Chapter 4: Secret Weapons of War
Time: Approximately two months after decimation of Battle Group Epsilon
Location: TORS-8, Central Zerg Hive
Kerrigan purred contentedly as she surveyed her screeching and roaring armies, now numbering over twelve million strong. It was time... time for Arcturus and his damned Terran Dominion to pay for what they had done to her. She had been silently nursing this grudge for these past years, with the only significant lashout on the sole backwater mining colony on TORS-8 a few months ago. Back then, she could not afford to make enemies, nor could she rupture past wounds... with both Raynor and Artanis. To quote a silly human, Sun Tzu, who died eons ago... "To know and have a firm grasp over your enemies is half the battle won... to know both yourself and your enemies is tantamount to securing victory." She could scarce afford yet another firm and astute tripartite alliance between these potentially divisive and untrusting factions. With a flick of her clawed finger, an entire new breed of Infested Terrans stepped forward in mechanical unison. These Infested Terrans still retained their original self-destruct function, but after Kerrigan's meticulous and intensive cross-breeding, these infernal monstrosities are now conceived through zerg larvae with carapaces as tough as ultralisks, and abilities such as wielding terran weaponry and psionically controlling targets. You just have to admire the evolutionary adaptations of human beings... smirked Kerrigan, as the Infested Terrans clasped their fists onto their chests and bowed subserviently.
Location: Uncharted territory beyond TORS-9
A lone planet sits pensively in the dark and murky space, untouched by the Dominion who had no use for it, untouched by the Protoss who scoffed at it, untouched by the Zerg for it's inhabitable nature. The barren surface seemed dry and windy, with argon as the main composition of the atmosphere. It was seemingly serene and undisturbed, just like the Saharic deserts back in faraway Earth. Just then, a Protoss Arbiter hovers above the land surface, as three Scouts and four Corsairs shimmered and materialized like tiny little dots atop a huge expanse of yellow. Klaxons began to blare loudly, as the tundra yellow ground opened up to reveal a teeming underground Terran base - Raynor's operating headquarters. Ha, no welcome party, thought Artanis, shaking his head slightly. Suddenly, fifteen squadrons of over a hundred Wraiths decloaked all around the Protoss party, simultaneously rolling their wings in reverent salute. Miles down, infantry swarmed out unarmed and began whooping and waving. Raynor's face appeared over the Protoss comm screen, and he gave a wide and goofy grin.
"Kind of surprise, ain't it? News of the Praetor's arrival to our planet, named Sanctuary, goes down well with the general pirate populace. Ha ha ha ha!"
Artanis shook his head in disbelief and commented incredulously, "Raynor, by human standards, I believe you are already middle-aged. This display does injustice to what I perceived of you!"
"Awww, that's too bad. We'll cut the nonsense and get on with work. Kindly dock at the largest domed structure you can find. Raynor out." With a glad smile plastered on Raynor's face, the transmission ended.
"Praetor?", a Protoss ensign enquired.
"Sigh. Bring us down.", said Artanis, shaking his head yet again. Raynor's way of welcoming almost had him half frightened to death. With just a change of colour for the designs of the Wraiths from teal to white, the Protoss would have been ambushed and destroyed. He had to verbally order a trigger-happy Corsair commander from disrupting a squadron of Wraiths. He surveyed the entire base, his eyes tracking the various states of disrepair visible on the accompanying Wraiths. Dominion news was right after all. Raynor's Raiders were a sorry and ragtag group, and he feared that this group may eventually gain control of all he strived so hard in the past for. Wearily closing his eyes, he faintly heard the docking mechanisms creaking and connecting as the Scout affixed itself beside the domed Starport.
Location: D.B.R.F., TORS-7.
An old and wizened scientist greeted amiably the two Marines guarding Compound-1, or affectionately known as C-1. He nonchalantly passed his permit to one of the Marine, as the other Marine checked his gauss rifle irritably. The worn out permit read: Chen Lian Quan, Dominion Bioweaponry and Robotics Facilities ( D.B.R.F. ) Entry granted for: C-1. With a slight nod, the Marine punched a code into a panel beside the reinforced neosteel doors, which retracted slowly. Chen retrieved his permit and trotted into the structure before bypassing the common laboratories to a nondescript door. He punched in the appropriate code, and the door light switched from red to green. Chen clamped down hard on the handle and yanked the door backwards forcefully. With a whoosh of air, the door swung open, and Chen continued walking down the claustrophobic and enclosed corridor, pausing each time to look at the labels on huge secured entrances along it. The different labels all showed biohazard signs, stating that they were enclosed high security storage areas of Level 4 viruses - viruses with no vaccine and no effective treatment available, such as Lassa Fever, Ebola and E. Coli. No vaccines do not equate to no cure... serums of people who survived these viruses are the helping antidotes, thought Chen, as he strided broadly past these rooms straight towards the end of the hallway, where three Marines guarded a crimson red door. On first glance, the Marines seemed to be no different from others, but Chen knew that these were bio-engineered Medics turned Marines who were safely encapsulated in reinforced BIOHAZMAT armour. They carried not gauss rifles, but rather vespene flamethrowers. Ha! Normal fire can't kill my babies... Damn the high temperatures of Vespene combustion... I'll find a way to preserve them and make them hardier to withstand the heat, thought Chen, eyeing the flamethrowers irritably. After executing a smart salute, the Marine stepped aside and the door slid effortlessly open.
Chen inexorably continued his steady pace past the Marines. He was stopped briefly for a high-security retina scans, where four pulse cannon turrets tracked his every motion. With second level security cleared, the turrets retracted and Chen inserted his hand into the mold beside the last titanium-kevlar high density door. As his fingerprints were being verified, Chen idly scanned the label on the door: Level 5 Viruses. No treatment, no vaccines and no serums. The viruses contained inside were 'slate-wipers', guaranteeing total human deaths in two weeks. With a soft click and a hiss, the silvery white door slid open to reveal a preparation chamber containing 3 spacesuits and numerous pairs of reinforced kevlar rubber gloves. Chen hummed idly as he thought of the weaponizing of his own Marburg virus variant and prayed that today would be his lucky break. Meanwhile, he suited up, checking carefully for any holes or breaks in the spacesuit. Finally, he attached on the bulbous helmet, and for a moment it was extremely quiet inside until a soft steady whoosh of air signified that oxygen was pumping through. Chen slipped on two pairs of gloves, making sure that no part of his body was exposed before turning open the containment unit. He stepped into the containment unit and felt a nauseating drop in pressure as the room changed to anti-pressure inhospitable to both man and virus alike. He flexed his fingers as the last barrier to the virus laboratories beeped once and unclicked itself. He was in.
Chen immediately locked his feral eyes upon a batch of dead Zerglings, his evil grin widening as he inspected them. Good. The Marburg Variant Dominion ( MVD ) had proven to be able to survive in dead cells and tissues for up to two years, all thanks to robotics venturing and splicing introduced in the genetical makeup of the virus. Furthermore, the insertion of nanotechnology and robotics had led the viruses to be intelligent; a cowering and trembling human clad in Dominion Marine armor had not been infected. Now for the grand final test. After weeks of induced evolution and engineering, two small vials of nanotech MVD had been cultured. These jewels had the ability to latch onto armor and burrow their way through before infecting the host, not unlike the way Terrans are infested. He slotted a vial into a machine, and proceeded to examine his other 'pets'. A skeletal figure of a man lay sagging in a flimsy metal cage, with thick viscous blood interspersed with foul virus bacteriums poured out of his pores, ranging from his eyes to his bare skin. Even his bald scalp was bleeding inexorably in continuous stream which confluenced down his gaunt and dishevelled face. Chen looked on detachedly and was brought back to reality with by a soft ding. Chen paced towards the machine he had left alone and critically examined the end product. One vial of MVD had just been weaponised to form one million biological gauss rounds. In a matter of tens of seconds, the ammunition mass produced had been enough to equip approximately a Dominion Marine Division of a thousand men. The Beloved Leader, Arcturus Mengsk, will be tremendously pleased.
Author's note: I'm extremely sorry for not updating the story... I had many other commitments such as my upcoming GCE O levels and my girlfriend. I promise to continue bringing the best out of me for everyone, but I do hope you readers can stand the long wait of a month or so before I add another addition to my Starcraft chronicles.