A/N

The idea for this oneshot has been with me awhile, originally as a way of trying my hand at writing for the new terran units for StarCraft II. With the release of I, Mengsk and volume 2 of Frontline however, especially the story Newsworthy, it prompted me to focus more on the themes they presented, with units being a feature rather than a focus. Still makes good practice I guess.

Eternity

"War has changed."

That's what the Confederacy said five years ago. What the Council said to be exact, when it officially revealed the presence of two alien species that were intent on fighting tooth and nail against each other and it was our misfortune to be caught up in the middle. No longer was it a case of fighting for truth, justice and whatever other fine ideals UNN cast our way, but a case of our very survival. That's what they said. They wanted us to fight.

We did. We lost. We...no, perhaps that is not quite correct. We didn't lose, the Confederacy did. It fell and was replaced by a newer, stronger government named the Terran Dominion. Our government changed, one that would represent all terrans, not just the rich and powerful. That's what he said. That's what Arcturus I of the Mengsk Dynasty said in early July, 2500. Nothing changed though. The oppression continued. The infighting continued. A never-ending series of proxy conflicts with antagonists continued. The only difference was that our rulers had the ever convenient threat that if they fell, the doors would be open to alien invaders. Never mind that the zerg seemed content to wait on Char. Never mind that the protoss were a shadow of their former glory. Never mind that...well, I better not go there. Officially there aren't that many other species out there, but we've seen the ruins, heard rumours of the tagal, the kalathi...rumours that no doubt the Dominion will be able to use if it desires.

Nothing changed. Nothing ever changes.

If something changed over the last five years, I wouldn't be seated inside a Grizzly, flying over the desert world of Sonyan as part of a Dominion Marine Corps suppression force. We're not using convenient dropship variants for this mission. The additional firepower provided by Hellsworn 30mm flak cannons, Manticore missiles and B2-C concussion bombs is judged to be a worthy tradeoff to the new technology available in medivac dropships. We're the "Hammer of the Emperor", so to speak. The damage we deal out is far more important than the damage we receive.

"Only together shall we overcome. This is why we fight."

That's what Mengsk said. A few months back, right after our defeat on Artika. I think in some ways it was a boon to him, that it demonstrated that the "despicable aliens" were alive and kicking and that the measures taken to ensure the safety of the Dominion's citizens were justified. Well, in all honesty, it would be fair to say that we no longer had to worry about rebels and terrorists or in the case of the Koprulu Liberation Front, both, as per rhetoric. Still, ever since the zerg attack on Dead Man's Rock, I think we knew this was coming. More aliens to fend off and thus more justification for policing actions that harken back to the Confederate era.

I clutch my C-14 tightly. A new model, the smaller of the two variants designed after the Brood War. Small, compatible with a bayonet, 500 rounds per magazine and a whole bout of technical mumbo jumbo that no-one here understands. We aim, we shoot and provided that we hit our targets, that's all our superiors care about. And given that nothing changes, that there's always been a push to develop more effective weaponry as per the squabbles between the three terran power blocs, it's safe to say that it does its job quite well.

Nothing ever changes.

If things changed, we wouldn't be coming back to Sonyan, just like Mengsk himself did back when he was in the CMC. If things changed, we wouldn't be flying over Vekata, a small town supposedly overrun with KLF troops. If things changed, it wouldn't be an urban wreck due to numerous Banshee attacks. But as things don't change, the Grizzly comes to a halt, we repel down via maglev lines and it flies off, ready to provide supporting fire. Oh, and if things changed, I wouldn't have blood splatter over my armor due to a KLF's lucky shot, a marine going down beside me.

Oh well. Plenty more where that came from. Volunteers are actually increasing in number, believe it or not.

I can't help but sink into a sense of monotony as our squad runs forward towards the clock tower, a KLF fire team going full out on us. If we were fighting aliens, we'd let them come to us. But as our enemies are humans, are using projectile weaponry and have enough sense to understand that going toe-to-toe with a trained soldier in a CMC-400 Powered Combat Suit, they hold their positions. So, as such, we advance on their position, confident that our armor will protect us.

Nothing ever changes.

If things changed, I wouldn't even be here. If things changed, I'd actually feel the 8mm AGR-17 rounds glancing off my armor. If things changed, I'd be afraid, having seen what zerg scythes and protoss psi-blades can do. But hey, we're fighting and killing (quite effectively too, considering the radio chatter) fellow human beings. I'm used to it. We all are. It's all the DMC seems to do nowadays.

90mm plasma rounds flash by overhead, courtesy of a newly deployed crucio siege tank. Its siege mode is next to useless in this urban setting, but its plasma cannon still does its job adequately, the clock tower collapsing. Our NCO leads us into an arch, waiting for our next objective. Apparently, we're to move out to the mall, where...oh, wait, it's now a ruin, courtesy of another airstrike via Banshee. Guess we're not needed.

Not really surprised though. If it were zerg or protoss in there, we'd have to still investigate the ruins for survivors. But as we're fighting rebels who are out gunned and outmatched, it's safe to say that all the KLF troops in the mall are buried alive and are therefore of little concern. The rebels who open fire at us from the adjacent building are another matter however.

Nothing ever changes.

If things changed, I wouldn't automatically take cover behind a pillar, returning fire with my C-14, my suit not only giving me extra protection but aiding my targeting via its HUD system. If things changed, an APC rolling by us wouldn't suddenly explode, courtesy of a bazooka's HEAT round from the rebel scum. If things changed, its occupants wouldn't rush out, screaming as they burn to death. Our armor is tough, but it doesn't make us invincible. Flames aren't that much use, but as their visors were probably down, I can only assume that they're burning from within their armor and/or their own bodies.

Meh. They'll all have died "instantly and painlessly" I guess...unless they're resocs. Then it doesn't matter.

I barely listen to our NCO as he tells us to fix our bayonets and enter the building, as I've let training take over. We rush in, our squad's Marauder firing in a concussion missile into the entrance, disorientating any rebels that might be holed up in the foyer of what seems to be a hotel. As things turn out, it's quite a few. No matter. We quickly engage in hand-to-hand combat, their combat knives useless against our armor. Our bayonets however...

It's too easy. Taking life is too easy. As glorious, as beautiful as life is, it's so frail...

But hey, this is hardly the time to think such thoughts, given that the upper landing has to be cleared as well. Suffice to say, it's short, bloody and leads us to the rooftop. We look down, seeing a KLF squad advancing down the street, no doubt intent on finishing off the crew of the APC. We take up firing positions, ready to...

...Oh wait. Some Vikings have deployed.

It's not pretty seeing some mecha drop from the sky and land on charging men, blood and bone meshing in with the ground. It's even less pretty to watch twin Gatling guns mow down the survivors as they turn to flee, knowing that it's useless to take on such behemoths. Now if protoss or zerg were down there, our enemies would probably stand and fight, but these are men who aren't hive-minded critters or fanatics with psi blades.

It's at this point that I realize how quiet the town's become. No more gunfire, no more explosions, no more screams...the operation's seemingly complete. The radio chatter gives credence to this theory, all targets having been eliminated. Yay.

We don't cheer. We don't high five. We do take off our helmets, light some cigars and hold our position, getting a tan while we wait for new orders, but it's hardly celebratory. After all, we'll be doing this again...and again...and again. The time and place may differ, but the process doesn't.

After all, nothing changes.