Dolly
"Quick! Do that hoodoo juju that you do!"
Scowling, Spectre No. 6 supposed the Raider meant something along the lines of "use your psionic powers to eliminate the hydralisk bearing down on us." Still, whether the soldier meant it or not, he proceeded to do just that. Bit of concentration, bit of voodoo and a few seconds later, the innards of the alien's brain were splattered along the pavement of Meteor Station.
"Whoa man! Nasty"
Idiot, Six thought to himself, wondering who someone with such a simple mind would end up joining a 'virtuous' rebel group in the first place. This is why we work alone.
Correction-it was why they worked alone. Nowadays, the surviving members of Project Shadow Blade didn't have much choice in the matter, what with being saddled up with Raynor's Raiders after their release from New Folsom. Six could understand Tosh's motives, knew that the enemy of their enemy was the Spectres' friend. Unfortunately, it seemed that the Raiders were treating the Dominion as less of an enemy than the zerg. First the alliance on Char and now saving a Kel-Morian Fringe World from the critters, still at it despite the deinfestation of their queen. All in all, Six was finding it harder to care anymore, and Shadow Blade had stripped away much of the concept of ideology anyway. So as the Raiders advanced through the war-torn streets, he simply stood his ground.
"Go go go!" one shouted. "Let's bring it!"
Yeah...Six thought, watching Raynor's men surge forward. You do that.
Reactivating his personal cloaking device, the Spectre wondered if he should head back to the dropships. Meteor Station was beyond saving, but the battle here was reaching the point where almost everyone who could be saved had been saved and pressing on would accomplish nothing. The rebel group might operate on idealism and have rednecks who wanted to do nothing but kick ass and chew bubble gum, but their leader wasn't stupid. Sooner or later, the order would be given to fall back, to return to space and hopefully return to the path that led to Mengsk's head on a pike.
Screw it, I'm out of here.
Shouldering his AGR-14, Six made his way through the rubble, ignoring the alien and human bodies scattered left, right and centre. He'd seen worse even before the outbreak of the Second Great War and since none of the bodies belonged to a certain emperor, they meant little to him. And since hanging around would bring him no closer to seeing such a body, all that was left to do was-...
Help me.
Six stopped. Suddenly.
Help me. Please, help me...
There was no mistaking what he'd heard. Well, sensed via telepathy really, but as a trained psych, the distinction made little to him. Someone was close. Someone terran presumably, considering that there probably wasn't a zerg in existence who'd say "help me" or even the alien equivalent of it. So, operating under the human presence assumption, not only was there a survivor in his radius, but one whose mind was far more open than what he was used to.
Who's there? Six asked, using his telepathy to find the source and hoping for a response. Can you hear me?
Please, help me.
Obviously not. It seemed that if he was going to rescue the whiny bastard, he'd be dealing with someone below PI2. Another idiot whose survival would allow continued proliferation of mundane intelligence to proliferate throughout the human gene pool. Wonderful.
Please, help me.
Alright, I'm coming!
It didn't take long to home in on the source of the thought, even with rubble clogging the streets. In a way, Six wished it might have. It might have given him time to realize that it would be much simpler to get to a dropship and put the voice behind him rather than risk his rear to save the Kel-Morian. Either way, it was soon too late to turn back. Because coming across the source of the thought, the Spectre realized one very important thing. For all his training as a killer, after all the lives he'd taken, letting the natural order of things to do it for you was next to impossible.
A child. About four years old.
Ah, crap...
Children...god, the brats at the Ghost Academy could be bad enough, but now he had to deal with some baby girl who thought that huddling in a corner with a doll was the best way to survive a zerg invasion.
Help me...the child thought, her fear almost sending Six into a feedback loop of emotion. Help me...
"Yeah, sure," Six grunted. "I'll help you. I'll...oh."
Another clear realization-he wasn't used to dealing with non-teeps.
Six knew there'd be screaming at this point. He'd spoken out loud, so the girl was aware of his presence and looking around wildly for its source. So when he de-cloaked, while she might realize said source, her fear would only increase. Which it did. And somehow, raising his visor and letting organic eyes (so primitive, should have got ocular implants ages ago) match her own, the result was a stifled cry and the smell of urine.
"Don't worry, I'm here to help," Six grunted, not having time for this. "What's your name?"
The girl didn't answer. She was no busy engaged in letting liquid waste come out and remaining secure in the belief that her doll would keep her safe. Sighing, Six moved over to pick her up. It would be simpler to just leave or put the little wrench out of her misery, but...well, that hardly seemed right. Or something. Morality was overrated anyway.
Raiders must be rubbing off on me. Damnit...
"Don't worry," Six repeated, kneeling down to face the girl. "I'll get you out of here. I'll-..."
"Have you seen mummy?" the child whispered. "Daddy? Have you seen them?"
"Yeah, sure. Why not?"
A lie admittedly. But telling the girl that her parents had likely been reduced to body parts would likely do more harm than good at this point. Especially since she'd already started screaming at something.
Huh? What are you...oh.
Case in point-large shadow. Following said case, and the Spectre saw why-a hydralisk. Over three metres tall, two scythes of death and looking as pissed as hell, a hydralisk had turned up and was ready to do the only thing its kind did.
"Help me! Help me!" the child wailed, scrambling back against the wall.
Firing a grenade from his rifle, Six obliged. So did the laws physics, the blast sending the alien's body back into the street.
"Right, well, that's that taken care of," the Spectre grunted, turning his attention back to the child. "Come on kid. The monster won't hurt you anymore."
Sniffling, the girl turned to face him. Well, rather his mid-section. At least that was the area that she threw her arms around, making Six feel more uncomfortable than...well, just plain uncomfortable actually.
Ah crap...
"Here," said the girl, holding up her doll to the Spectre. "For you..."
"Um...what?" the assassin asked, looking at the stuffed figure of the petticoat wearing...thing. "You want me to-..."
"You have a doll already..." sniffed the girl. "Sally might like some company..."
Six assumed that Sally was the doll's name and that his 'doll' was actually his voodoo charm-the symbol that had brought him luck for over a year now. Some people called Spectres eccentric for believing in such things, but with alien races, psionic powers and prophecies of doom entering the Hyperion's rumour mill, Six didn't find that farfetched.
"You shouldn't...do that..." said the Spectre awkwardly. "Sally's yours."
"Please..." the girl whispered. "Please take care of her. You can protect us both that way..."
"Yeah...sure kid," the assassin said softly, taking up the doll in one hand and the child in the other. "I'll protect you."
Ah, what the hell. Could use another doll for luck.
Or something. Maybe some things didn't need rationalizing.