Korhal - Augustgrad
"Jimmy?" Tychus whispered, aghast, his conversation with Jayce forgotten.
A startled medical aide jumped backwards as Matt leaped out of his chair and to his feet violently, eyes wide. "Commander..."
"Oh no," Egon gasped, datapad slipping out of his deadened hands. With crystal clarity, he knew where he needed to be; his feet started running for Shlassa.
With the exception of Stetmann, each infested man stood dumbstruck as the pervasive pressure of the hivemind simply disappeared, none remembering the peace of being alone in their own mind. For a moment, one blissful moment, they were just men again; and their leader, worse, their friend, just died.
On the exhale of the Swarm, Shlassa physically slumped against the wall of the locked science lab, feeling keenly the mighty Zagara desperately tugging the reeling race back together. Unthinkably, she fought back. All of the infested men screamed horrifically as their mental essence was used as the rope for a tug-o-war between the two broodmothers.
This is the will of your Queen! Zagara hissed in frustration; that the tenacious little broodmother could last a second was a testament to how stretched thin Zagara found herself. Surrender the infested and rejoin the Swarm!
My Queen tasked me with keeping these charges from the hivemind. Shlassa's mental voice quavered at the might of the veteran broodmother, but she only had to cling to 6 members of the swarm as opposed to millions. You are not my Queen.
A mental snarl and a feeling, similar to a shifting of weight and balance in a grappling match, was Zagara's response.
Shlassa worried at the change, but perhaps the new leader of the swarm decided seven members were too small a number to fight over; her mandibles spread wide in surprise when her error was realized: Stetmann was systematically plucked from her grasp and lost, the scientist was on the other side of the door and unlocking it.
Parting with a low hiss, the door to the lab opened and Egon stepped inside, but only his body; all traces of hesitance and jumpiness were gone, weak traits scrubbed clean by the hivemind.
Still, as his head turned and multifaceted eyes, now gleaming a dull orange, locked on Shlassa, she beseeched him, "Egon... Help me." At risk of losing the others, she tried to impress her will upon him, to bring him back under her limited sway. With the infested lending their might, order may yet be restored.
Mouth stretching into a wide grin, Egon's eyes took on an angry radiance. Zagara's will did not budge. "You wanted me to get back to you when I knew what it was like to be a part of the Swarm," the simple statement was made without inflection, but Shlassa shook her armored head defiantly in response.
"I know now," he stepped forwards and as the broodmother raised her clawed hands in a defensive gesture, he raised his hands in return. "I am not going back."
Shlassa screamed, a high pitched echoing squeal that was drowned out by a deafening thunderclap. Egon walked out of the science lab, his shirt and lab coat charred and smoking. Impressed, Zagara resolved to collect all of the now dead Queen's infested collection, but it would be easier said than done.
NO! Lasarra shot to her feet as the veil crumbled, her charges swept away in an unrelenting alien tide; she had failed and already terran minds were crying out in terror and being violently snuffed. These people were no longer attempting to render care to sick men, they were in a cage with rampaging zerg.
Valerian! she cried, charging out of the medical bay at a run. They are loose! Protect your people! Swann was the closest, there had to be some way to salvage this and contain them peacefully; a glimpse came as one of the former engineer's victims passed into the beyond and Lasarra was left wondering if that desire might just be impossible.
As the doors to the armory ground open, Lasarra recoiled from the stench that assaulted her senses and further from the image inside; Rory was there, hunched forwards as a bright green substance sprayed out of two tube-like protrusions from between neck and shoulder, on the receiving end was a white CMC that was flailing erratically. There would be screams coming from the hapless person inside, but the speakers were gone.
Melting flesh and metal, Lasarra noted grimly as she strode towards Swann, the hulled out CMC falling to its back with a clatter and exposing the fully melted down front. There were others here still, hiding behind boxes and praying fervently for saving; their thoughts were the chaos of those who were certain they were about to die, without an inkling of the focus and discipline that the protoss were renowned for.
Rory Swann. She projected at him calmly, though touching the mind of the swarm was far more uncomfortable than the shielded infested men; it gave the sensation of talking to an audience of millions instead of one. Come back! There was a disturbing similarity to the khala in this, and she firmly set the thought aside, now was not the time.
Straightening from his hunch, Rory's body snapped to face Lasarra, the gesture sending a small spattering of acid onto a discarded tarp that immediately began to smoke and burn. Smouldering orange eyes did not register any kind of recognition, only a seething hatred that made his lips curl into a snarl, "Protoss!" he spat, voice echoing as though hundreds of others were layered over it.
One medic and a lone scientist remained alive in the armory with them, she could feel them and their fright; the scientist would be of no use, but the armored medic had the strength of her machine and training, Lasarra spoke to her quickly. When I tell you to move, you must do so with haste! Surprise flitted through the medic's mind, but Lasarra had her answer when the woman filled with firm resolve.
Raising her arms, Lasarra mimed a placating gesture as both the tarp, now flaming in earnest, and an empty storage container lifted upwards silently. It is not too late, pull free, I beg you! she pleaded honestly.
There was no reasoning with monsters, and as Rory Swann snarled and hunched forwards to attack, Lasarra made the terrible decision to strike first; the large flaming tarp was tossed over his short, bulky frame and an instant afterwards the heavy container slammed down around him with a metallic crash.
Hold the crate down! Lasarra commanded and the medic came scrambling, throwing the weight of the CMC down on the box and clinging for dear life as it rattled; Rory howled and slammed against it furiously, each fist sending a flash of white streaking through Lasarra's eyes as he threatened to pound through her telekinetic strength, the box would already be destroyed without it.
Stuck inside the container with the flaming tarp, a rational Rory Swann might have just stomped it out and waited, but this was far from a rational Swann; he began to spray the inside of the box with acid and its shape started to deform like a melting crayon.
Swirling clawed fingertips through the air, Lasarra focused on the fire inside the box, sending it spinning around Rory and the fresh volatile fuel he was providing; it was only a few seconds before bellows of anger turned into shrieks of pain as his error was acknowledged. Lasarra was turning the container into a furnace and Swann was the kindling.
All too soon, he began to cook and boil inside his own chitinous armor with his home made napalm. Sensing the end, disgusted, Zagara cast off Rory from the swarm like so much meat; and waking from his nightmare, Rory Swann screamed under his own power.
Step away. Her mental voice was as calm and lifeless as a dead pond, the medic stumbled back from the red hot neosteel as it further deformed and trembled; letting go of the fire and the box, she settled down and closed her eyes as her skin mottled. His last moments, a man again only to die horrifically, would be burned into her mind for the rest of her long life.
"Thanks for the save!" the medic, Willow, cried; her instincts were taking control already, running over to the remaining scientist and making sure he was physically intact. No need to ask if he was mentally okay, neither were.
Lasarra watched the scene dully before closing her eyes, she would take a page from the medical professional; there was a small window of opportunity to save further lives and it was closing rapidly. Seeking out the eye of the storm in her mind, she flowed into that calm space and rooted there, then got back to work. Ever a comfort, the khala warmed her spirit from afar.
"Hey, wait!" Willow yelled after Lasarra, waving her metal encased arm.
Lasarra paused on the threshold of the armory door, waiting.
"Just got word from my superiors on the Bucephalus, they say the other two are being captured right now!"
Ah, Valerian. Lasarra acknowledged Willow with a small nod, knowing how the terran like their physical gestures; she turned her mental attentions towards the emperor-to-be and found he was all but mentally screaming in an attempt to get her attention.
LASARRA WE ARE CAPTURING THE INFEST-
I am here, Valerian Mengsk. She intoned calmly. My apologies for not responding with more haste, I was... She paused again, the screaming still ringing in her head. Engaged.
I am thankful you are safe, my people are reporting that Mr. Swann was not with the good captain and chief science adviser...If I may ask, was he who you were engaged with? Valerian was concerned, but in a distant way, she noted; his people came first, he had even said as much.
Yes. Her calm facade wavered. Rory Swann is no more.
Valerian considered her words and, more clinically, their implications, before responding. I am sorry Lasarra, I have no doubt that no other options were available to you; it may hearten you to hear that both Matt and Egon have been detained with minimal loss of life, and I have ships searching for those who are abroad.
Before she could respond, Lasarra tilted her head sharply; there was a sound beyond the realm of hearing that was growing louder by the moment. Her bright glowing eyes widened and she had all of a second to raise her mental defenses and hunker down.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
An electrical charge pulsed in heartbeats through the fog permeating all of Augustgrad; the foul, unnatural substance swelling exponentially in waves until, like a storm cloud hitting max capacity, it burst. But while storms rain down on those below them, the fog did no such thing; the resulting balloon-like pop manifested as a physical sucker punch.
Wind, hurricane strong and no less violent, ripped through the entirety of the city, pulling and twisting the fog until it coalesced at a number of points spread throughout the length and breadth of Augustgrad; at these points gathered light that expanded outwards, sucking in the fog and increasing in size to blinding miniature stars until they too burst.
Hundreds of beams, each as wide as a skyscraper, shot into the sky, cutting through ships, both terran and zerg, that had the misfortune to be in their path; the event lasted all of 30 seconds and by the end Augustgrad was glowing with the radiance of an afternoon sun, fog nowhere to be seen. Smoke drifted upwards to the sky from previously concealed destruction, and so did millions of zerg.
Augustgrad - Southern Entrenchment
As the earsplitting screeching came to an abrupt halt, Jayce sucked in a ragged breath and opened her eyes while the ghost of the noise still rattled around her skull like a bad afterthought; garbled shouting mixed with the high pitched ringing, Daren was trying to get the measure of the situation.
"Pilot, report!" Daren barked, the servos of his CMC protesting as they tried to keep him from wobbling drunkenly on his feet.
Sweaty hands keyed open the comm and her deadened vocal cords squeaked out a reply, "In one piece here."
"Findlay!" Again the lieutenant called, but no answer came. All eyes turned to Tychus then, some registering that the fog was gone for the first time.
Jayce felt her heart rate skyrocketing and a fresh sheen of sweat coating her face. Tychus stood there facing the distant and now plainly visible palace, his bulky gauss rifle laying on the plascrete beside him; everyone heard the big man scream long and hard before the wind hit. Their comms began to erupt as chatter and reports started to fly from every direction, it seemed their fellow terrans had recovered from the shock too.
"Is he..." One private questioned while gesturing, wondering if he was experiencing some kind of vivid hallucination and wanting confirmation; his metal finger pointing directly at Findlay.
Daren's gaze sharpened like a knife on the fake spectre, witnessing as he began to...Float.
Jayce unbuckled her harness and nearly slammed her forehead into the cockpit glass in an attempt to see, but it did not take long to see what the spectacle was; Tychus Findlay was floating upwards at a steady pace, and before she fully comprehended what she was doing, Jayce reached up with a clamp-like hand of the SCV and gently caught him by a leg. "Shit," she whispered, eyes wide.
Flying away. Daren stared in confusion like the rest of his men, trying to puzzle out this turn of events.
"Daren. Lieutenant," Jayce stared fearfully at the being she was holding, feeling especially in peril, "we need to contain him." When Daren did not answer right away she huffed in frustration and activated the winch at the front of the SCV while calling the attention of a nearby private, "You! Grab the winch and tie him off, quickly!"
Say what you want about privates, but they were very good at following orders; the closest one stepped forwards without hesitation, accepting the dubious command without thought. A thick winch line was in his mechanical hands and he was reaching for Tychus' leg before Daren intervened.
The zerg are floating away! Retreating! One of the garbled messages on the comm struck home and the entire convoluted puzzle snapped into place with crystal clarity. Daren felt red hot rage flaring in his chest and his voice echoed it, "Private! What do you think you are doing? Step the hell away from that thing, it's a zerg!"
"What? Zerg?" the private echoed dumbly, but the winch dropped from his hands and he began stepping away quickly. Daren trumped Jayce easily on the ladder of command, never mind respect.
"Wait, this isn't what you think it is," Jayce argued as her voice danced on the edge of disappearing entirely. "Valerian can explain everything, he-"
"Enough," Daren growled, his voice overrode hers easily even if it were not charged with all of his misguided fury; all the questions he had, whether it was drugs or cybernetic enhancements or genetic experiments, were answered. How could the Prince ally with the zerg? His teeth ground together audibly at the very thought, "That thing is a zerg, let it go."
"He saved your asses! He is on your side!" She squeaked angrily in response, but the response she received from the whole group, dead silence, suggested she might be wrong about Tychus Findlay having saved any asses.
"On second thought," Daren's voice took on a high and happy quality, right before he raised his rifle and fired. "You can stay here with your precious zerg friend," watching dark purple blood erupt out of Findlay's chest in ropes was equal parts satisfying and vindicating, he was right.
Jayce gaped like a fish, hands spreading open wide enough that when Tychus fell backwards limply he slipped from the SCVs hand clamp and fell to the ground in a heap and a puff of dust. "You idiot," she whispered, voice finally failing miserably on 'idiot'.
Already, Daren had done a sharp about-face and gestured for his men to fall in line; they were marching away and talking heatedly among one another, Jayce found herself abruptly cut from their comm and left to fend for herself. "Let's see if we can meet up with one of the merc elements and figure out our next move," Daren said.
Tychus' body lay prone at the solid neosteel feet of the SCV and Jayce stared, eyes stinging and lips quivering. All this fighting for nothing. A fierce hate bloomed in her chest, anger twisting her features and she watched from on high as the heavily damaged tissue of Findlay's chest knitted together. Whatever was about to happen, everyone involved deserved what they got.
Augustgrad - Northwest Residential
Alexei Stukov strolled down a fairly intact street, hands clasped behind his back as the thick, claw-tipped limbs on his shoulder twitched spasmodically; the terrans of the Koprulu sector had very similar architecture to those of old Earth, but his mutated heart jealously told him Earth was better, always. As Zagara rallied the swarm and carried it into space, he felt the pull and resisted, staying firmly rooted to the ground.
An interesting event was taking place nearby, the metallic tasting tang of blood in the air touching his tongue confirmed as much.
Located inside a residential building, General Warfield was in the process of lovingly peeling someones skin off; he and his victim were surrounded by a group of CMCs that more closely resembled tinsel wrapped around cherry pie filling than soldiers.
With a casual tug, General Warfield was plucked from Zagara's grasp, like a father taking his child's toy away, and brought under Stukov's administration; the new leader of the swarm immediately took notice.
What are you doing, Stukov? Zagara focused on the old infested terran, curious. Remain on Korhal and the terrans will destroy you. There would be no attempt to forcefully bring Alexei under her sway, he was well beyond that.
Ah, Zagara. Stukov replied calmly, feet guiding him towards his newly acquired friend. There is far too much air defense in this part of Augustgrad for me to just up and fly away, I'm afraid you must move on without me.
And the infested you took? There was accusation in her tone, but he took no heed, they had a good working relationship after all; he was stronger and she respected strength, the true way of the zerg.
A new friend to accompany me in my last hours, of course. What remained of his mouth smiled. Surely you won't deny me that? If I cannot leave this place, he certainly has no chance of doing so.
Without a choice, Zagara grudgingly obliged. You served our Queen well, Stukov. Perhaps not all terrans are so worthless. Her acknowledgement would be the closest old Alexei would ever get to a compliment from her.
It warms my old heart to hear you say it, Zagara. Alexei chuckled as the knocked out door frame of the building his new friend resided in came into sight. We both know my fate was with Kerrigan anyways. I wish you luck in destroying Amon, you will need it. Without further response, Zagara's presence faded as she focused her efforts on the swarm and its mass exodus of Korhal.
Horus gasped and shook, staring at a point between his hands and Adam's shocked, blood spattered and deathly pale face. "Adam? Oh god," the entirety of the scene rushed into his senses like a light being turned on in a dark room. Adam was beneath him, trapped inside his ripped open CMC and barely breathing; Warfield knew with certainly he had paralyzed him.
"Hang on son, hang on," retracting his talons, he desperately began to try and piece the young man back together, to stifle the bleeding and save him; his shoulders shook with emotion when he realized, hands full of bloody meat, that there was no salvaging this and there was no saving Adam.
A throat cleared behind him. "From one old soul to another, there are two options right now," the voice had a heavy accent that rang familiar, but Warfield barely absorbed that fact. "One," Stukov stepped into the room, shadow falling over the bodies, "you give that boy mercy and kill him."
Horus did not respond, only grasping Adam by the shoulders and looking him in the eye, trying with all his might to commune just how sorry he was.
"Or two," Alexei held up his gloved and vaguely human hand, miming the number with his digits, "you could infest him and save him." Warfield went rigid.
"Ah, there you are." Alexei chuckled at the simmering impotent rage.
"Get out," Warfield growled, watching the light fade from Adam's eyes. "Go be with your new Swarm whore."
"Now General, is that any way to treat the man who pulled you from the clutches of that 'Swarm whore'?" Alexei quirked a brow and drove the point home by forcing Warfield to stagger to a stand.
Warfield grunted angrily as his limbs listened to their new master, turning his head to finally look at his apparent savior; he blinked in surprise, "Stukov?"
"In the flesh, General. What is left of it anyway." An explosion rocked the building and one of his extra limbs twitched in response, plaster dust trickling from cracks in the ceiling. "I think we need to find a better place to have our conversation, we have much to talk about."
Lips sealing into a tight line, Horus looked back down at the corpse of Adam and felt remorse and guilt stabbing through his heart in equal measure; Adam's brother died under his command too, and now this. Were they the last of their line, all wiped out by zerg or tyrants in one form or another?
"He is at rest now," Stukov spoke in a softer tone, "but we are not. Let us go before we join him eh?"
Warfield followed and it was unclear to him whether Stukov was forcing him to or not; leaving the room of corpses and carnage, he never felt so dazed and wretched before.
Bucephalus - Rebel Base
When Valerian opened his eyes, he found himself on the floor in the fetal position with a high pitched ringing in his head; every limb felt as though it had been pulled apart and put back together again a couple times over, but he rallied his fortitude and struggled to his feet all the same. Focus, he thought to himself fiercely, piecing together events as fast as his stinging brain would allow.
"Adjutant, call captain Vaughn," he rolled his shoulders and schooled his features and voice while he waited for the captain to respond, he had a feeling he was not the only one who had spent the last minutes- or was it seconds? -screaming. Dimly, he noted that warm sunshine was pouring through the wall-length glass of his chamber.
"Prince Valerian," Vaughn's voice was gravelly and hoarse, "are you secure?"
"Yes, thank you captain. I need a status report immediately." Valerian's thoughts centered around the infested men; had they escaped in the confusion, or were they rendered useless like everyone else?
"Teams are reporting in and comms are a mess, the mercenaries are in disarray, the zerg are leaving the planet and the Mengsk palace is a graveyard," Vaughn gushed as much information as he could fit into a single breath.
"And the infested?" Valerian frowned subtly, the landscape of the entire playing field had changed completely within the span of an hour; his next few choices could have very wide repercussions.
"Subdued and the team is bringing them to the Bucephalus containment lab as we speak."
"Thank you captain, I trust you will take care of the more mundane choices; I need to discuss several of these greater matters with my advisers, you are dismissed." Valerian closed the call after Vaughn's confirmation.
Lasarra was both calm and muted when she touched his mind. I am here.
Valerian began walking from his room. Matt and Egon would be restrained in the lab soon, he wanted to see what they had been reduced to. You know what kind of questions I want to ask, I presume?
It was like an attack in passing. There was a pause as the protoss weighed her words, she was not sure she understood what transpired. Similar to a psionic storm, almost identical, but one of that size...Unthinkably powerful; Augustgrad, and us by proxy, would be no more if it were a true psionic storm.
Any educated guesses? I value your voice in this matter more than others. Valerian admitted; if a protoss was at your disposal and the topic at hand was psionic activity, you made good use of that protoss' opinion.
I felt the energy moving and gathering before leaving the planet. Lasarra recalled the event. It has not disappeared, it has been delivered somewhere. A precise, coordinated direction of power beyond the scope of her imagination, all fired off somewhere into space; whatever the implications, if the hybrid were involved, they were grim.
Valerian's train of thought seemed to be on the same track. There is no sign of the hybrid, I would have been alerted by now; could they have used this energy to travel similar to protoss warp technology? What would be the point? He racked his brain, why would they just up and leave? A darker possibility revealed itself to him then; what if everything they wanted from this place had been consumed?
It is possible. Lasarra confirmed, whether to the direct question or the wandering thought, Valerian was not sure he really wanted to know.
He found himself standing in one of the many grand science labs of his ship, waiting for the arrival of its new inhabitants. I will have my people thoroughly analyze any remnants, perhaps we can arrive to a more solid conclusion before taking action.
Your scientists will find plenty of 'remnants', Valerian.
As you say. He replied with a slightly quirked brow, unsure if he liked that idea or not; a cleared throat brought his attention to a marine in full CMC standing in front of him.
"Prince Valerian, sir! Please step back for your own safety," the man was resocialized, they never minced words or shied from their superiors; Valerian appreciated that.
"Of course," he allowed himself to be guided back to a supposedly safe distance as two extremely incapacitated infested men were carted in on tables, the operators intent on getting their cargo into vastly more secured trappings as quickly as possible. Lasarra, please excuse me. He thought it best their conversation ended for the time being.
Please remember who they were, Valerian Mengsk. Lasarra whispered, her melancholy infectious.
"These trappings will hold them, Doctor?" Valerian questioned, scrutinizing the setup with a critical, but inexperienced, eye.
"Absolutely. Similar technology is used to keep the famous Ultralisks in check, they are not going anywhere," the doctor sounded so cocksure about this, Valerian did not feel particularly eased.
Still, two perfect infested terran specimens, vastly superior to the usual cannon fodder infested the zerg produced. There were two biological goldmines suspended from the wall right now; remorse cooled his excitement however, Lasarra was all too right about who they used to be.
Matt Horner and Egon Stetmann were two feet off the ground each, their hands covered by what were essentially neosteel mittens. Heavy clamps were sealed around Horner's wrists, pinning the stretchy bio weapons beneath in place; Stetmann's hands were as far apart as physically possible, there would be no clapping for him.
Both had been divested of all but the barest of clothing, revealing their sickly pale skin and the discolored veins within; Stetmann in particular looked ghoulish with his already naturally thin frame. They were also waking up.
"Oh, those sedatives did not last as long as projected," the doctor noted critically, taking notes on a datapad that seemingly appeared in his hands.
Truly thankful they had lasted long enough, Valerian watched as Egon began to jerk and tremble, mouthing words without sound.
A sheen of sweat appeared on Egon's pale flesh as he writhed where he hung, gasping loudly. Beside him, Matt Horner opened his eyes silently, eyes that cast a sullen orange glow; he gave no struggle, only analyzing his surroundings with a hunters gaze. Looking for weaknesses to take advantage of.
Valerian unfurled his arms, watching Stetmann with fascination as scientists were already clamoring over the spiking vitals on display.
Egon erupted from the hivemind with a howl, tossing his head back and gasping for breath; his brain struggled to absorb his surroundings, it felt like he was trying to hold himself together but he was shattered glass. When his wide eyes, rainbow colored and tainted with that orange glow, landed on Valerian, he let out a gasping cry of relief. "Valerian!"
"Egon!" Valerian stepped forwards several feet before the protective hand of his guard held him at bay; this was impossible. "Is it really you?"
"Yes," sweat gleamed on Stetmann's body as his brows furrowed and arms flexed, not quite sure what his current situation was. "There is something on my hands," he murmured softly, tone shifting, "help me, take them off." His eyes widened to the size of plates and he spouted in a panic, "NO! nonono. Don't do that. Keep me contained!"
Valerian watched as Egon Stetmann, after ripping himself free of the swarm by what appeared to be sheer will, degraded into nonsensical gibbering; he schooled his features when he felt his face falling, the thought of the infested being able to come back was uplifting and apparently far too ambitious.
Stepping back from the hand blocking him, he called the attention of the doctor once more. "I want every mumbled word and letter coming out of Egon Stetmann to be recorded, and I am to be informed immediately if he becomes coherent again." Valerian made sure his command was clear and understood, there would be no confusion in regards to this order.
Matt Horner turned his head to look at Egon, his countenance grim and predatory. "Our lives for the Swarm. There is no escape, Egon," he whispered.
Stomach churning at the idea of leaving Stetmann with this dark angel whispering at his side, Valerian left; no longer so hungry for answers in the name of science. Research and science were about to take Egon and Matt to terrible places.
I bring news. Lasarra returned once more, and the entire feel of her was grim.
Again Valerian found himself unsure about if he really wanted to know. I am listening, Lasarra. The Prince was thumbing through a slim datapad and wordlessly directing teams of scientists and escorts to begin their investigation of the massive psionic event.
Your people are alive. It was immediately clear this was the good news. But they are weak or unmoving, they are immensely damaged. That would qualify as very bad news. Agent November Terra was in the clutches of the hybrid for minutes at most, Valerian. Lasarra pressed on grimly. She was nearly lost, despite all her training and psionic talent; what do you think remains of these people after days or perhaps even weeks?
Brushing a well manicured hand through his hair, Valerian glanced around before letting slip an audible sigh. I don't know, Lasarra, but I do know I will do everything within my power to help my people. You know I will.
Yes, I do. She admitted, radiating remorse; Valerian took comfort in it and wondered if Jim and the others did the same before they were lost.
Mengsk Palace - Augustgrad
Eyes open, eyes closed, it seemed to make no difference in the pure white that enveloped her vision.
"I was surprised when James Raynor failed," a disembodied voice, smug and familiar, whispered through a wall of stabbing agony.
"The love-struck fool set my plan back quite a bit, but I believe I like this scenario much more." Voice lowering further, it took on a sinister echoing quality, "I get to thank you personally for bringing Amon back, and you get to witness the end of all things firsthand; that is what I call a win-win situation." Narud's voice became quieter as he leaned away, "Goodbye, Kerrigan."
I need to kill you! Her mind yelled sluggishly, but no body parts responded to her commands, she could not even feel them moving; the only indication she was not just a limbless body was that agony filled the limbs she could not move, confirming their existence.
Without a choice, Sarah drifted into the blissful clutches of unconsciousness. Fate would decide whether she woke again or not.