I do not own, in any aspect that entitles dominion (not the Mengsk kind at least) of any variation, Naruto nor Starcraft.
Wish I did though...
Warning: Contains swearing.
They call me a Spectre
Chapter 7: From the past
(Flashback!)
Barrack Bunker: Aloha, Minus Five
Minus Five. More desert than anything else that even the most desperate of fugitives would think twice in regards of hiding within its confines thanks to a distinct lack of accessible surface water and the marginal tracks of land afforded by rocky plateaus. There were only a grand total of three settlements, all of which heavily, or rather loosely in all actuality, monitored by the numerous armories and garrisons that inhabited the planet, the former for storing heavy ordnance such as tanks and nukes whereas the latter was used for conditioning training and "disciplinary action." Where celebrities had rehab when they committed wrong, so too did the higher ups, the well connected, or the silver spoon born children of the Confederacy have places such as Minus Five when they had done something recognized as wrong. Again the greatest threat the Interfectorem Bestiæ had to face when assigned to this planet, be it on purpose or against their will, were scorpids the size of a toe and half as dangerous or worse whatever constituted as a rat to shoot at.
"Some folks are born made to wave the flag.
Ooh they're red, white and blue.
And when the band plays "Hail to the Chief"
Ooh They point the cannon at you, Lord."
It ain't me.
It ain't me.—"
"What are you guys doing?"
"We fixed the radio, Sarge!"
"Drumming our hands along the counters was getting old!"
"We couldn't find Jakk XM..."
"You guys are ruining this experience for me, you know that right?" Naruto at last grumbled.
"—the house looks like a rummage sale. –"
"Ah its been around for centuries... little amazed that such an ancient song is still playing though, never mind the fact the guys who sang and played it have been dead almost as long."
"Holy crap... Sarge is some sort of music historian!"
"Hey Sarge! Who were the Beatles?"
"Aerosmith! Do Aerosmith!"
"Sergeant!" All eyes turned to the chief portal leading in and out of the mess hall belonging to their bunker to find Denise's head poking out of it with a face scrunched up in utter seriousness. "A message from command!"
He perked an eyebrow and immediately set off, leaving the triplets and Naruto to their own, albeit short lived, devices. A glance was shared between the four that conveyed the new plan. In a heartbeat the four rose up and made after the sergeant as well as the corporal by proxy who had disappeared shortly after the commanding officer had.
Thanks to the general consistency that was the typical construction of a barrack bunker and the time spent living within them, it was child's play to find the nerve center of the entire installation and by extension for them as a unit— the communications center.
"Come again?"
"New squad mate being deployed to your location, Sergeant. ETA is ten minutes."
Denise had long since beaten them to the communications room and had assumed their ultimate plan of hiding along the hallway relevant wall to eavesdrop on the conversation. It didn't stop them however. If anything it made it a little awkward with the eventual crowding of the door without being seen or heard by the man sitting atop a stool whose focus was on a screen.
"With all due respect sir, I cannot help but think that this is a bit too sudden."
"Think what you will Sergeant but what's done is done. Your new CO is arriving soon, best greet her with proper respect."
"Say again?"
It took a full moment for him to realize that the transmission was over; no one was answering from the other end no matter how much he queried.
"Well," he rumbled after a pause, "you heard him! Gear up!" he shouted as he sprung to his feet.
XVX
Six minutes later, outside
To anyone who stood atop the rocky outcropping accessible by one earthen, rock laden ramp, they would've heard the distinct rumbling of machinery at work aside from the incoming roar of a dropship descending to land. From the loose sand that dominated most of the planet came a trap door topped with canvas colored to match its surroundings despite its more natural cover being shaken off by its ascendance. From its depths came Omega squad in full arms in a mild charge to line up before the dropship whose skids just kissed the ground and began to work its automatic adjustments to keep the ship balanced, all the while the door to its rear kicked into action to reveal just one occupant in the troop bay. No crates meant for them or even another base. No vehicles or empty SCVs. Not even the pilot to so much as see his or her living cargo off...
Whoever it was wearing the hardskin of a medic's trappings, shield included. An immaculate one... brand new even upon closer inspection that from the exclusive lack of nicks or even a small chipping in the paint that Denise's own armor was host to in various places. As to who lay underneath the suit... she, assumed so by overhearing the transmission, had her visor down which in turn reflected the glare of the sun back at those who wished to see her face.
Yet... he could sense her mind... yet couldn't all at once. He could sense the minds around him and see them clear as day, even have an idea as to what their thinking or at least feeling at any moment truthfully. Not with her though. It was like a wall of condensed sound that kept him at bay that his ears and mind could both see and hear at once with each prod...
Whatever the case, she was approaching and heading towards the base, through the small line of Confederate soldiers that came to greet her with nary a thought of the unhidden yet quieted glares drilling into her back.
At the very most, perhaps a trick of the reflect light that sought to blind him, she regarded Naruto with a slight twist of the head in her passing.
"I am Lieutenant Sasha Marlin, and I'm taking charge as of today."
Naruto?
(End Flashback!)
Bel'Shir
"We're about to land, Buddy!"
"Lock 'n load!"
Something was blaring on the com... Fortunate Son by CCR? He could only groan and shake his head as he grabbed his rifle and reminded his otherwise groggy mind what it was they were doing so far from the frontline in one of the Spec Op dropships: This was not the first time Tosh made to steal the ethereal substance called "Terrazine." His previous teams were effectively warded off by the planet's inhabitants much like they have been at Redstone, the Protoss this time as opposed to the Zerg, and like Redstone some of his agents had been left behind thanks to a failure to mount a proper rescue thanks to the powers that be. This band however was different than the hired guns that were contracted SCV pilots and reapers that managed to sever their ties to the Dominion. They were ghosts... or whatever they were— Tosh was definitely not normal. He had secrets just like everyone else, but he was definitely a ghost himself at one point in time.
Regardless, the team that went in long before the Raiders had arrived were caught in the act and had been on the run from the enraged protoss tribesmen since then. With a more organized and frankly larger military taking on the job however presented an opportunity to not only distract the bulk protoss forces, the Tal'darim as they called themselves, but even force them to recall some of their hunting parties to fight off the Raiders.
"All right folks, keep your arms and legs inside until this ride comes to a full and complete stop!"
"Yeah, yeah! Just stop the damn thing already so we can hop off!"
"Have a nice trip boys!"
"LET'S GO!"
The reapers jumped out first, one of them cackling a tad maniacally at the rapid descent to the ground below. There were four in total to match three marines and one ghost who soon joined them; not wanting to risk being shot at for sport in the least by a passing scout, the specialized dropship sped off to the safety of the main base to await for the team's call for an extraction.
"Right, which way?"
"Let's just pick a path and see where it takes us!"
"We stick together!" a marine spoke up, his right shoulder given a red paintjob of a zergling's skull perforated by two bullet holes. His visor slide up to reveal the ragged bearded face of the man beneath. "We don't know if these 'toss have even been recalled yet so they may be out here in force; our chances of survival are gonna be a lot better by staying together and letting the sergeant here find them!"
"Pssh... whatever..." A slight glare was spent on the reaper for the second till the marine's gaze tore away to the distracted ghost. "Anything?"
If only he knew... what Naruto had dismissed as someone trying to wake him up, someone belonging to his current deployment trying to arose him to be exact, was someone else entirely who made no effort to hide her myriad of emotions from him. Whoever she was, she was happy to see him to say the least... excited even though it was restrained by self discipline, embarrassed even because she couldn't even hide it, and a tad... anxious? Why was she so anxious? She was making an effort to mask that particular aspect of herself but still... and why did she seem so familiar to him?
Had they met before?
Na-ru-to!
That was starting to ring some bells...
At any rate he had a distinct idea as to which direction to look now.
"This way!"
"All right! Let's do this!" The visor to the exposed marine's helmet slide back into place as they followed the ghost's lead into the jungle as a unit.
XVX
Shadowed cavern
"Oi, Tosh. We spotted some kind of custom terran ship cruising on by... might be someone trying to move in on your claim."
A sparse but deep throated chuckle slowly filtered through the helmet's communicator shortly before the actual response was given. "Don'tchu worry about them one bit— they're with me."
"Mercs? It's like you don't have any faith in us..." the man grumbled as he peered towards the sole entrance to their current abode, his eye partially gazing upon the partially revealed form of his cohort. She was garbed much like save for a few exceptions: With the nature of their profession dark leather-like wetsuits that were specially made for ghosts, including their counterparts, was to be expected but that was where the similarities ended.
Where his was decorated in red pulsating lines much like a ghost's suit, hers did not. Where his suit was divided in color, black as far as his outer portent of his limbs and sides were concerned and gray regarding the chest and the inner portion of his appendages, both kept seperate by the distinctive pulsating red veins, hers was black and white. Save for the front and sides of the leggings of her suit, as well as a trio of bands that encircled her leggings at her ankles, knee, and the breadth of three fingers on her part from the top of the knee's band, he suit was white along with her crotch which drove itself upwards in a V, following the ligaments of her legs where her thighs and crotch met; the V shaped band, studded with four likewise colored bolts in total along the way, went as high up as her waist before circling back to form a likewise pattern on the opposing end. Where he had a breastplate to help him survive direct rounds from a guess rifle, she chose to forsake it in favor of a wiry harness of sorts that ran the line between prominent breasts that her suit couldn't hide away and her ribs, the middle of which held together by trio pointed fastening garnish with a red that connected the cable-like band together at the front and enabled a third cable to run between her assets to link up a mirroring piece of equipment that ran another two cables to a pair of fastenings at her shoulders. On her shoulders were white, ribbed spaulders, a trait and method of protection he didn't have, that sat snuggly upon them. Where he had metallic gauntlets adored by a circle in the metalwork entrapped by the same decoration that marked his suit, she had on thick gloves in that contrasting white she favored so much that went back towards her forearms like a protective yet curved plate that didn't touch said limb. It too was ribbed like her spaulders. As for her helmet, also painted to match the accursed white, hers was truly different than his own.
Where his looked much like a gas mask with red eyes and a pair of tubing coming out where the neck was most relevant, hers was... the plates which consited as its protection were not directly connected to one another, four in all that encompassed her head and jaw respectively that circled around a fifth that stood in place of her face. Its only markings that made it stand out aside from its oval design were rectangular lines not unlike a targeting reticle that were cradled along the fitting edges of her helmet's 'face.'
And then there were the armored 'high heels...'
He had dealt with eccentricity more than once throughout his life to render bright colors like white to something on par with it a simple annoyance that on occasion got the better of him, yet it was the "shoes" she wore, also garbed in white as if to add insult to injury, that he couldn't help but sneer at whenever he looked to her.
Again Tosh chuckled throatily into the radio. "Think what you will, it ain't personal. I'll admit though that I would've liked to have had a canister of our own already before this," he drawled.
"In any case be aware that they sent a crew to pick you two up. They should be findin' ya fairly soon."
"Oh?" the man queried with a hidden but raised brow. "What makes you say that?"
His only answer was the same chortle that haunted his ear which was soon forgotten. Already he could feel the presence of another probing his mind, searching for him and undoubtedly his partner to exterminate with extreme prejudice. "Shit." They had been found!
It was only a matter of time before they were confronted. Ensuring his AGR-Fourteen was loaded, he strode towards the entrance in time to catch his partner in the act of grabbing her own weapon of choice— a curved sword, a katana as she called it, from the dark recesses of the cave. Oh how he had scoffed at it in derision much like he had her apparel at one time. Yet he, like her enemies, had come to both fear and respect its effectiveness in her hands despite its inherent disadvantages in today's day and age.
Regardless, by the time they had left the outskirts of the cave's entrance they already found their escape had been cut off by one of the hunting parties. Eight zealots, clung in their golden armor with short sword like blades made of concentrated psi energy tinted in a teal color emerging from of their alcoves situated atop their forearm length, handless gauntlets, manned the front line while their five immortal compatriots, mechanical shells for crippled protoss soldiers standing atop four mechanical legs joined at a base to which held up a head-like torso of a half-moon but faceless pharaoh's mask of old that was further joined by cannon on each side. In the middle of the entire congregation, hovering just above the tallest blades of grass underneath them off, was one of the more ornately armor clad members of their kind, a templar whose cold gaze was as cold as it was murderous in its piercing stare.
"So much for a rescue." Nothing else was spared as banter as both drew and aimed their weapons respectively at the charging line of zealots that was followed closely by their armored kin just out of range to deliver their own brand of divine wrath upon the two. As for the templar, he contented himself to idle in the rear, probably to enjoy the blood bath that was to commence once the alien armaments eventually found purchase...
Bastard.
"GERONIMO!" It was too late for the High Templar that swiveled himself about to defend himself as well as for the immortal closest to him that halted its advance to do the same. Neither were expecting an assault from above. A pair of armored blue feet seemingly burst forth from a figure who's shadow and angle of descent blotted out the sun and slammed into the subsequently stunned templar, knocking him to the ground when the concentration needed for it was lost by sheer brute force. With his shields weakened and his mind awhirl he was defenseless against the pair of P-Thirty-eights directed straight at his head, their triggers already pulled for a relentless, brutal barrage bullets that decimated everything in its wake.
As for the immortal and a pair of its kind now aware of the templar's grisly fate, all of whom were on the move in a late bid to save their comrade that ended in an ethereal explosion of blue flames, were met with their own doom. Their lead by some unseen force that slipped through their shields their impromptu leader suddenly exploded, forcing the pair behind it to stop to find and hopefully destroy the cause of their partner's sudden end. They were met with the same fate in rapid succession by the time they spotted a troop of marines and reapers making their way to the battle line behind them. Again the immortals detached themselves from the line of zealots to ward off the newfound threat coming straight at them with a ghost lagging behind them, leaving the zealots to fight their own battle... short lived as it was.
The zealots had divided themselves into groupings of four as they made after the duo, four for each of the pair. Of the four chasing the male counterpart of the two, they were lead away by the man's strafing, his rifle whittling away what it could of their personal shields as they barreled towards him in a frightening sprint that was stopped dead only by the concussive blast of psionic energy, courtesy of a smirking fleeing soldier who left them at the mercy of a bloodthirsty pack of reapers, one of whom was slinging a activated explosive charge over his head. Not too far behind them were the trio of marines to help finish what the reaper were to start.
As for the other four... they weren't as fortunate. Their target charged them head on like a twisted, blood thirsty mirror of themselves with her hand upon the blade's handle. Before the first zealot knew it, the blade was drawn from its sheath and by passed through him in a seamless cleave that the second one behind him fell prey to. Their comrades leapt away before she had time to add at least a third to her number of victims; of the two she had smitten, even the flames which was the teleportation devices equipped to their armor kicking into action parted where she had sliced through— horizontally at the waist and diagonally from the region of where the shoulder and neck meet to just below where the left pectoral would be on a protoss' body. They readied their blades in wary stances upon the realization of what had happened, that their shields were in all likelihood inadequate to handle what appeared to be a normal sword in the hands of a female psionic...
Which was odd in of itself now that he thought about it. Even from a distant, no matter how restrained she was, he would feel a very palpable aura of sadistic malice radiate from her like light would from a sun once blood was drawn. He had seen her without the helmet, without armor even. Those who lacked his own abilities and experiences were easily fooled into thinking it to be a byproduct of her conditioning, that the Ghost Academy or what have you had installed a grave sense of aggression roused only by combat. He knew better. Change what you will with the body and mind by proxy, but in the end you cannot change who people are deep down inside. Not even the deepest, most powerful scrubbing afforded by resocialization could do that in the end, all it can do it lock it away.
But it was different this time. It was if she was only going through the motions with her guarded mind elsewhere... it didn't make her any less formidable however. Not that it mattered. The ground rose up as if it were alive and clamped down on one of the zealot's legs in a sudden pull, dragging the shocked and enraged warrior into the earth no matter how much he pushed, clawed, and stabbed at both the surrounding ground as well as the patch that enveloped him to begin with in a bid to escape. In the end only the earth knew what became of him afterwards. As for the remaining zealot who turned to witness this in awestricken horror, he had left himself wide open for his enemy to finish her work in almost nonexistent glee.
"Tosh's lot, right?" The psionic soldier turned to the one who addressed him, some marine with a red zergling skull on the shoulder of his otherwise blue power suit. A swift glance through lens that didn't betray it was dispensed towards his partner who was doing everything within her power to talk, not run, towards a rather hesitant, tired looking ghost despite the latter's restraint to show otherwise in that particular aspect.
"Yeah. What of it?" the man practically growled at the marine. He could feel the spike of irritation thanks to his tongue but the marine had enough self control to keep himself from acting upon it.
"We're here to extract you."
Meanwhile Naruto couldn't keep his head and heart from their own distinct hammering, the former by racking it for information, and hopefully answers, whereas the latter... he wasn't quite sure. Was it because of this strange familiar yet alien presence she warmly encircle his own consciousness with? Perhaps... Was it the way she sashayed towards him? No... No, no, and again just to be sure, no. the way her body moved, accentuated by the form fitting, curve displaying suit had nothing to do with it...
Moving on!
It certainly wasn't her-...
Must... think... appropriate... thoughts!
She had long since sheathed the sword and had placed the weapon into an almost invisible holster on her side so her hands could reach up to remove the helmet from her head, the plates of which slowly parting from underneath...
Wait, sword? Why did that seem familiar? Then again her method of attack...
He knew her... Project Phantom! That was it! She was one of the... 'recruits.' He knew her! This presence she projected onto him wasn't meant to have him find her, not directly at least in reasoning, but to help remind him of who it was he spoke to like this in wordless convorsations! Conversations they didn't want to be monitored so easily! It was an unsuccessful attempt overall but still!
But her name...
Nico? No.
Sicko? No- wa—no. Definitely not that.
Letters... he remembered letters...
Psycho? No- wait... Psycho... Psycho... Pyscho... It sounds like psycho...
Long purple tresses fell out of the confines of the helmet that were soon followed by a delicate chin and pale pink lips... All of which natural.
He already knew her from a long time ago, but what was her name?!
Her hair in all its glory cascaded down her back to her waist save for a trio of tresses, two of which curling beneath her oceanic blue eyes and a third hefty lock coming to her brow. The helmet that once kept it at bay now sat in the crook of her arm where it could no longer hide away the caring eyes that she regarded him with all those years ago, coupled with an almost never absent smile that only served to stop his heart when used in conjunction with her gaze.
It was then he knew, her name slipping out between his lips from a memory gone by, filtering through the mask's reverberating voice mask as smoothly as possible.
"Saeko..."
Blue eyes watered and her fond, no... caring? Whatever it was... if her earlier smile could stop his heart, this one threatened to destroy with its mere existence as it burned into his memory as he nodded a silent "yes."
"Come on sergeant! We have a extraction point to get to and I don't intend to have us caught by a search party along the way!" A large mechanical hand clasped itself around the ghost's shoulder and dragged the stupefied, stumbling ghost away to a path which the reapers eagerly taken to long before them.
Disappointed, the young woman sighed in resignation and moved to equip her helmet on once more, her hair rising by an unseen force to fold and tie itself to better fit inside the helmet when a gauntlet encased hand took a aggressive hold of her shoulder.
"What is it that you think you're doing?" he hissed out. His grip on her shoulder tightening to an abusive hold.
Immediately her eyes went cold, deathly sharp even as she came down from her natural high and turned them on her partner who froze in his place as his consciousness was flooded by a will not of bloodlust but of a severe interest in killing for killing's sake. One that promised that it would be as slow as it was painful even if it served only to damn her in the end.
"What I do in regards to him," she lowly intoned in a deceptively calm timbre, "is none of your business." At a deliberate place she reached over her chest with her right hand and dislodged the soldier's hand effortlessly with a mere pinching of his wrist for a grasp of her own. Her hair once more rose up and resumed its work and her helmet soon clamped itself back into place shortly after, yet her piercing gaze never left him as she adjusted it and waited for the piece of armor to snap itself shut.
He still didn't move after she returned her gaze towards the ignorant squad on the verge of abandoning them, the seriousness belonging to her orbs lost upon finding the still dumbstruck blond, and went after them, or rather him.
A/N: Yes this story is a bit of a multiverse one if you just realized it, I'll keep it minor however as dependant of the story and situations provided; I do have one, or rather two more in mind though what they are will be a secret of mine.
As for Saeko's armor, I based it off a concept art image I found over the design of a possible female spectre.
Just in case... I do not own Fortunate Son by CCR.
Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention! No refunds.