a smile stole its way across the Medic's face as she saw that Raynor had falling asleep while she was treating him and laughed, "He'll be fine once he wakes up."

With that, she picked up her supplies, snapped a salute and clanked her way back into the hallways. Soon after the Medic left, Raynor's eyes fluttered open again. He unleashed a mighty yawn and sat up again; after a second or so he realized that he didn't feel like he was ran over by a Siege Tank. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and surveyed his surroundings.

"Wha-? Where am I?" queried Raynor, "How did I get here?"

"Relax Jim," said Tom, "You're at the Starport you got hurt pretty bad. You staggered into the door carrying McGinnis and collapsed. Care to tell us what happened?"

Raynor snapped alert at once. He looked around frantically as if searching for something.

"McGinnis; where is he?" demanded Raynor, "Where is he?"

"Relax! It's alright," said Tom, "He's right next to you. He'll be fine once he wakes up. Now tell us what happened!"

"The Zerg," said Raynor in a testy tone, "That's what happened, the Zerg."

"What about the Zerg?" asked Tom growing more curious with every sentence Raynor said.

"Remember after the battle? You and your squadron flew off in one direction and I rode to the other?" Tom nodded his head in agreement and motioned for Raynor to finish, "Well, you were in the other direction and probably didn't see what I saw. That, or you didn't notice it."

"Notice what Raynor?" snapped Tom, "You're not making any sense!"

"I'm getting there." said Raynor and after a moments pause, continued, "I didn't see it until it was too late. A massive Zerg Hive Cluster, Units swarming around the base, patrolling for enemies. Drones busily buzzing and humming around the mineral deposits and using their claws to scratch away pieces of minerals and carry them back to the Hive."

"What!?" yelled Tom in shock and disbelief, "Zerg? Here? On the planet?"

"Yes, Tom," said Raynor in a annoyed voice, "If you would stop interrupting me at every sentence I would have told you by now. Anyway, I ran into the Cluster by accident. I saw the Cluster way before, but the airbrakes didn't take effect in time and skid into the Cluster on the Creep. Only to find myself face to face with twelve Zerglings and a Hydralisk. Quickly, I started the motor and high tailed it outta there. But they caught up and started attacking. The Bike was totaled in minutes, but managed to take out five Zerglings before it gave way and blew up, Spider mines with it."

Raynor paused to see if Tom was going to interject and seeing no response, decided to keep speaking. "I hid behind a rock and readied my weapons. Then, I came charging at the band of Zerg forces with guns blazing and muzzles flashing. I wiped out the Zerg before they knew what hit 'em. I didn't notice the burrowed Zerglings until it was too late. All of a sudden, there was the sound of dirt caving in upon dirt, and the growls of Zerglings as twelve more circled themselves around me. I took out a few easily, but they overwhelmed me by sheer numbers. I ended up beating them of course, but not without sustaining heavy damage myself."

Here he motioned to his tattered armor, emphasizing his point. Then, all heads turned to the windows as a distant rumbling proceeded to roll over the earth towards the Starport. A dark wall of shapes barreled towards them, humming, growling, and screeching. Large foreboding shapes floated overhead of the rumbling army. As they drew closer the frightening shapes of the Zerg units could be seen. The army of the bat-like Mutalisks, elephant Ultralisks, dog-like Zerglings, crab-like Guardians, Defilers and the snake-like Hydralisks bore down closer and closer. The massive Zerg swarm looked more determined and frightening than ever, eyes glowing red and foaming at their mouths.

"Oh shit!" yelled Tom as he slammed his fist on the table and started to run to the hangar again, "How the hell did they find us? We're in the most secluded spot on this planet! It isn't visible from the ground and nobody can find it unless they knew the exact location. We don't have any defense besides the wraiths! Shit!"

He was already in the doorway, then, he stopped suddenly and whirled around. He bore his laser stare at Raynor who responded with a questioning look. Tom ran to Raynor's shed armor and started searching; mumbling about something he ripped apart circuit boards and looked in and out of the visor. He rummaged through the arm and leg sections and suddenly stopped; he began to grope around the surface of the leg section and yanked something out. A piece of fleshy material with tentacles on the bottom, wiggling and squirming: green, riddled with veins and throbbing rhythmically each time spewing out a miniscule amount of white spores. Tom held it up to the light and a look of triumph plastered upon his face.

"Aha! So that's how they found us!" said Tom as he ran to the window and yanked it open, "It's a Zerg Parasite from the Queen, it spews out spores that the Overlords can sense. If I throw it out the window, it might distract them. However, it might be too late, its been on Raynor's armor for so long, and Raynor has been here for so long. There might be a residual scent oozing from this Starport."

With that, he threw it out the window and watched it float down to the ground, 400 vertical feet below. Tom turned around and with a solemn face and sighed. "Only time will tell what will become of us," said Tom in a grave tone, a tone that had the feeling of impending doom and ran towards the hangar once again. His squadron dutifully followed close behind while Raynor attempted to follow and realized that he did not have any armor. He then proceeded to motion towards the nearest staff member.

"Hey you, you got any spare armor and weapons?" he asked as he grabbed the shirt of the nearest staff member whose nametag read Joe, "I gotta go out there and help them. I can't stand sitting around while others do the work for me."

"Uh, I can't remember any that we have in spare offhand," began Joe, "But I can go look around. You want to come?"

"Sure," said Raynor, "Two people working gets it done faster."

"Alright then, follow me." Said Joe as he led Raynor to the storeroom, where all the armor is or was kept. "Perhaps we might find a spare one anyway."

Meanwhile.

Tom and his squadron had already prepped the fighters and were heading out to confront the Zerg. Engines roaring and exhaust flames blazing, the Wraith squadron zoomed outwards and into the fray.

"Alright guys, listen up," instructed Tom, "Here's the plan: We take out the Overlords with quick passes, aim your missiles to the sides so they pop right open. Once all the Overlords are gone, run away cloak, and come back for a second pass. Remember: Hit Hydras and any air-borne units first; Overlords are priority one. Worry about Zerglings and Ultralisks later."

"Instructions received," stated one of the pilots, "coordinates locked in, and preparing to execute."

Beeps and clicks reverberated through the cockpits of the Wraith fighters.

"Alright," said the pilots in unison, "Ready to execute, on you mark commander."

"Ok!" shouted Tom as he gunned the engine and the Wraith roared ahead, "GO!"

Tom quickly selected the Gemini Missiles by flipping the secondary weapons switch, locked onto the nearest Overlord and fired a volley. The missiles exploded on impact and tore a gaping hole within the sides of the Overlord. A greenish gas began to leak out and the Overlord began to implode upon itself and sunk to the floor. Without the buoyant effects of the gas, Overlords are unable to support themselves or float above the ground, and will sink. The sheer weight of its carapace pushing down upon its vital organs will eventually suffocate it. The gas also has an unfortunate reaction to fire, when sparked at the right place and the right mixture, it will explode, and killing the Overlord.

"Woohoo!" gloated Tom as he roared past the others overhead, "One bogey down!"

Overlords were popping and exploding everywhere, spewing noxious gas and splattering blood everywhere. Grunts and groans of fear from the dying Overlords rolled across the sky like barrels. The powerful Gemini Missiles combined with the excellent ships and piloting skills of Tom and his squadron quickly rendered most of the overlords useless. The constant presence of loud booms rendered most hearing useless. The pilots had to rely on their sight and sensors only for the duration of the battle. Without their sense of hearing, they would never notice if enemy sensors detected them. The battle was going well, even though Tom and his squadron were out numbered 7 to 1. Suddenly Tom noticed another Overlord on the horizon; one twice the size of all the others.

"Hum." mused Tom, "Must be the famed Yggdrasil..."

Then he realized that the only hope of winning this battle is to take out the channel, the go-between, the switch that relays messages between overlords and the Cerebrates. The sole Overlord able to posses such abilities within the entire Zerg swarm: Yggdrasil. Without him all the Zerg forces out of reach of a Cerebrate's zone of influence will go crazy. Without any thing to regulate their body functions, their thoughts they would eventually die, either killing themselves or having something else kill them in sheer madness.

"Ha Ha!" thought Tom as he gunned the engines, rocketed forward and targeted the Overlord, "If I take Yggdrasil out, we just might win this thing!"

Chapter 5:

Burst Lasers blazing and Gemini missiles exploding, Tom fired volley after volley at Yggdrasil, only to succeed in annoying the giant floating carapace. Tom had one more chance, to channel energy from his engines into a burst from the laser cannon. He quickly made the nessicary adjustments to the cannon's configuration and gunned the engine. He waited as the point of energy focused on a single point the size of a pin, concentrated to immense proportions, glowed white and buzzed with energy. The very effort shook and vibrated the ship, Tom's teeth rattled as he fought to gain control once again. Warning lights flashing and buzzers sounding, Tom's ship was filled with warnings, and yet, Tom still held on, charging the laser for as long as he could hold it. The point of light now grew to ten times its normal size and glowed blue; the targeting pointer locked onto the head of Yggdrasil.

"Yeah!" whooped Tom through rattling teeth, "Let's see if this overlord can take this! Haha!"

With that statement, the targeting pointer blinked red and locked into position. Tom flipped the cover off of the joystick and pressed the red button underneath. Suddenly the point of light expanded rapidly to a hundred times normal, arcs of supercharged energy electricity splayed across the ball of light. Tom pressed the button again and braced himself for the impact. The glowing ball suddenly was flung forward at staggering speeds, Tom's ship was hurdled backwards, somersaulting and rocketing out of control. The explosion that resulted was tremendous, it could be heard halfway across the border. When the smoke cleared, Tom was as surprised as anyone at the result. Yggdrasil had a hole in his side the size of a doorway, and yet was still alive and well. The little hole quickly regenerated and all that was left was a little dent in the side of its carapace, however, otherwise no visible damage.

"Son of a." muttered Tom through clenched teeth, "How? How? How did he do that?"

Suddenly he had an idea, an idea that could turn the tides of the battle in their favor."

"If one of those charges could do that, while my regular Missiles and Lasers didn't even scratch it, imagine what it could do if all the squadron ships linked in this." suddenly Tom's eyes brightened as he figured out a way for the idea to be feasible, he switched the intercom and shouted, "All ships! Report to my coordinates immediately!"

"Aye aye captain," came the reply, "On our way."

Mere seconds later, the squadron converged on Tom's coordinates.

"Alright, I have an idea that may win this battle for us," began Tom, There's a good chance it won't work but are you willing to take a chance if this plan does work, the battle is ours!"

All crewmembers agreed without hesitation, they were, through years of watching the Colonel and trusting him completely. Tom then relayed the basic outline of his plan.

"You all know how to channel power from the engines to your lasers right?" asked Tom, "This is a crucial part of the plan."

Again, the unhesitant reply came through.

"Alright, channel power to your Burst Laser cannons into a single convergent point," began Tom, "All of you form a semi-circle around a single point. Concentrate your energies into a single point together forming a Minimato attack. I read it in Scientific Terran Weekly, something bout Magellan's discovery. I will provide the final kick with my own laser."

"Aye aye, sir," came the responses, "Commencing operations."

Almost immediately after the statement, twelve red laser beams all converged in a single point in the center. The energy supplied by the ships pooled into a single ball and grew larger and ever more threatening with every second past. Tom began to charge his own laser at the tip of the cannon. Crackling and seething, the ball of energy grew and changed colors from red to blue to orange to white. Jagged arcs of energy splayed across the surface of the ball, still it grew larger. All the ships began to shake and quiver from the immense power sapped from the engines.

"Alright, good job," encouraged Tom through rattling teeth, "It's almost ready, hang in there!"

The cackling ball of energy on Tom's ship grew to match that of the combined beams of the other ships.

"Alright!" yelled Tom, "On my mark! Release your beams and let the ball float on its own power."

Tom waited a few more seconds.

"NOW!"

The other ships cut of the beams and let the ball float freely. The sizzling ball of white-hot energy bobbed up and down with each arc of plasma spewed out. Tom fired his own ball of energy directly into the other; the result was a melding of the two spheres and a tremendous push forward. The melded spheres traversed in a smooth line towards Yggdrasil with frightening speed. The Overlord's eyes grew wide with shock as the burning white ball of cackling energy shot towards him, casting a shadow upon his eyes and blinding him in the same moment. Then at last, the Minimato crashed into the side of Yggdrasil's carapace, tore a gaping hole and exploded on contact with the other side. Shockwaves shot out from the explosion core, light and heat so intense, it incinerated everything on contact for a mile radius and freezing shadows on walls for centuries to come then vaporizing whatever cast it. The giant Overlord detonated with a violent shower of blood, guts and fireworks: nearly painting the floor red.

"YEAH!" whooped the pilots, "YEAH! WE DID IT!"

"NO! Not so fast," warned Tom, "The Zerg are going crazy! Look! Get out of here! NOW!"

"But captain!" protested the other pilots, "What about you?"

"No!" replied Tom heroically, "I'll stay behind and back you guys up. Now GO!"

"Very well Captain," said one pilot with sadness dripping from his voice as he gunned the engines away, "I wish you the best of luck."

"Yeah the same goes for the rest of us."

"Yeah"

"Good luck Tom!"

"Thanks," said Tom mildly regretting his decision, "Now get out of here."

Soon their ships were only dots and still shrinking with every second.

"Thank you," whispered Tom as he cut off the communications towards his other pilots, "Thank you for everything."

With that, he charged into the fray, giving it all he's got. Thankfully, due to the chaotic-ness of the environment, Tom was able to take many of the units out.

"Hey," thought Tom, "I might actually live through this."

Suddenly, several foreboding screeching shapes appeared on the horizon. Short bat-like wings plastered on the sides of this creature kept it afloat without any visible movements. Another overlord added to this new threat. Tom jerked his head over to the window.

"What the hell is that?" asked Tom.

The shapes grew larger and more frightening and still, the delusional Zerg below fought like there wasn't a tomorrow.

"Shit," muttered Tom, "Gotta take those things out. Might be Scourge."

Tom turned his ship around and aimed the targeting circle. Sweat beaded on his brows as the targeting circle bleeped around the screen and finally locked into place. He flipped the switch on the flight-stick and the Gemini Missiles rocketed out of the bays and zoomed towards the approaching Zerg. Just as the projectiles were about to collide and annihilate the enemy a sudden wind shift threw the missiles out of alignment. The twin missiles branched outwards, narrowly missing the two adversaries and sailed away harmlessly.

"Damn it!" cried Tom as the blinking light overhead signified that the missile bays were empty, "Shit."

Still, the Scourge approached the lone Terran ship, neither wavering nor giving it any second thought. Below, Needle Spines scrapped away armor and pierced the wings of Tom's Wraith. Red warning lights flashed all around accompanied by blaring sirens filled the cockpit. Ricocheting Glave Wurms bounced around the battlefield like jumping beans. One glanced the side of Tom's ship, sending it careening to the side. Further ahead, the Scourge gave chase, eager to sacrifice its own life to do as the Overmind bids.

"Shit!" said Tom, "They're still following me!"

Tom jerked the joystick and ignited the thrusters. The pale blue flame blazed out in a jagged cone, sputtered and then died out.

"Damn it!" cursed Tom, "Of all the times my engine had to break down.this had to be the day!"

The twin Scourge ate up the distance between Tom's ship and them with frightening speed. The fear that engulfed Tom was unlike any he has ever experienced. He was trapped in the greatest Wraith ship ever built by the Terran Dominion, with empty missile bays and a shot engine. The pride of his life, the one thing that he loved more than anything, the only thing, which he was distinguished from other pilots, was about to become his tomb.

Tom frantically pressed the ignition button one more time. The flame once again blazed to life, sputtered and died out again, leaving a trail of smoke to float gently upwards towards the sky.

As a final attempt, Tom banked the ship sideways and aimed the Burst Laser at the closest Scourge and fired. He crossed his fingers in hope that it would hit. Then, success! The closest scourge Tom managed to barely eliminate, and even then the resulting explosion shook up his control. The precise instruments and readings filtering out of them suddenly became garbles of information.

"Damn it!" cursed Tom again as he slammed his fists against the console in a futile attempt to gain a coherent response out of it, "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

He looked up, and saw another scourge bearing towards him. No morale, no regrets, no thinking- that was what made the Zerg such a dangerous race. And the scourge that was about to take his plane down was the epitome of this race's philosophy. A look of horror filled Tom's face as he struggled to bring the wraith around to counter it.

Too late.

Its eyes bulging and skin stretched to its limits and the pulsating green veins running through its body suddenly appeared in the corner of his view screen. Suddenly a bloody green and red explosion filled his console. He fell back, hands covering his face. When he next looked up, the damage indicator announced in a weird calm, collected voice that his right wing had been severed. The only thing on his view screen was the rocky desert ground, approaching quickly.

All around him was flame and smoke. Twirling, spinning, and with no stability whatsoever, his ship rushed to meet the ground - a solid wall racing towards the same collision point: him. Fire and smoke spewed from the broken wing and left a burning trail of smoke to follow the ship downwards.

"Great," sighed Tom as he plummeted down.

Then suddenly, a blinding white flash.

Chapter 6:

All around notes slowly trickled out of the trumpets surrounding the hangar. Rows of marines, medics, and other pilots in full armor gathered around the sides of the hangar surrounding a large black box. It was on this day, June 23, 4002, great hero, great pilot, best friend to Jim Raynor, that Tomas Kazansky pass away. Tom's personal elite squad of pilots was unable to recover the remains of the great and selfless hero. A coffin that was made in his honor was made from the recovered remains of his ship, wasted neo-steel melded into a metal box as a final memory of Tom. Upon this box, was his name, transcribed in flowing golden letters and the date of death. It was in the flagship Orion, that the final farewells were being held for the deceased idol.

Those who have gathered there, ranged from friends, commanders, people that knew him and Medics that treated him during battle. Most were gazing at the floor and holding back tears, as if trying desperately to discover something new to focus on instead of the overwhelming trauma of losing a friend; still others were standing ridged as a board, holding a silent salute towards Tom's coffin, eyes watering and staring blankly into space, a final farewell to this great hero whom all loved and respected.

It was time to say the eulogies. Suddenly, a voice, sounding sad and choked, as if attempting to hold back tears, echoed throughout the hangar. Heads turned to find the source of this voice. Moments later, the voice was identified as belonging to a pilot, Tom's right hand man, the best in the entire elite squad.

"Nobody could have loved and respected Tom as much as I could have," said the pilot, "Tom was one of the best of the best, he never gave up, not in any situation. Even if the odds were stacked against him. Tom was the most persistent man that I have ever known. He was a great hero that saved many, and worked hard for the cause. He was kind and gentle to others. He was harsh and merciless to his enemies. He was my friend."

With that statement, he sat back down, in the top row of the hangar seats amongst the other pilots in Tom's squadron. The eulogies went on for a couple more times, until the Orion reached its destination: A nearby nebula in which Tom's soul could drift freely, without any fears, without worry and without a care in the world. There was a sudden lurch, as the Orion fired its retro-thrusters and stopped. The hatch of the hangar slowly opened, revealing a stunning display of swirling colors. Reds, blues, purples, greens, all swirling and pulsating with a splendid beauty. Although the space faring travelers have grown accustomed to space, none can ever get used to seeing such an astounding phenomenon. All the mourners gazed up to watch in awe and then snapped a salute as the coffin of Tom Kazansky was slowly ferried out of the door and into the cold blackness of space. Only when the hangar door closed did the mourners relax their salute, and let their hands drop to their sides once more.

One by one, they silently filed out and back to their stations. Mournful looks still plastered to their faces, refusing to leave. The death of Tom was a great blow to the morale of the crew. To think, that such a great hero, pilot and person, could just die, without any warning and without any consent. Furthermore, even offered to sacrifice his own life, to save the ones he loved and cared for. It was truly a tragedy, one to be remembered forever and one to scar the minds of all who bore witness to such an event; it was also fuel for the crew and the entire human race to continue this battle. As Captain DuGalle returned to his post, he stood by the front view screen, his reflection broadcasting his solemn look for all to see. He slowly removed his cap, placed it over his heart and bowed his head. With a tear streaming down his cheek he uttered one final prayer to this great hero who sacrificed all for the greater good.

"Tom, we will always remember you." Prayed DuGalle almost shuddering with every word spoken, "Your efforts will not be in vain. We will make sure to continue this war. We will win. We will make those Zerg pay for what they did."

Then, he shouted aloud towards the blackness of space as if he thought his mere voice would carry his message for all eternity and to all the Zerg forces. It was a message filled with emotion, it was a message for all to hear.

"Mark my words filthy Zerg scum! Actions like this will NOT be tolerated! Actions that require grave sacrifices on our part! We will make you pay! To hell with you all!"

After that day, space seemed a lot colder, a lot more hostile.

Meanwhile back on the battlefield.

"OH HOLY SHIT!" yelled Raynor as five Glave Wurms were hurtled in his direction. He quickly ducked behind a rock and successfully avoided most of the attack. However, one of the Glave worms ricochet off the surrounding canyon wall, sliced a giant gash in Raynor's suit, and bounced away into the lush green forest, slicing trees down and scattering any birds that haven't already fled in its wake. "Damn it. almost hit my main servo controls."

Raynor turned around to see where the Glave Wurms went. He could see the three-pronged object slice through trees like a hot knife through butter, carving a three-foot wide patch deep into the forest. Sounds of falling timber and snapping branches masked almost all other sounds, save death screams of Zerg units.

"Wow." said Raynor in astonishment, "I'd better watch it."

He then took out his C-20 Impaler and took aim at the nearest Hydralisk. The red laser pointer hovered around the head as Jim took more careful aim. The crimson dot squabbled for a while around one central point, and suddenly locked into place. Jim squeezed the trigger, and immediately 30 lead spikes hurtled from the muzzle tore into its carapace and ripped through its skull and disintegrating its brain within an eye-blink. The Hydralisk, without its brain, wriggled around for a while from delayed reactions and then fell down with a slump, never to rise again. The reason? Some of the Zerg physiology resembles a chicken's; the delayed reaction to death is a characteristic almost unique to it. Jim continued sniping away with his Impaler rifle, aiming at the most potentially harmful adversaries. But in the midst of the heated battle, Raynor didn't notice the Lurkers that snuck up on him. They burrowed a mere 20 feet from his location.

Suddenly, Raynor heard the growling of a stray Zergling. The Zergling inadvertedly betrayed the Lurker's position as Raynor turned to fire at the new adversary. Stray spikes penetrated the ground and tore up some of the Lurkers as well as the Zergling. Remarkably the Lurker being hit stayed silent until its carapace could not take it any longer and burst apart with a shower of blood and spikes. At the sound of their brethren's demise, the other Lurkers were triggered into a death response: a sort of automated vengeance response. They unleashed a molten river of spikes that raced towards Raynor; he barely had enough time to dodge.

"Damn it!" He cried as the first wave of spikes tore most of his suit into shreds, "Shit!"

Then, the second wave hit. The spikes connected dead on with his suit. There was a sickening crunch and Raynor sunk into a blissful world of black and into the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness. Luckily the Lurkers must have thought their foe dead and quickly Unburrowed and shuffled away, leaving his "corpse" to the other ravenous Zerglings or Hydralisks.

Suddenly his head helmet radio fuzzed alive. A voice spoke into it, only broken bits and pieces came through the static.

"Raynor.you. hurt? Those.force.strong.you.ok? .Over." There was a slight pause to let Raynor respond however when he got none, the voice inquired again. "Raynor?.You.ok? Raynor?.Raynor!"

Little did he know that Raynor wasn't about to answer until some while afterwards.

Chapter 7

Jim awoke to a rustling in the woods behind him and a pounding headache. He propped himself up against the rock and sluggishly whipped his gun around and cocked the trigger.

"Who goes there?" managed Jim through his headache and assorted bumps, bruises and broken bones, "Show yourselves!"

Almost at once, there came a mighty rustle of the bushes and another alien made its presence known. It was a Protoss warrior, the Zealot: the noblest of the entire race. It dedicates itself solely to the well being of their home planet: Aiur. Towering at almost 8 foot tall and armed with long wicked looking psionic powered blades at its forearms. An unbreakable blade always at the ready, the Zealot is a powerful adversary. With gleaming golden armor creaking, the Zealot closed in on Jim. The glowing shield cackled around its entire body as it walked towards Jim and held out its hands as a symbol of peace. Psionic blades retracted and shield lowered, it attempted to establish communications. But what puzzled Jim the most, was the chip on its right shoulder piece. It seemed highly unlikely to him that a warrior of such nobility would leave a tarnish like that on its fine armor.

"Greetings, Terran." Attempted the Zealot in a gruff and slightly reverberating voice, "I, am Xenit, Commander-in-Chief of a Protoss exploratory base established in a remote area not too far from our present location. Our observer observed a massive Zerg force within the area and I was sent to investigate."

Then it cocked its head sideways and stared at Raynor's injuries. As if Xenit just noticed them. He then spoke again with a puzzled look on his face.

"What happened there?" Asked Xenit as he pointed at the wounds. "Do you require any medical assistance?"

Raynor looked at Xenit as if he was the dumbest thing alive and answered in an annoyed tone.

"You remember your Zerg buddies that the Observer picked up?"

"Yes."

"Well I had a little run in with about half their force."

"Oh."

"This is what happens when you run into a Zerg army without knowing what your up against. Oh and you see all this red stuff flowing from my body?" Said Raynor as he pointed at his biggest wound.

"Yes." Xenit answered in a puzzled voice.

"Well, that's called 'blood' when you see any Terran that's oozing red stuff? It probably means they need IMMEDIATE medical attention. Don't you have any doctors or healers around?"

"Yes, we do. I shall require a moment to arrange a Recall from the main base to take you in."

Xenit spoke through the communicator mounted in front. There was a short conversation in a language that Raynor couldn't make out. Even if he could make it out, he doubted that he would be able to understand any of it. He looked happy when he spoke again with Jim.

"Good news Terran." Spoke Xenit, "You will feel the Recall shortly. Do not be alarmed, there maybe a slight tingling sensation when it first touches you. Followed by a brief moment of pain that only lasts about on eye blink's worth of time."

Raynor barely had any time to interject when the ball of pure blue energy surrounded him. True to his word, Raynor did feel a slight tingling sensation as the Recall shrank him and Xenit to microscopic proportions and hurtled them through Space and Time to be instantly transported to another location. Blackness is the only word to describe the entire trip. From shrinking to enlarging, it was mostly blackness. Then, blinding light shone through and Raynor felt a sudden jolt of pain that quickly vanished. The world that awaited him was remarkable. Shining majestic buildings dotted the landscape, everything from social purposes to heavy defenses. All around there seemed to be an endless hustle and bustle of activity throughout the complex. Blue shields surrounded all the buildings in a semitransparent haze of protection. The bigger the building, the stronger their shields appeared to be, glowing with a more vivid blue. Jim cautiously picked up a rock, and lightly chucked it at the nexus. The rock hit the shield with a cackling, sizzling sound that reverberated throughout the complex. There was a ripple effect as well, from where the rock hit, there was a white spot, and ripples of shielding distorted the view of the buildings inside. Immediately, the chosen response of nearly fourteen armed Zealots and Dragoons was to encircle Jim and ignite their psiblades and charge their phase disrupter cannons. Jim raised his hands in protest, and a broken argument started to pour out of his mouth. He was about to apologize for this misunderstanding, and also for his intrusion on another's' property. He was an invited guest, and he performed an act that is not recommended. Xenit raised his hands, and remarkably, the rest of the warriors obeyed and powered down their weapons and resumed normal task. Apparently he was telling the truth about being leader of this community.

"You should never perform acts that others do not wish you to perform." Stated Xenit, "I know you haven't been within a Protoss complex, and thereby do not have a full understanding of the customs. For one thing, NEVER touch something unless you are told to; and another -"

"But those shields are supposed to withstand heavy assault!" Protested Raynor, "Why would my tossing a little pebble at it make any difference? I mean really. that pebble hardly matches an attack from a Siege Tank."

"You do not understand!" Snapped Xenit, obviously pissed off, "The Protoss custom is not to disturb anyone else's belongings. Do you understand? The act that you preformed was a direct violation of that custom, a custom that had withstood for hundreds of centuries! Violating that custom is the same as a direct assault."

Xenit spoke again without letting Jim have his say.

"Please, try not to do that again? Next time I might not be able to hold them off. Consider yourself lucky this time." As an afterthought, he added, "Besides, it takes minerals and vespene gas to replenish those shields. Although your "attack" maybe insignificant, it might be the equivalent of a Broodling attack. That .5% of shield may mean the difference between victory or defeat. Holding the enemy off for even two seconds will be enough for reinforcement troops to arrive by recall. Holding the enemy off for any amount of time, IS significant, despite how insignificant it seems!"

Raynor opened his mouth to speak again, but on a second thought, decided against it. Instead he merely dismissed it with a slight wave of his hand. Xenit looked displeased, however not angry, he merely got up and left.

"You better not violate any more customs while I'm away." Said Xenit without even looking back, "I won't be there to stop them."

Raynor stood there and watched as Xenit's form dwindled away into the horizon, and suddenly disappeared. Jim scratched his head in wonder.

"Gee, these Protoss sure are a strange race." He thought to himself, "I hope I'll fit in."

Chapter 8: Raynor proceeded to wander around the camp, gazing at all the marvelous sights. Gleaming buildings that cast prisms on the ground when the sun hit the shields at the right angle. All the marvels and wonders just brought more fascination and amazement to Jim. Now he was determined to know more about this race. He turned and sat down at the nearest tree and fell into a fitful slumber. It was as if even the usually comforting grasps of sleep were displeased with him. He tossed and turned the entire night. Dreaming about the day's events and deciding what he could do as dawn arose. In the middle of the night, Raynor awoke suddenly, drenched in cold sweat. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and felt a sudden sharp pain that brought him back to reality.

"OW!" exclaimed Raynor at the sudden ache in his back, "Damn rock. now I'll never get back to sleep."

He picked up the rock and threw it in a backward overhand throw into the forest behind him. Suddenly he heard a menacing growl behind him. Raynor looked alarmed for a few seconds as he pondered at the source of such a sound.

"Bah. it's just a dog." deducted Jim after a few moments of thought, and then decided to try to fall asleep again, just as his eyelids were beginning to feel like rocks again. However, just has his head hit the ground, he jerked it back up again.

"Wait a minute." Sleepily murmured Raynor, "Come to think of it, I haven't seen a single animal here, much less a dog."

That thought jolted him wide-awake again. He stood up so quickly, that he had to sit back down and wait for the rest of his blood to catch up to his head. Jim stood there for a few seconds, dazed and woozy. Then he regained his composure and slowly shuffled away; at a distance that was predetermined to be far enough away from the sound, he broke into a flat out run.

"Oh shit!" panted Raynor, "That was probably a Zergling!"

When Raynor reached the town, he was surprised there was still anyone out here at this house; but then again, who wouldn't send out some night patrol when your camped out in the middle of nowhere. He addressed the nearest Protoss warrior who happened to be another Zealot.

"Uh, pardon me?" attempted Raynor.

"Yes?" answered the Zealot in a gruff tone.

"Err, I'm sorry to bother you, but I heard a voice that sounded like a Zergling -"

Jim was unable to finish his sentence when he was interrupted by the Zealot's fervor towards battle. Jim jumped back at least four feet to avoid being pierced by the now powered up Psi Blades of the Zealot.

"Zerglings? Where? Show them to me at once!"

"But, it only sounded like a Zergling, whether or not it was, I couldn't tell. I didn't get a good look at it." Protested Raynor, "It might be nothing at all, I mean, I only heard a growl."

"I. Don't. Care. Terran." Stated the Zealot in a serious 'do what I say or I'll kill you' type of tone, "If, there is any remote chance that the sound you heard was an enemy spy, we must dispatch of it. Immediately."

Jim opened his mouth again, as if to speak a thought, but decided against it again and decided on a different thought.

"Fine, I'll take you." Said Raynor, "But you better not be friggin pissed off at me if it's just a false alarm."

He trailed off as he noticed that the Zealot was hardly paying attention to him at all; with a sigh he pointed the way and started off in the direction of his finger. The Zealot with his leg enhancements was clearly faster than Jim would ever be, without any help from Stim Packs that is. The Zealot complained most of the way about not getting there in time, or Jim not being fast enough, even though he was flat out running. At last when they reached the place where Jim was sleeping earlier, he threw himself to the floor, chest up and panting for breath. Shakily lifting an arm towards the forest, he panted at the Zealot.

"It.s. that. way." Gasped Raynor through sheer exhaustion. "Check. 'round. them. bushes."

Then he gave up trying to stay focused and let his mind wander, while his body recuperated from the endeavor of running flat out, uphill, after only three hours of sleep the entire day and a heated battle the day before. The Zealot poked around in the bushes, pale blue Psi Blades singeing the edges of some of the leaves. Suddenly he stood tall, all eight and a half feet of him, and exclaimed to Raynor startling news indeed.

"Terran, I believe -" Started the Zealot but was rudely cut off by Jim

"Hey, this Terran has a name you know." Interjected Jim as he held out his hand, "The name is James Raynor, ex-marine turned marine again. But you can just call me Jim."

The Zealot just stared blankly at him, unable to comprehend this strange "Terran" behavior. Upon seeing the look on his face, Jim decided to elaborate.

"It's an old Terran custom to exchange names with a 'partner' before working together." Explained Jim, "To us Terrans, it just seems more friendly. Oh, and a handshake is customary greeting on any Terran inhabited planet."

"Very well," answered the Zealot in a confused, yet annoyed tone of voice, "It is my duty as a Protoss warrior to honor customs. Be it Protoss, Terran or even the Zerg, provided that the meeting was on a friendly basis."

There was a sigh emitted from the 'mouth' of the Zealot, or where the mouth should have been. By definition, a sigh requires a mouth however upon seeing none, Jim could only assume it was the Protoss equivalent of such. Then the Zealot thrust out his right hand, and powered down his Psi Blade on that arm only.

"I, am called Dargon." Stated the Zealot bluntly, "It is nice to meet you . Jim."

Jim simply smiled, stuck out his left hand and grasped Dargon's right hand. He shook it and then abruptly let go as a piercing eerie howl cut through the friendly silence. It was like nothing either of them ever heard: a wailing high pitched near screaming sound. It chilled both the spectators to the bone. Raynor broke out into a cold sweat and silently wished for a weapon, while Dargon's Psi Blades ignited and began to glow a bright green. Then, another more low and baritone voice rolled across the terrain and came to an abrupt stop.

"Shit!" exclaimed Jim, "What the hell is that?"

"Unknown," answered Dargon flatly, "However, the second one, was certainly a Protoss war cry. Thereby we must investigate."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" Jim muttered to himself. "Fine, but I need a weapon."

"No time Terran," said Dargon, "We must hurry. Make do with whatever you find on the floor."

Jim shook his head in silent frustration and finally sighed.

"Fine." said Jim as he started in the apparent location of the sound, "Let's go."

Jogging for nearly thirty minutes, they finally came across a brutal sight. Torn up tree trunks lying, scattered across a sixty foot diameter clearing and judging by the smoothness of some of the stumps and raggedness of others there must have been one hell of a struggle. The smooth cuts where most likely made with a powerful and sharp weapon, such as a Psi Blade, while the ragged ones was most likely cut with a incredibly powerful but not very sharp weapon. Most likely, a claw or a blunt sword. Gouges cut into the clearing created a maze of trenches, deep into the ground. But what surprised them the most were the small three clawed footprints that dotted the landscape but mostly concentrated near a large mound of leaves, twigs and mud.

"So what do you think it is, Einstein?" said Jim sarcastically

"Astonishing." Marveled Dargon clearly not paying any attention to Jim at all, "The only being that I know of that could have done this, would be a Protoss warrior. No other race, be it Zerg or Terran could have done such and leave as quietly and without a trace. However, I see many of these small footprints mingled with a scarce amount of Protoss prints."

Dargon bent down and retracted his Psi Blades. He extended a finger and poked at the nearest print and pulled back a glob of clear foam. Then he launched into a more thorough investigation of the surrounding after wiping the goo on his armor. He found some bluish purple fluid around on of the Protoss prints. He lifted it with one hand while igniting his Psi Blade on the other as a flashlight. The glow cast eerie shadows all around. All the while, Jim stood there, spellbound by the Psi Blade, he could never grow tired of seeing that: a weapon of pure psychic energy. A weapon that possessed such great beauty, and yet capable of great destruction. Finally, after literal minutes of deafening silence, the Protoss warrior finally spoke.

"Protoss blood." Shivered Dargon, "There was certainly a struggle between a Protoss warrior and another unknown foe."

Then there was a slight rustling of leaves coming from the pile of leaves and twigs. Then, there was a sudden light thud, and a gleam of light. The full moon overhead cast its light upon something shiny. Jim walked over to the forest and picked up the longest stick he could find and brought it back to Dargon.

"Hey buddy," cautioned Jim, "Get your blade things ready, there's no telling what the hell is under that pile of crap."

Dargon silently obeyed, and once again the eerily beautiful Psi Blades revealed themselves. Jim reached over and lifted a big hunk of debris off and flung it aside. What they saw underneath made them both gasp out loud.

Chapter 9:

It was a face, a beaten up, bruised and bloody face, but it was a face nonetheless. What surprised them even more, was the fact that it was a Protoss face.

"No!" cried Dargon in shock, "This cannot be! The leader of our entire force could not have succumb to merely one creature!"

Jim looked in confusion. He wondered how Dargon could tell that it was Xenit in such a short time, to him, all the Zealots looked basically the same, with some height differences. Jim then started to lift more of the debris off of Xenit, this time with his bare hands. Then he noticed the chip on the right shoulder piece, Dargon was right, this was Xenit: his friend, his guide and his teacher of the ways of the Protoss. It was another one of his friends lost in this meaningless war brought on mercilessly by the Zerg. To this day, nobody even knows why the Zerg are fighting: for what purpose? What do they hope to achieve? What are their objectives? Mysteries wrapped in mysteries wrapped in mysteries. None of which could be solved without risking unnecessary lives. The toll upon the already suffering Terran Dominion due to this war, would almost certainly crumble what was left.

"Is he dead?" asked Jim in a sad voice.

"No, I do not think so." Answered Dargon, "Protoss warriors, when they lose their spark of life, they merely spontaneously combust and vanish with a puff of blue smoke. Only when they lose their spark, does this happen. Even mortal wounds do not cause this effect unless the spark is lost. Therefore, I do not think that Xenit is dead yet, however I believe he requires medical -"

"No shit!" snapped Jim, "Stop wasting time. Call for a Recall or something. Anything. Just do something!"

"Very well."

Dargon pressed a button on his mouthpiece and spoke into it. The transmitter was loud enough so that Jim could hear both sides of the conversation.

"En Taro Adun Executor," Dargon began, "I wish to request a Recall for three beings into the Medicinal Wing of the Nexus."

"En Taro Adun Dargon." Answered the Executor, "I wish I could issue an Recall for you, but a Recall is hardly anything to be wasted on anything but the utmost important events -" Jim could hardly take it anymore; he burst over and shouted into the transmitter without Dargon's consent.

"Hey, we got a major problem here buddy," yelled Jim, "We got your. your. your leader of all forces in the exploratory base on this dirtball. Xenit is injured he needs this. Without him, the rest of the forces may lose morale -"

"What!?" bellowed the Executor, "Xenit? Xenit is injured? How? Who is this?"

"Cut the crap," answered Jim testily, "Who I am is of no importance. Get Xenit to a hospital and then we'll talk."

At that moment Dargon recovered from his stupor and pried Jim off his chest as if he weighed nothing at all and set him a few feet away. He spoke once again into the transmitter.

"I apologize," said Dargon, "That was my Terran comrade. Please pardon his insolence, he was not taught the Protoss customs. Hurry. Initiate a Recall."

Then there was silence as the Executor thought.

Silence.

Dreadful silence.

Suddenly, the voice cut in again, breaking the silence into a million little pieces.

"Alright. It will be done." Said the Executor before he cut off the com-link, "En Taro Adun."

Seconds later, the familiar blue light enveloped all three of the warriors: Jim, Dargon and Xenit. Then, blackness followed a moment of intense pain, followed by sight, glorious sight. They materialized within a close proximity to the Infirmary Wing of the Nexus, where a few Protoss "doctors" and "nurses" greeted them. They wheeled Xenit off on a stretcher into the door and slammed it shut behind them. Mere moments later, Xenit reappeared through the doorway, looking perfect as ever. Raynor stood with his mouth open dumbfounded as how Xenit could recover in such a short time. While Dargon on the other hand stood there with his arms folded across his chest and smiling. Xenit staggered across the hall to Raynor and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I want to thank you," began Xenit, "For saving my life. And for doing such, I suppose that a reward is necessary. I believe that's what you Terrans do in a time such as this one. Am I right?"

Raynor took a moment to recover from his stupor and finally managed to say a few coherent sentences.

"Well," said Jim awkwardly, "Yea, it is what is called for, but this was a favor to a friend. And that would mean that no -"

Then Xenit turned to Dargon and Raynor shut up, knowing that the Protoss general was no longer paying any attention to him at all. Despite Jim's denial to claiming his reward, in this compound, Xenit's words were treated as if God himself had spoken.

"And as for you," said Xenit, "You are to be promoted to the rank of 2nd in command of the troops stationed here. Report to my quarters tomorrow for a full briefing. You too Jim."

With that, he staggered out of the nexus and in to his private quarters in the Citadel. Jim looked at Dargon and saw that he was still beaming. This, he decided was a good time to ask any questions that he wanted to know.

"Err.Dargon," Started Jim, when Dargon turned in his direction he continued on, "Where is a place that I can possibly sleep without fear of getting attacked by something?"

Dargon looked puzzled. Perhaps the Protoss don't have to sleep. Either way Raynor was going to get a room in which to sleep without being hunted or killed.

"Sleep?" questioned Dargon, perhaps Raynor was right Protoss don't sleep, "What is sleep?"

"Never mind that," said Raynor, "Do you have a large mat that's soft?"

"Ah, a large soft mat," agreed Dargon, "Yes, I can point you to one."

"What about a empty room that I can bring that mat in?"

"Yes, I can point you to one of those too."

"Great. Take me to the mat first."

"Agreed, follow me."

With that, they left the Nexus and headed towards the Citadel. Upon entering this magnificent building of knowledge and peace, Dargon immediately spied a soft and large mat almost exactly to Jim's specifications. He hauled it out to Raynor who was waiting calmly outside for Dargon to emerge once again. Once outside, Dargon held out the mat to Raynor.

"Wow." Marveled Raynor, "You Protoss sure do have everything."

Dargon didn't say anything and just walked back towards the Nexus and into an empty room while Raynor followed.

"Ok," said Raynor, "Just put it down there."

Dargon did just that. The big mat landed with a resounding thump followed by an exceptionally large dust cloud that arose and floated calmly out the door and into the hallway. After Raynor recovered from a sudden fit of coughing he wiped away stray tears and flopped down on the makeshift bed. He rolled around a bit and finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Chapter 10:

At last, it was morning again. Morning: a time of rejoice, a time of peace, a time where nothing bad is ever expected to happen. This morning however, didn't want to follow the traditions. Jim awoke to a loud explosion outside the window and sat abruptly up in his makeshift bed. Suddenly the door burst open and Xenit stepped in and appeared very nervous.

"Hey, what's going on?" asked Raynor groggily.

"Hurry up Terran." Commanded Xenit, "Report to the armory for suit up. You are needed in the battle."

With that, he waltzed out of the room without even bothering to explain where the armory was. Jim stood up and called after Xenit.

"Wait!" cried Raynor, "Where's the armory?"

"Down the hall and to the right." A faint echo replied. "You cannot miss it."

Raynor sighed and shook his head. He got dressed and jogged over to the armory. As he peered from left to right he wondered how far down was he supposed to go. Then he came across a giant wooden double door with a silver sword crossed on each side. The doorway was embellished with gold and silver carvings that snaked all around.

"Humph," muttered Raynor as he opened the door, "Guess he was right. I can't miss it."

Then a blinding light so intense that Raynor's hands shot up to his face so quickly he barely had time to register the source. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized the source appeared to be a gigantic perfectly symmetrical, pyramidal shaped violet crystal. As Jim wandered in he wondered how such a crystal could emit so much light. Once in the immense room, the double doors closed behind him with a resounding thud. Raynor then noticed an abundance of Protoss Zealots going about their business hurriedly and without care to their surroundings. The décor of choice for the room appeared to be a giant blacksmith's shop. Jim flagged the nearest Zealot and inquired where he could get a suit of armor and some weapons. The Zealot merely pointed towards the top-right corner and continued on his way. Jim headed towards the corner and was nearly there when another Zealot who identified himself as Zentai: the head of the Forge asked if he needed anything.

"Uh, yeah," began Raynor, "I was instructed by Xenit to get a suit of armor and some weapons."

"Ah," said Zentai, "So Xenit sent you huh? Well, in that case, follow me."

He abruptly turned and headed towards the top-right corner while Raynor struggled to keep up. Jim nearly bumped the towering Zealot over when he stopped suddenly near a large closet of some sort. Zentai grasped the handle within his large hands and gave it a large tug. The door begrudgingly creaked open and revealed suit and suit of golden Zealot armor on vertical shelves. Zentai waved a hand towards the shelves and gestured for Jim to go in.

"Go ahead." Said Zentai, "Try some."

"Uh." began Raynor as he stared in the door but was abruptly cut off when Zentai slammed it shut. "Which one do I try."

Raynor sighed and gazed at the nearest suit of armor. It appeared to be the right size so he hefted it off the hangar and set it upon the floor. Jim, already panting from the effort sat down and picked up the metallic boot and began to force it on. Then he stopped as he wondered if he should wear the armor with or without clothes. He mused over this for more than two minutes before finally deciding that he should wear it with clothes and continued to coax the boot onto his feet. Then he began to put on the rest of the armor and tried to stand up. He quickly toppled over with a loud clank. Jim clumsily rolled over and attempted to stand up once again, this time with a little more control. However, to no avail. The forces of gravity still took its toll and Jim fell over once again.

"Damn it," complained Raynor through panting breaths, "How the hell am I supposed to do anything if I can't even stand up!?"

He was about to continue his ranting but stopped when he felt a sudden tingling that coursed throughout his body. Raynor suddenly stopped moving, afraid that it might be a ruptured artery.

"Uh oh." said Raynor, "What was that.?"

He realized that he couldn't just stay here for the rest of his life. If anything, he should try to get up and report to the infirmary. Then, Raynor steeled his nerves and stood up rather abruptly and nearly toppled over backwards, landing rather sharply on his ass.

"What. what." said Raynor rubbing his backside, "What the hell just happened?"

Raynor attempted to stand up again, this time with slightly more caution than last time. He found it much, much easier to get up than before he had the armor on.

"Hey this is just like being on Stim Packs." Mused Raynor. "Perhaps this is the Protoss equivalent... I've always wondered where the Zealots get their tremendous strength. maybe this is how."

Raynor decided to test out his newfound strength. He glided to the nearest suit of armor and tried lifting it off. Raynor misjudged his suit's power and nearly threw the armor over his shoulder.

"Wow." was the only thing Raynor could manage to say.

He stood and flexed his muscles and decided that the armor was a good enough fit and glided to the door. Jim cupped his hands to the door and shouted.

"Hey," shouted Raynor, "I think I'm done. Are you going to open the door or should I?"

He waited a minute and heard no answer. Then he decided that he could not wait any longer and pushed open the door. He saw the "normal" hustle and bustle he saw when he first came in the door.

"Guess they couldn't hear me over all this noise." Thought Raynor to himself.

He then proceeded to find Zentai and ask him to show him where to find some weapons. Jim spotted Zentai hammering another arm-piece to a suit of armor and headed towards him. Jim stopped in front of Zentai's anvil and cleared his throat. When Zentai didn't respond, he tried clearing his throat again. When he didn't respond this time, he walked around back and tapped Zentai on the shoulders. The touch had a galvanic effect and Zentai dropped his hammer and stood up immediately. He slowly turned around and when he saw it was just Raynor, he relaxed somewhat.

"Well, how does it feel?" inquired Zentai.

"Feels just fine," answered Raynor, "Now where can I get some weapons?"

"Ah, that's where your wrong young Terran," said Zentai mysteriously, "You do not require any weapons other than your mind."

Jim, thoroughly confused by this statement merely cocked his head and raised his left eyebrow: he was used to the Terran customs of guns and missiles and physical weapons. Zentai upon seeing Raynor's distress followed up with a clarification sentence.

"What I meant to say, was that your mind is capable of being a weapon," said Zentai, "Do you remember the Psi Blades?"

"Yeah?" answered Raynor.

"Where do you suppose those Blades come from?"

"I assumed they were retractable blades built into the suit and merely invoked by thought."

"Ah, that's where you're wrong."

"Huh?"

"The blades themselves are nearly 100% pure psychic energy, the suit is merely a way of channeling the latent psionic energy from the mind and focusing it into one point. Only the most skilled of warriors can materialize the blades without the suit. Focusing the energy requires great patience and practice. However, I believe that you my son, maybe able to do so."

"I'm ready to do what?"

"Learn the ancient art of Psi Blades."

"But we don't got that much time! Come on I need some real weapons."

"Ah, but we do not make such weapons. Although I believe that it is certainly possible. Your Terran 'guns' we cannot make. You will have to make do with melee weapons until your psionic powers surface."

"Alright, fine. I'll give you plans for a weapon that I want made. Oh yea. and who exactly are we fighting anyway? It's been 15 minutes since the alarm was issued and I don't even know the race of our adversary."

"That is because we do not know either. The source and cause of the attack is still unknown. Perhaps because they are cloaked."

"But that's why you hail a detector."

"We did. One should be arriving soon."

"Alright. Ok, how about I draw you those plans?"

"Very well. If you wish."

"Oh, where can I find some pencils and paper around here?"

"Pensuls? Paper? What are those that you speak of?"

Raynor smacked the palm of his hand to his forehead in frustration. He sighed and tried to explain.

"A pencil is a wooden stick with a lead or graphite center. We Terrans use it as a form of communication, to jot down notes or ideas. As for paper, well that is the thing that we use the Pencil on. It's dried wood pulp flattened into a thin white sheet. Understanding all of this?"

"Oh, you require writing utensils? Why did you not just ask for some in the first place?"

Raynor started to smack the palm of his hand to his forehead again but stopped in mid-smack and merely dismissed it with a wave of his hand and a heavy sigh.

"Yes. That is what I require. Where can I find some of those?"







So he returns Just in time to save the day He makes a daring attack at the Zerg : Cutoff from contact with an overlord, After a while they die : Which makes them so hard to research : Terrans have discovered the Protoss : Method for research : Stasis fields : To research the Zerg : So they can efficiently do cutover : When Raynor gets rescued : By the Protoss : He brings back tech : The sketches for : Protoss : Stuff

Zerg rely on the high-energy state of Vespene gas to power their incredible metabolisms and fuel the accelerated growth of their larvae. The Extractor is essentially a giant organ that sits atop a Vespene geyser and packages the gas into small flesh-wrapped sacs that can be easily carried by Zerg Drones to a nearby Hatchery for absorption. Since the Extractor lives on Vespene gas itself, it does not need to be built on an area already covered in Creep.