Agent Delta inspected his R-8 Combat Carbine again. The magazine was in place, sights lined up, laser calibrated, round in the chamber, all was secure and as it should be. The Ghost leaned back a bit in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable place for his back. While Ghosts were the most lethal and elite Terrans alive, their grueling duties meant that no one would interrupt what little rest time they had. And now, even on this mission, this suicide mission, Delta considered this to be rest time. Sure, death was a probability for the small Dropship, even with the specialized cloaking device, but Ares' squad couldn't help or hinder that in any way, so the six Ghosts took the opportunity to ready themselves. Emotional highs and lows were eliminated as part of training, but Ghosts needed to be in a certain state to achieve the perfection that this mission would demand of them. Delta let his eyes pass over his teammates for a second, and watched as each began to work through his own idea of preparing for combat. All five of the others began stretching and straining their muscles, making sure everything was properly activated, then went back to inspecting their weapons, drifting the sights one millimeter to the right, then two to the left, then back to the original position.
Delta had his own ideas of getting ready. He began to slow down his breathing, and pushed his mind into focus. His eyes swept over the Dropship once more, but this time he noted every flex of his companion's muscles, every pressure point, every bolt in the jutting bulkheads. Moreover, Delta knew exactly where his body was, from the precise angle of his neck, to the distance between his fingers.
Delta knew that raw adrenalin only made for an imbalanced operative. Calm focus and precision were the traits that allowed a Ghost to beat any opponent. And an abundance of both allowed him to walk away from countless firefights not only victorious, but usually unscratched.
Duke had determined that an all-out frontal attack would be the only measure quick enough to stop the Protoss from incinerating Chau Sara, but sent Ares' Ghost squad to destroy the Protoss flagship, identifiable as the one from which the initial contact transmission had been made. Large packs of CX Explosives were strapped to each Ghost, and their mission was to blow the ship apart by any means necessary. To a Ghost, that meant kill anything that gets in your way and then some.
Delta was ready, and the shuttle was moving close in to the largest Protoss ship. The Ghosts unstrapped and clustered by the opening hatch. No details of the Protoss' imposing physical appearance had been given to Ares, so there was a hint of apprehension in the air. The shuttle locked on to the sleek yellow hull, and explosions smashed into the ship, trying to break a hole through the hull. But a blue barrier merely shimmed into sight and dissipated. Ares frowned and hit a red button by the shuttle door. A second set of explosions slammed into the hull and blasted a section out. As the dust cleared, the Ghosts were suddenly slammed into the shuttle walls by a blue wave of energy, knocking all six unconscious. Their bodies were lifted into the air and brought out of the shuttle, and a trio of Protoss warriors slung one over each shoulder and carried them towards the ship. Behind them, a slightly stooped Protoss in flowing robes straightened slightly, and followed them, a blue shadow ever just behind him.
Delta regained consciousness a few moments later. The Ghost Hazardous Environment suits contained stimulant injectors to keep the operatives awake and alert. One such dose had been enough to revive him. Without moving, Delta quickly assessed his situation. He was being carried through large hallways, the walls made of that same golden material that formed the ship hulls. He could sense the other Ghosts, their Psychic Dampeners acting as signal beacons to one of sufficient power and knew what to look for. Delta was unharmed, and assumed his contact with the Dropship walls had been to remove their threat potential, and that the blue wave itself had rendered them unconscious. In that case, he guessed that the Ghosts, or at least he, had been underestimated by the Protoss. Delta stilled himself, fearing a probe, and waited for the signal. It was not long in coming. A quiet beep sounded in the Ghost comm links. The Protoss stopped, hearing the noise. The Ghosts closed their eyes, waiting. A flash of light suddenly exploded into the Protoss' eyes. The Ghosts flipped onto their feet and reached for their pistols. But the Protoss were not to be caught off guard so easily.
All three of the warriors charged forward, bull rushing the surprised Ghosts. Five of them were knocked to the ground by the charge, but Delta leaped over the Protoss that came at him. Delta kicked backwards in mid-air, sending the Protoss sprawling on the ground, unfortunately landing on one of the Ghosts who was trying to get up. Delta nodded, cryptically, and ducked as the other two Protoss both swung their fists at him. Delta's hands swept down to his thighs, past his pistols, to a pair of long Plastium batons. He pulled them from their sheaths, whirled them in the air, and crouched into a fighting stance, daring them to come on.
One of the Protoss roared, and Delta noticed his golden armor was more ornate than the others'. The other two stepped back, and attended to the five unconscious Ghosts. The Protoss leader crossed its arms across its chest, and the edges of his eyes began to shine with a blue glow. Delta held his ground. The Protoss whipped his arms away from his chest, and blue blades shot out from the bracers that sat above his hands.
Delta took a step back as the blades sliced through the air where he had stood a moment before. The Protoss' already long reach was extended by three foot shimmering, almost ethereal blue blades. Though they looked like they could not cut through Morian butter, Delta sensed that that couldn't have been farther from the truth. The Protoss thrust again, and Delta flipped backwards onto his hands. The Protoss took another step forward, anticipating that Delta would complete his flip and present a target. But Delta waited for the Protoss to move closer and kicked up and over, every muscle in his body tensing as he hooked his feet under the Protoss armor and threw the warrior down the hallway as he flipped. The Protoss slid, his armor scraping across the smooth floor. The warrior came to a rest at the feet of the old robed Protoss, who looked down at him, and slowly up at Delta. Delta suddenly jumped in the air, over the two warriors who charged him from the back. He kicked out, sending both of them sprawling as his heavy combat boots smashed into the backs of their heads. Then the old Protoss moved. He held his hands out to the sides, and brought them together with a loud clap.
A wave of blue energy hurtled towards Delta, born from the union of the Protoss' hands. The Ghost held out his own hands together, preparing to receive the assault. The eyes of the old Protoss widened as the attack arced off of Delta's outstretched palms and hit the ceiling, scorching the metal. The Protoss then held out his left hand and clenched his long fingers into a fist. The air shimmered around Delta and formed into a blue sphere. Delta spread his legs and arms apart, as if to portray the Vitruvian Man, and the sphere seemed to shimmer and begin to dissipate. Delta began to draw his arms and legs together, and the sphere seemed to warp and follow them.
Amazed, the Protoss narrowed his eyes, and Delta was sent flying backwards onto the floor. The Ghost looked up at the alien, and nodded, slowly. Then he flipped back up to his feet, and brought his right fist to his chest in salute. The Protoss nodded grimly, and stretched a fist out towards the operative. Delta did not even move in response, and the air seemed to solidify around him.
The operative slowed his breathing, allowing unconsciousness to claim him once more. The old Protoss snapped his fingers, and the other Protoss began to breathe normally again. They gathered up five of the Ghosts, but the old one ordered them to leave Delta untouched. He bent over and picked up the prostrate form himself, and the wizened, old Protoss carried Delta, Ghost operative of the Confederacy, down the long halls of an alien battleship.
Receiving incoming transmssion
Magnus Scriptor: Hmm . . . since when could a Ghost take on three Zealots and almost beat a high ranking Templar? This is going to lead somewhere interesting . . . Anyone confused by the chapter ending? I'll explain it later.
Transmission terminated