CHAPTER 1: THE ACADAMY
Sarah Kerrigan was born to a family of soldiers. She had uncles and aunts that were ghosts. Her parents were part of a volunteer militia. They lived in a house in Chau Sara.
She was 3 when she was taken. They told her her parents didn't want her anymore. She believed them. She wasn't unhappy. She had friends and toys. She liked it there.
At playtime, they were not given blocks, they were given spheres with mist inside. All of the children could make patterns appear. Kerrigan could make pictures. She wasn't special, though. At least a hundred others could.
After 2 months, the ones who couldn't make designs were taken away. They returned a week later, sad, bitter, but able to make pictures.
At 4, they were told to line up and were handed metal headbands with spider-leg type things on top. Sarah's friend Anna was told at gunpoint to put it on. She obeyed. The sharp, pointy legs lowered and bit into her flesh. She screamed and cried. The officers moved on. The next child in line was a boy named Tommy. He had never seen a gun before, because he was from a civilian family. They ordered him to put it on. HE refused. They shot him.
Turns out the gun did not shoot bullets. Electricity pulsed around Tommy as he screamed and fell twitching to the floor. They moved on to Sarah. She put hers on.
It was pain like she'd never felt before. Her brain felt on fire. The chemicals the spider legs delivered coursed through her brain. With the headband on the constant background of thought vanished. When the pain subsided, she tried to reach and read Anna's thoughts. Nothing. She tried to read the military officer with the gin's thoughts. he was hungry. He wanted pie.
After all the children had their headbands on, they dragged away Tommy's now still body. Kerrigan never saw him again.
At 5, they were given helmets to put on after they shaved their heads. They were instructed never to take them off.
At 7, the shooting began. They were instructed to hit a target. At the end of one session, whoever couldn't hit it were whipped within an inch of their lives and given no rations for the day. By the end of the week many had starved to death. Kerrigan began to harden against death, to feel less each time someone starved.
By 12 each of the children felt a murderous rage inside them. The chemical supplements in their rations made them long to kill everyone, made them feel delight, even glee when someone died. About that time they began to shoot at live targets. Often they were human targets, captured Sons of Korhal or criminals given the death sentence,
At 15 the wars started. They were placed on teams of 3 and told to go at it. They were allowed to ally with other teams. None did. The teams were switched every day. The Ghostlings shot to kill.
By 17 there were no teams. They had learned cloaking a long time ago. Now they had learned to shoot a shimmer. It didn't matter, dead soldiers decloaked. One of Kerrigan's kills was Anna. She felt nothing but the rush and joy of killing someone.
All Military training academies had rats after their rations. Most employed the use of rat traps. Almost all kept cats. Here, a cat would be treated the same as a rat: shot immediately. There was no need for traps.
Visitors were mostly turned away at the gates. Even so, the ghost-lings were not allowed out front. They would shoot even civilians.
Young boys sometimes dared each other to sneak in. Most often, all involved were shot.
At 20 they were allowed to watch the final test. This involved someone holding a gun to your head and preparing to fire. The trainees unable to stop him from firing flunked, and died.
Sometimes the gun was placed against the head of a parent or sibling. Then the ghost trainee scowled as they saved them. If it weren't their final test, they'd shoot them themselves, just for the thrill of it. They didn't know the meaning of love.
One afternoon Kerrigan's class was out shooting some kids. It had been Kerrigan's turn to shoot at the Son of Korhal, so she had been the last out. She heard thoughts further down the fence and went to investigate, finger on her trigger. A man was there, by the fence, on the other side, watching her. She raised her gun to shoot him, and would have fired, but for his next thought: she's so beautiful!
Kerrigan lowered her gun a fraction of an inch and relaxed half a millimeter. The one thing her shrunken, twisted, neglected heart craved more than killing, more than mind-reading, was praise, and honest appreciation. That was one of the things keeping her interested in her schoolwork. And now here was a man who gave her the most truthful type of praise. He was a normal, he could not control his thoughts.
Her ghost training took hold, and she sneered, "Who are you?". "I am Arcturus Mensk. I come to give you your freedom."