Starcraft: Takeover

Paul Franklin

Original Concept courtesy of Blizzard Entertainment ©

Chapter 1: Endangered Species

"What the hell's supposed to be out here? There's nothing but rocks and Zerg shit for miles."

"Beats me. Take that up with the Sergeant. I'm sure he'll be more than happy to transfer you to the front lines."

"I think I'll take my chances with the Zerg shit."

The two Marines headed back to the rest of the regiment. Stationed on the outskirts of the Fargus Ruins on Odesae, the 15th Platoon of the Confederate Special Forces had orders to patrol the wastelands of the recent battleground between the Terran and Zerg forces. As little life as was to be found out here - most of it Zergling stragglers left behind after the destruction of the Zerg colonies - there was still hostile activity that needed to be taken care of before Terran colonization could resume as before.

The two Marines, who went by Noog and Revillo, entered the mess hall of the Command Center that had been set up as a base of activities for the regiment. Sitting down to their daily gruel, they chatted about who had seen the worst action in the war.

"One time," Revillo said, "I was sitting with my best friend out in the field. Just another boring day, when out of nowhere, one of those Zergling bastards jumped up from over the hill. Bit my bud's head clean off."

"You two really shouldn't talk about shit like that over lunch. You might make me puke into my gruel. If you ask me, it'd be an improvement." The two Marines turned around to see Quiksilver holding his tray over their heads, almost as if he intended to dump the contents of his lunch onto them. Quiksilver was known for his speed in battle, able to mercilessly dispatch Zerg with just a few blasts of his flamethrower. His blackened skin showed proof of his experience as a Firebat, the Confederacy's secret weapon against the Zerg infantry.

"Hard to believe we've been out here for almost 6 months with no activity from the Zerg." Quiksilver slurped up some of his gooey cuisine. "Almost feels a little unnerving."

"You just worry about killing things," Noog retorted. "Leave the thinking to the higher-ups."

The bell rang, and the troops - consisting largely of Marines and Firebats, with a few Wraith Pilots and Ghosts - filed out to the training grounds for their field exercises. The targets, built using refined hover technology, zoomed up and down the field, exploding into shards as bullets broke into them at horrifying speeds.

"If that doesn't kill a Hydralisk," Noog laughed as he sent a bullet perfectly through the head of one of the targets, "nothing will."

Back at the Barracks, Revillo had been detained. Wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve an absence from field training, Revillo walked to his bunk. There, Revillo caught sight of a message flashing on the holoprojector on the head of his bed. The message was in bright red letters on a green background, displaying the message

RECIPIENT: PVT. REVILLO

SENDER: SRGT. RICHTER

SUB: PROMOTION

Revillo grinned. This was the chance he had been waiting 5 years for. Reading the message, he noted that it had been postmarked 13:45 and stated to meet in the Sergeant's bunk in 5 minutes. Glancing towards the clock on the Barracks wall, Revillo felt his stomach lurch when the clock read 13:55.

"Great way to make a first impression," Revillo grunted as he sprinted towards Sergeant Richter's bunk.

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The Marines went back to the Barracks, while Quiksilver went his own way to receive physical augmentations. As Noog walked over to his bunk, he noticed a message on Revillo's holoprojector. Bastard must've left his mail open, Noog thought. I can't pass this up. He leaned over into Rev's bunk and skimmed across the message. After skipping over the formalities in the opening of the message, his eyes stopped on a particular paragraph. Noog almost pissed his pants.

"Holy shit, guys. Check this out! Rev's gone and got himself promoted!"

"You're damn right." The Marines turned around to see Rev, outfitted in his new Ghost uniform.

"Well aren't you a pretty-boy now," Noog taunted. Rev explained how the Sergeant had noticed his excellent track record on the field, ranging from special explosives missions to stealth, infiltration and data gathering. "He said I'd be perfect for the Ballistics division of the Covert Ops division. All I have to do is help the research team there develop an algorithm for producing nuclear missiles from the natural resources out here, and I'll be all set to blow the shit out of any Zerg colony that tries to set foot on this planet."

During all the commotion caused by Revillo's promotion, the Marines hardly noticed as the new recruit walked through the door and took his place at the back of the Barracks. Setting down his bags, the recruit began to unpack his belongings and sort them out on his bed.

Out of the corner of his eye, one of the Privates, whom the others called Boxo, noticed the new recruit sorting out his clothes. "Hey guys," he remarked, "looks like we got a real momma's boy over here. Lookit him, he sorts out his clothes like his momma taught him to do!" A ring of laughter exploded around the room as Boxo continued to ridicule the newcomer. "You better not expect this to be a damn cakewalk, boy. This is the big time. Momma's not here to hold your hand."

Before anyone could blink an eye, Boxo was planted against the wall. The recruit, holding Boxo firmly by the neck, smiled a big, toothy smile. "Thanks for the advice," he said, "but I think I can take care of myself."

"Sounds good to me," Boxo choked out. "Now, uh… mind putting me back down?"

"Oh… sorry." The recruit hadn't noticed - and neither had the other Privates - that Boxo had been suspended 6 inches off the ground during the tussle. Rubbing his sore neck, Boxo glared at the apparently not so new recruit. "What's your name, anyways? And it better not be some pussy name, or I'll never hear the end of it. No one wants to get his ass beat by a guy named Fluff."

That got a smile on everyone's faces. The tension broken, the newcomer answered. "Name's Stickaz. Ex-Goliath." Everyone was curious as to why a Goliath had been demoted to Marine, but they figured if they didn't want to end up 6 inches above the ground - or worse, 6 feet under it - they'd keep their mouths shut.

As the Marines began to talk about Revillo's promotion and Boxo's recent ass-whooping, they heard a knock on the Barracks door. The automated door opened to reveal the Sergeant himself in the doorway. Immediately, every one of the soldiers - excluding Stickaz - stood rigid at attention. The Sergeant, Richter, commanded respect wherever he went within the camp. Well known through out the system as a tough, commanding officer, Richter was the head of the Goliath Corps. and a mastermind in tactical combat. Quick-witted and sharp-tongued, you didn't want to have him as your enemy.

Apparently, however, Stickaz was looking for trouble. Richter, noticing the grim look on the new Private's face, walked over to Stickaz's bunk.

"You must be the new recruit," Richter scoffed. "I'll forgive you this time, because apparently you don't have the training yet to show respect to your senior officers." Richter gave the Private's bunk a sharp kick, then proceeded to the front of the Barracks.

"I am merely here to see that Revillo's transfer of Barracks goes as smoothly as possible. Once the new Ghost has moved, all of you are to report to the Training Field for extra practice." A loud moan escaped from many of the Marine's mouths. "As you were," Richter said as he left the Barracks.

Stickaz was the only one with a smile on his face after the Sergeant left. This is going to be one hell of a camp, Stickaz thought as he suited up for the practice session.