My Sorrow Hour
Disclaimer; I don't own Starcraft, or Blizzard. Or the concept of suicidal. Although that would be a nice thing to own…hmmm…everybody has to pay you to commit suicide…
Summary: This is based on the opening cinematic of Brood War, with a few variations.
Chapter I: Descent
"If we weren't meant to kill, God would not have given us hands."
Massive Behemoth-class Battlecruisers rained death down on the horde of Zerg organisms, incinerating whole nest-groups of zerglings. Not even a Ultralisk could stand against the death that was raining. On the ground, squads of fifteen-foot Goliath combat walkers stalked the killing fields, blasting away with autocannons, cutting down ever advancing hordes.
Ricky Sterman switched off the view. It wasn't his idea of fun, watching monsters get cut down. He wanted to do it himself.
In the dropship's hold, a pair of the Goliath walkers were awaiting the opportunity to set down their feet and move. Ricky knew one was occupied by one of his long time friends, Samual Joseph Perry, a man who was heavy on the trigger but with poor eyesight. His Goliath was equipped with much larger ammo bins and bigger missile racks, and had a hydralisk face on its front.
'Ten to drop, rock and roll, marines!' the pilot radioed from the front. Mission info was suddenly projected onto his HUD. They were going to defend a secondary armory near the end of the main front. It was lined with trenches, with a pair of bunkers backed by a missile turret. There was even a thick, solidly built building that looked like a short, squat bridge with pressure doors on both sides. An armory. Massive trenches were being dug by a dozen SCV construction suits, modified with large hoe-like hands. The dropships lurched, dropping both Goliath Walkers onto their piston powered feet. They moved to secure the bunkers, while the other dropships, one of them dropping the massive Arclite Siege Tank, its twin barreled cannon rotating slowly to scan the area, intending to blow anything apart with its shells.
Ricky stomped out of the dropship, his C-14 in his hands. His was a belt-fed commander issue, as squad leader, he couldn't afford to reload in the heat of combat. He'd need that hand to crush skulls. Maybe his men's skulls, if they were found wanting. Ricky was juiced up on stim packs, so the battlefield made him feel all the more active and excited. And bloodthirsty. But he'd been sent to a crappy rear flank mission. It was bullshit in purest form. He needed to kill something.
'Ricky, calm the fuck down. I'm getting' nervous lookin' at you, and I'm in a Goliath!' Sam radioed.
'Incoming!' cried a voice. A pair of crab-like forms were flying in fairly quickly. The dropships weren't even airborne yet. The squad of firebats had just departed from the dropship still on the ground.
"Bring 'em down!" Sam turned his Goliath's torso and opened up with his autocannons. The barrage fell well short of the Guardians. Bill Baker, the other Hellmarine Goliath pilot fired a pair of his surface-to-air missiles. The explosives streaked out. Too late. The guardians each fired a pair of toxic bio-warheads, that streaked out at the dropships. The grounded dropships took the 'heads in the back, and the toxins splashed across the metal, eating through. The pilots soon ran out the back hatch, just before the dropship exploded, enveloping the firebats. They ran out unscathed, and Ricky let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Mike! How are the 'Bats?"
'Burnin' like the pits of hell.' The Firebat sergeant replied, hefty up his massive fusion-spitters. Ordinarily, a Firebat was equipped with 2 Sedition Plasma-based Flamethrowers, and CMC-660 Heavy Combat armor, Michael Morris was too large to be encased within that small armor. Instead he wore CMC-950 Juggernaut Assault armor, large enough to be considered a tactical Goliath, with a fusion-spitter on each arm. Instead of the dangerous business of using plasma, the SW-22 Fusion-based Flamer contained a miniature nuclear fusion reactor, and sucked air into the chamber and released it, not only burned a target, but irradiated it. What made the weapons even nastier was the hot air effectively doubled the weapon's range, but wasn't seen by the human eye. Every Firebat in the Hellmarines corps was equipped with at least one. Ricky himself had customized his rifle by adding an underslung fusion-spitter, giving him a short-range weapon.
'Ground push!' Sam added. He settled his walker into a firing position and began to open up with his autocannons.
"Hellmarines, let's show 'em the real monsters!" Ricky called, running to the trenches.
'Hell rides high tonight!' the marines chorused, following closely. As one, the first squad of the Hellmarines dropped into the pits, SCV pilots quickly abandoning the machines and running into the bunkers, where they could fire on the Zerg with the fixed machine guns in the Bunker's slots. The Missile Turret locked onto the wave of zerglings coming towards them, and projected markers onto Ricky's HUD, marking each Zergling with a red circle around it. He pulled down on the trigger.
The C-14 and 16 model Gauss Rifles spat out metal spikes wide enough to gouge out the eyes of a draft horse of old Earth, and long enough to stab through a man's head and stick out the other side at supersonic speeds automatically at 600 rounds per minute. They were made from stainless steel, and were strong enough to retain their shape, ready to re-case and reload on the field.
Ricky's Gauss Rifle began to roar out impaler rounds, and he swung his rifle left and right, making sure he hit something. Zerglings tripped and fell and exploded under the rain of fire.
A zergling lunged through the line of its falling brethren, oblivious to the Impalers ripping into its side. It lunged straight at Ricky. A new rifle cracked one, twice, three times, and three holes exploded open between the zergling's eyes. Ricky turned right, firing his rifle off to his left, his HUD opening a window for the gun's sight.
A lithe woman suddenly faded into view, wearing a hostile environment suit that fit to her form little too snuggly. Ricky brought up a mental image of himself in his CMC-400 armor and instantly felt…inadequate. She was a scalpel to his Hammer.
"My thanks, ma'am." Ricky said, striking a small salute.
"Ah…a marine with manners." She said playfully, and Ricky almost dropped his rifle. That voice awoke something in his loins, more so than her body in that armor. The ghost's hand went to her thigh, then slowly slid all the way up her form to her breast and squeezed it firmly. Ricky's eyes had followed that hand all the way, his mouth open, a small drop of drool going down his chin from the corner of his mouth. He looked up into her helmet's sensors.
'Oh, damn. Michael! Get Ricky his towel!' Sam cried over the radio. The ghost gave a giggle from under her helmet and went to remove it. Out came a head full of straight blond hair that reminded Ricky of a lion's mane. She wasn't beautiful, striking, but not beautiful. But then, neither was She. But Ricky shook away that thought. Kikyo was dead, had died a long time ago, nearly seven years.
'Hey. The Zerg are falling back.' Sam reported. 'Why don't you check out that armory.' He had known Ricky since they were eight, and by now could read each other like a book subconsciously. Ricky looked and realized that the Zerg had indeed fell back, or had all been shot down, and now Michael's firebats were hosing the area down with their Fusion-spitters. The Ghost had pinched her nose shut, and Ricky understood why. Burning zerg carapace smelled like burning toenails.
"This way?" he offered, gesturing to the Armory. The ghost had the traces of a smile on her lips, and turned to building, turning her hips in a way that stole Ricky's breath from his chest. Ricky breathed deeply through his armor's filters and then followed, trying to keep his eyes away from her butt.
"I already know what you want." The Ghost said, looking over her shoulder. "Why not just look?"
"Professionalism, ma'am." Ricky replied, while he steeled himself against her charms. But Jesus, did she remind him of Kikyo.
"Like that drool still on your lip?" she asked coyly. Ricky reached with his massive armored fist and wiped it away as best he could with the suit's rubber 'fingerprints.'
"What drool, ma'am?" he replied. She looked forward again when they entered the armory. The door behind them closed on its own, although Ricky strongly suspected she did it so she could try to seduce him. She turned a hundred and eighty degrees, and Ricky got a good look at her face.
"Kikyo!" he cried. It was actually her! Why hadn't he recognized her outside? He dropped his rifle and grabbed her, pulling her close, and pressed his lips onto hers.
The Ghost screamed.