On a small world named La'ir...
The snow crunched under his boots, much like the sound of bones being shattered. An expanse of barren wasteland stretched out before him, reaching farther and farther until the horizon met the grey, dismal sky. All previous blemishes of this landscape had been wiped away, as though swept off by a gigantic, heavenly hand. Heaven, a notion he did not believe in. Years of training had drilled into him the notion that there was no power greater than the Dominion. And yet, now, the smallest hint of doubt blossomed, like a fire that had not entirely been extinguished. Memories began flooding his conscious, desperate, abandoned families about to be overrun by Zerg, huddling together and praying to their gods in heaven. Crying, pleading, begging to be saved. Never had he seen a miracle, a divine intervention, saving them from the horrors they were about to be engulfed by. They were always shredded, torn to pieces just as easily as those who waited for their death in stunned horror. Defying this logic, his brain continued to cycle through images, voices, screams, on continuous repeat, like an ancient propaganda film. His breathing quickened, his respirator rasping, shattering the frozen silence. Through years of training, he had been taught to destroy his emotions, sending them to the farthest parts of his body, away from his mind. He had volunteered for this mission, without fear of the Zerg masses, nor fear of his imminent death when the nuclear armada found its mark. And yet, inexplicably, here he was, alive, and being tormented by a mind he had always controlled
"This place...", he muttered, his own automaton voice sounding entirely alien to him.
Somehow, he knew, it had broken him, this barren wasteland. His barriers had come crashing down, toppled by the frigid wind and emptiness that enveloped him. Suddenly, he was fearful.
Fearful of his thoughts.
Fearful of his uncontrollable memories.
Fearful of discovering what fear was.
*Crack*
He stopped moving. There was another crack, this time louder, the sound of ice being forced apart. Turning, he took a tentative step back. Rapidly, true, unrefined horror began to spread throughout his body, constricting inside him. A figure was pushing its way up out of the snow. Managing to free its head and forelegs, it dragged its lower body up from below it, shaking off excess ice and snow before standing. It was powerfully built, a large square head with deep, sunken black eyes, and canines the size of his hands. The squat, muscular body was overshadowed by the two large blades protruding from its shoulders, curving forward to either side of the head. Its eyes locked on him, roaming over him, calculating. A thick line of drool began to slide down its jaws, freezing in a grotesque imitation of a waterfall. Carefully, it crouched, its hind muscles tensing, its cavernous mouth opening slightly more. Overwhelmed with horror, the Ghost fell to his knees, tears sliding down his cheeks, protected from the frigid temperatures by his mask. As the Zergling gave an animalistic scream, he began to pray.
