Note: This is meant to be an Epistolary Novel; and is told through multiple perspectives; be they news reports, letters, journals, logs, or audio transmissions, and the like. The Chapters here are called 'Echoes' and the SubChapters are called 'Logues'
Prologue: The 21st Echo.
Cpl. Hick's Journal—Char, 2504.
'Fate.' When you're looking through your memories, asking yourself how you got there, the only reason you're still sane is the simplest and most comfortable answer—fate. Fate is the place we end up in; it's the quintessential consequence of our actions. In some of the old books that we've uncovered from our past—Earth—it was called 'Ka'. This Ka is a shapeshifter; I've noticed come in many forms; from places to people to things to our very own Banes. Ka is the sword that stabs us; the gun that shoots us, but it is also the laser-scalpel and the surgical sutures that heal us. In cases where our fates are places, let's just say that fate put Amy in the planet Haven. And yet I seem to feel that fate hates me—fate gave me a crash-course ticket to a Hellworld named Char. And when I say 'Hell' I mean it.
Imagine a whole world that's been burnt by a gigantic aerosol can and a liter; it was a collection of black soil, seas of lava, pools of lava, and tons of the good stuff—lava. Volcanoes were a typical sight in this landscape, and furthermore, every step of the way meant death. One wrong step and you'd be swimming in the good stuff. Ah, the good stuff.
But that was just the limbo circle of the inferno.
The 'Demons' in this hellworld were inhuman, spiny creatures that lived on the surface, and their 'hive mind' was particularly the reason why we were here. The Queen Bitch of the universe; the Queen of Blades. They were cal led the Zerg, and were the very reason why we still sleep with our lights on at night.
Tell me...to you who's readin' this. Do you think you're a hardass? A badass? An all-around tough guy? Well, if you are, you're glad to join us, Raynor's Raiders, on a one-hit suicidal expedition to Char! And then we'll throw you in CMC-400 Armor and pat you in the back as you and your Tough Guyness confront a whole swarm of these things.
Not so tough, huh?
We came from the Raider flagship, Hyperion, on a Quantradyne APOD-33 dropship, one of the oldies. This baby was present at Mar Sara, when the Zerg attacked, and it helped out on that Desperate Alliance. Inside, strapped on to the hull were us; the soldiers—me, in this infernal machination; a CMC-400 suit; our resident Ghost; Alexandra, and of course, our star, Nicholas 'Blackjack' Parkus. There were nine more inside the dropship; all were in a bulky marine suit. Held in side-holsters that were welded to the hull of the ship were their weapons; the standard issue C-14 'Impaler' Gauss Rifles; first and second variants, and for our Ghost Operative, a C-20a Sniper Rifle. Judging from both Raider and Dominion communications, Raynor's saved handfuls of marines from the Zerg. I just hoped we land unscathed.
Two of the Marines strapped to their seats were oddly quiet—these were Aggs and Fider, two usually talkative fellas.
Until now.
"You Gents alright?" I asked.
"Oh. Yeah. Alright." Said Aggs.
"Yeah." Said Fider.
I looked at Nick, his forehead blocked by the head piece he wore; their green LED-esque lights glowing in the macabre dimness of the dropship. In the dim light, he was still a handsome fellow, blue, gunshooter eyes, a stubbled chin, very, very dark blonde hair; dark enough to be light auburn. It was long enough to have to put a primitive rawhide loop to tie it to a ponytail—one of his obsessions. He had a lighter, slender, and very much less bulkier suit; a Hybrid of a Ghost's and a Spectre's suit. A thin line passed through the outline of the suit, and it was glowing with a blue light, the same blue of his eyes. On his right shoulder was a number: 21.
And, on his chest-armor was another plaque commemorating Mar Sara—a deputy marshal's badge. Suffice to say, I had one of those babies before, yet I lost it.
I lost a lot of things along the way. My wife, my friends back at Mar Sara.
"I see the beacon!" said the pilot, over the communicators. "Strap yourselves in, boys." There was a thud as we landed. The ramp opened, and a black hiss of smoke came, from the outside. The ramp thudded with the volcanic earth, producing a clanking sound.
"Death." I heard a voice say. "But not for you."