Arrogance.
They revel in it. Their contempt for others knows no bounds. They drown themselves with delusions of grandeur. They believe themselves superior.
They are nothing.
They defile Adun's name with their unworthy thoughts. He was OUR savior. They dare to walk upon Shakuras, to soil such a holy place with their vile presence. They banished us from Aiur, and then expect us to grant them hospitality. They are fools.
All too dependent on the greatest fool of all. The prelate Zeratul. Does his idiocy have no bounds? He not only allowed them onto our world, but treated them as honored guests! He acted as though they were our equals! By Adun, can he not see? This is our opportunity to repay them for their injustices! Even after the Judicator Aldaris betrayed his trust, he still did not see fit to banish them! They are foul to the core. They cling to their faint hopes that some day their precious Conclave will reform and exile us to the shadows once again.
It is we who must exile them, so that they may feel a fraction of the pain that they have caused us over so many millennia. We have spent so long away from the sun...let THEM feel the agony! Let THEM rot in the blackness of space!
But Zeratul, the great trusting imbecile, will not see it done. He meant to pass judgment on us. On US! The fool. Consorting with those of the Khala has poisoned his mind. He, and all who follow him, must have their spirits cleansed of their taint. We will show them the error of their ways. And then he will see that is We, not him, who should be prelate. He will bow to our glory and join us in our crusade of justice.
But how? The High Ones' corruption runs deep. Too deep for even our powers to root out. How could we convince them of their mistake?
Only once the mind is changed cane essence be healed. We will find a way to...change his mind. We will change ALL of their minds.
We are drawn to this place. From within comes power even greater than Our own. Why has such a low form been blessed with the greatest of gifts? We do not know. But the fruit of this creature is ripe for harvest.
We will take it, and use it. Zeratul will change his mind, one way or another.
Number Thirteen had no name.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He had a name, but he had lost it many years ago. He remembered a voice singing...and when it had sung to him, it had called him something. Something other than Thirteen...
But then the confederates had taken it from him...they stole his name, his very identity. He had become nothing, a human machine. He had performed a number of tactical missions for the confederates, mostly against the Sons of Korhal. For this reason, he had gained a reputation as the "Sonslayer."
One day, however, he had been given a mission he couldn't handle: assassinate Arcturus Mengsk himself. In his first-ever failed killing, Thirteen the Sonslayer had been captured. But for whatever reason, they chose not to kill this scourge of the rebellion. Through many intensive years, almost as long as his training, they had reversed the Ghost brainwashing techniques. Outraged at what the confederacy had done, he had joined the sons of Korhal.
However, he had switched sides yet again when—
"hey, nutbag, you awake in there?" he felt a hand strike him hard on the back of the head.
As his vision swam, Thirteen managed to mumble "What?"
A short man in front of him shook his bald head, steel-gray eyes full of contempt. "I swear, you goddamn telepaths are all alike, always off in your own little world. Didn't you hear the intercom, you idiot? The Marshall wants to—"
But Thirteen had already picked up his thoughts and shoved the marine out of his way before he finished the sentence. He was halfway down the hall before the shorter man knew he was gone.
To an outsider, the halls of the ship would appear silent but for the clanging of Thirteen's boots against the mesh floor. However, inside the Ghost's head was an incessant cacophony of thoughts. He was an exceptionally powerful psychic, which led many people to wonder how Mengsk's body guards had managed to capture him. He was one of them.
Thirteen had never really had a moment's peace in his entire life. Everyone was always thinking, and even when they slept he picked up on their dreams. Even when he slept his dreams became a mishmash of others'. It would have driven a lesser man mad.
As he traveled upwards through the ship, however, the chatter of thoughts died down to a distant murmur in the background, aside from one voice that grew louder as he approached a stainless steel door. To the uninitiated, it would look like a simple panel in the wall; there was no opening mechanism on the outside. Normally is could be opened only by a voiceprint match. Thirteen knew differently.
His eyes drifted half closed as he focused; in his mind's eye he saw the other side of the door. Focusing intently, the image of the door's circular knob turned, and he heard a distant click on the other side. The door drifted open.
A relatively tall man stood on the other side, perhaps six-one. His frame was solid and well-built. He regarded Thirteen with a somewhat reproving look.
"Don't do that." He said. His voice was strangely soft and sounded a bit out of place emanating from his mouth.
"Yes, Marshall Raynor, sir. Sorry sir."
The Marshall waved away his apology and then motioned to a chair opposite of a handsome oak desk. "Have a seat."
Thirteen slowly, almost apprehensively sat down in the chair. He could 'turn off' his ability to hear individual thoughts, to an extent. He knew Marshall Raynor had never been particularly fond of mind-readers for whatever reason, so he had done so. Not knowing what other people were thinking had come to bother him. He felt lost-insecure.
"Hear anything good on your way up?" Raynor said conversationally, looking out a nearby window into the blackness of space.
"The usual," Thirteen said, shifting in his seat, "Family. Job. Pancakes."
Raynor looked back at the Ghost, an amused eyebrow cocked, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Pancakes?"
Thirteen nodded. "He was thinking about how much he missed having pancakes." He said. "Begging your pardon, Sir, but I don't think you called me up here to discuss breakfast foods."
Raynor nodded. "You'd be right." He sighed, and suddenly looked incredibly tired. He strode across the tight quarters, sitting down on the opposite side of the desk. Up close, Thirteen saw there were dark shadows framing his eyes, and stubble clung to his face. Well, more so than usual.
"You know we've been trying to find the main confederate Ghost research lab?" Raynor asked. Thirteen nodded. "We're getting close. There might be some, eh, unexpected difficulties, though."
Thirteen's face remained expressionless. "What sort of difficulties, Marshall, sir?"
The other man rubbed his eyes as he spoke. "The other Ghosts on board have been having some, uh, issues. Constant headaches, hallucinations, blackouts, stuff like that. It's getting worse as we get closer to where we think it is."
Thirteen stared blankly. "Your point being? Sir?" he added quickly.
Raynor regarded him with a hard stare. "My point being, Thirteen, that there's something—or someone—still inside that facility, with psionics close to—or slightly greater than—your own abilities. That's why you haven't been affected the way the other ghosts have."
"Impossible," Thirteen said. "There's only one creature in the Koprulu sector with psionic ability greater than mine, and it's—"
"Kerrigan," Raynor interrupted, "Yes, I know damn well, Thirteen. You won't let any of us forget it. And don't think that this...whatever it is...hasn't attracted her attention. We're picking up a number of overlord-wavelength psionic signals around the planet where we think the facility is."
"Then why are we still going, sir?" Thirteen asked. "It sounds like the Zerg have already beat us there."
Raynor snorted. "If that thing's psionic power is knocking out our Ghosts from seventy thousand miles away, imagine what it's doing to simple stuff like the Zerg up close. They'll have to wait until someone who can handle it shows up."
"You mean --?" Thirteen asked incredulously.
"Yeah. Sarah herself might be paying this place a visit. Oh, and to top it all off we've found Protoss signals in the space around the planet as well."
It was Thirteen's turn to snort. "So what? They're friendly with us."
Raynor shook his head. "They aren't returning our calls. I've been in touch with Zeratul, too, and he says that there aren't any of his people around there."
"So who are they?"
"No idea."
Thirteen sat back in his chair. "So, why did you want to talk to me, Sir?" he asked.
Raynor sighed. "The wavelength patterns that've been coming from this place suggest that this thing isn't operating at even a fifth of its full power." Thirteen's green eyes widened in shock. The Marshall sighed. "You're the only one on board whose head won't explode if it gets up to full power. We can't even chance a small deployment of troops to the surface. You'll be going into this place solo."
Thirteen grinned. "That's the way I like it."
Raynor nodded. "I know. But it's also a possibility that Arcturus," he spat the name like a curse, "Will make an attempt to reach this place too. Everybody in the sector's got an interest in this thing. We might end up in a massive free-for-all in orbit. We may not be able to get you out.
The grin melted off of Thirteen's face. He had gone from confident to caustic as quickly as a light switch turning off. "That's fine, Sir," he said almost sarcastically. "I'm used to be being abandoned."
Raynor's eyes hardened. "This isn't a choice, Thirteen! If there was some way I could guarantee—"
"Save it," the Ghost spat, and stood. With a wave of his hand the door flung open and he strode out, slamming it behind him with his mind.