Sewers - Augustgrad
Warfield finished prying off the last of the diodes that were sealed to his skin, the small objects clinking to the plascrete at his feet loudly. Stukov plodded along beside him, seemingly grim and thoughtful; they had entered a manhole, at Stukov's insistence, and had been traveling in the dark ever since.
"We should go to Valerian," Horus said quietly. Sound carried far down the old passageways, echoing strangely off the water and damp plascrete. Even their footfalls sounded like the treads of titans.
"You are very eager to be chained up in some lab, aren't you?" Stukov goaded, turning his head just enough to cast a glowing glare at the General.
"If Valerian intended on chaining us up, he would have already," Warfield said, his tone oozing stubbornness. They had this conversation before, and it came to the same standstill every time; the result was them not getting along very well.
"But he has, I feel them," Alexei gave a raspy chuckle.
This was a new development. Warfield came to a purposeful halt before muttering, "Who?"
"One Matt Horner and Egon Stetmann, dangling in some lab on the terran battlecruiser." Alexei kept an amicable tone, they were brothers in arms now after all; stuck in the same mess. "Your Prince has betrayed you."
Scrubbing a hand across his face in annoyance, Warfield thought for a moment before returning Stukov's look with a glare. "I killed my whole team," the thought burned a fresh hot trail of grief through his nerves, "Who knows what those boys did to the unarmed folks on that ship." His jaw set firmly, "Valerian did whatever needed to be done."
Alexei, fed up, gave Warfield a big shrug. "You are most welcome to go walking up there and take the chance, but I won't be."
Again, they entered an impasse. Warfield needed Stukov, this he admitted to himself; and as he eyed the fallen UED commander, he suspected Alexei could help the others too. From this, a new idea formed, "You said you can feel Egon and Matt."
"Aye, I can." Stukov tilted his head a degree, waiting.
"Can you take them over, or talk through them?" Warfield recalled Rory and Egon doing that, though he chose not to partake of that strangeness.
"Hmm," Stukov considered.
Immediately, Warfield felt his consciousness fired out of his body like a spike out of a gauss, an unwilling passenger on a high speed ride. "Unh!" He shouted, blinking rapidly when bright artificial light suddenly poured into his eyes. Everything felt wrong, foreign; he was in an uncomfortable position, and his voice was without a doubt not his own. Beside him, a familiar voice spoke, marred by a strange accent.
"Hello there. I'd like to speak to your Prince Valerian, he is around, yes?" Egon, inhabited by Alexei, called to two lab techs nearby.
Warfield, disoriented and disgruntled, watched as the two men turned their heads in unison to glare at Egon.
"I do not believe we asked you any questions," one said, fingertip stroking a rather sharp looking tool on the table in front of his person. Maybe they were not lab techs.
The other did not seem so keen on talking and simply stood up, walked over and rammed a giant needle into Egon's pale arm.
"Augh!" Stukov snarled, feeling the pain just as keenly as Stetmann. Worse, he remembered being on the receiving end of much, much worse, in another time and place.
"Emperor Mengsk is not at your beck and call," the tech muttered imperiously as he drew viscous purple blood from Egon, eyeing the vial the needle was connected to with disinterest. "You are just a zerg who talks a bit more than the rest."
Face twisting in rage, Egon's eyes snapped open wide and the fleshy layer of human-like eyes pulled away to reveal crimson red. Stukov whispered through the puppet, gravelly voice distorting Egon's less masculine one strangely, "I will remember you."
Fully absorbed in his work, the lab tech focused on drawing blood and pointedly ignored Egon without so much as a cringe.
Warfield cried, "Wait!" but it was too late, Stukov fled from Egon's body like an angry spirit and pulled him along for the ride. He arrived back in his own body with such imagined force that he staggered, "Damn it!" He thumped a hand against his leg in frustration.
"As I said," Stukov's voice was clipped, tense as he tried to recover his composure. "Your so-called Emperor has betrayed you." His boots sloshed through a puddle as he set a walking pace once more, they needed to be moving again.
Following, Warfield mulled over what he saw and heard. That the people left in charge of the imprisoned infested men were capable of cruelty was irrefutable at this point, but was it really an indication of Valerian's guilt? An excellent politician he may be, but Warfield always perceived Valerian to have blinders for the true nature of men.
"I can't deny what I saw, but this does not necessarily mean Valerian has stabbed us in the back." Warfield ventured cautiously now, there was an air about Alexei that had not been there before; a dangerous threshold had been crossed, and Horus still needed him. He was about to launch into a further explanation of his stance, but Stukov stopped walking.
Something had drawn the old commander's attention, and Warfield did not like the way the working side of his face smiled. Turning his head, he saw the object of the infested man's gaze: a kid, holding up a small news holo and using it for light; the weak illumination was barely enough to light his feet up. He had yet to see Warfield and Stukov, but given how he was suspiciously looking their way, he heard.
"It seems we have company," Alexei said, tipping his head towards the boy.
"Hello?" Small hands held the holo above his head, trying to cast the light farther; it simply cast its light down on the scrawny, dirty form that held onto it tightly. Warfield heard the thump of his heartbeat as he stared at him, unsure of what to do. It was a wonder he had yet to see the glow cast by the ghastly hole in Stukov's half-ravaged face.
"Hello boy," Stukov called back in an easy tone, whatever anger the bad encounter with the lab evoked within him seemed to have evaporated, "What are you doing down here?"
Eyes widening marginally, as though he thought he had imagined the hushed conversation he heard, the boy took a step back and lowered his light, ready to bolt. "Hiding from the monsters, aren't you?"
"Of course," Stukov smiled. It just happened that their monsters were reversed, was all.
"Stukov," Warfield muttered, holding a hand up part way towards him, a subtle plead. "Let's just let him go and be on our way." He did not know for certain if Stukov could infest anyone, but not knowing was more than enough reason to be cautious.
"I was looking for food," the kid explained, heart beginning to leap at the thought of finding new people in the dark. He took a step towards them, "Do you have any?"
Stukov simply held still as the light wavered dangerously close to revealing himself and his nervous partner. "No, are you with others? Perhaps you should go to them." His lip quirked into a half smile, eyeing the edge of the light.
"Yes, I found some others! You should come with me, maybe we can," the kid sniffed, becoming overwhelmed with emotion, "Maybe we can go find more people and get help now?"
Gritting his teeth, Warfield thought furiously as the kid took one more step towards them, he could curse the nature of children; but if the boy had been hiding down here since before the fog...It was not necessarily his fault he did not know about the third danger lurking around now. "Fine!" He blurted as the light quavered on the tip of Stukov's boots, "Take us there son, lead on."
Stukov seemed surprised, glancing at the General. Surely you plan on losing the child in the dark then? His mental voice was no different than his verbal one, laced with a dry humor.
Already the boy had spun around and began to navigate the dark with a surprising agility, Warfield exhaled as the light moved away, but then he began to follow. No, I have an idea.
Brows furrowing, Stukov followed, booted feet touching the edges of the light as he stayed out of it, just like his partner. And this idea is?
"They are going to be so happy to see some new people!" Nearly squeaking with joy, the kid sniffed again and swiped his eyes with the back of a scrawny arm.
"I am sure they will be ecstatic," Stukov chuckled.
If these refugees have not been touched by the fog, they will not be in good shape. Warfield did not feel particularly good about this plan, but he reasoned to himself that it would help the refugees too. We bring them to Valerian in one piece.
We will have our proof that we are not killing anyone and maybe the gratitude of some civilians to help our cause; Valerian values his peoples opinions of him highly, it would look bad if we were detained after saving them. Warfield said.
Grunting out a scoff, Alexei could not believe his ears.
"Hm?" The boy stopped, nearly catching sight of the two men as they stumbled backwards quickly.
"Nothing, keep going son." Warfield urged, gritting his teeth and following again when the kid muttered a confirmation and got moving.
We will not be well received, surely you know that. Stukov's tone was nothing short of exasperated.
Are you afraid of some starving civilians? They exchanged a heated glance, the answer need not be said.
They passed some time in silence, quietly navigating under the city. Occasionally a rumble of activity above would make their surroundings tremble, but they held.
I think he saw my face. Stukov tilted his head forwards, silently indicating the boy.
Warfield was about to question how he figured as much, but as he inspected the ratty kid's brown mop of hair from behind he understood; his heart rate had skyrocketed as though he was sprinting and Horus wondered how he had not managed to be deafened by it, never mind not hear it. It is likely someone is going to see us at some point, he reasoned.
"What is your name, boy?" Alexei called.
"Tate," afraid or not, he responded quickly to the question. Perhaps he was thinking about how to lose them, he was biting his lip as he turned his head just enough to glance backwards.
"My name is Alexei Stukov," he said in a rather formal tone.
"That's a weird name," the boy pointed out, steps slowing.
Warfield eyed Stukov, confused and suspicious. What are you doing?
"It is, because I do not hail from here. I come from very, very far away," Alexei could not help the wistfulness that infused his tone.
One thing that was beyond universal was the curiosity of children, and the next question was no surprise, "Where?"
A chill ran down Warfield's spine as Stukov purposefully took a longer stride and entered the light. "Earth."
Going rigid, Warfield's fingertips curled and talons extended, but it was a helpless gesture; even if he could attack Stukov, then what? He would just end up killing the boy himself. Don't do it. He pleaded shamelessly instead. He's just a boy.
"Earth...That ain't possible," there was an accusing note in the boy's tone, and he stopped to turn around and face the liar. His eyes widened and mouth opened to yell.
Clamping his human hand over the kid's mouth, he laughed softly, "Ah, ah. I did not lie to you boy." He glanced at Warfield as the holo fell to the ground and landed in a puddle, extinguishing all the light but from Stukov himself, the boy flailed in honest terror. Do not worry yourself overmuch, General. I have no intentions of infesting him.
Warfield did not like the reassurance, because intentions were prone to change, but he remained quiet and worried. What are you doing then? He'll never take us to the others now.
"You have been leading us around for a while now," Stukov made an audible tsk sound and smooshed the boys hollow cheeks between thumb and forefinger. "I think it's time you take us where you meant to, Tate."
Horus grimaced, seeing where this was going now; he felt both like a coward and a fool. Was taking someone like Alexei Stukov to the Bucephalus, and Valerian by proxy, really a good plan after all? Stukov even just admitted to being able to infest people. His feelings summed themselves up succinctly:I am screwed.
Bucephalus - Rebel Base
Here, pinned under rubble. A finger, tipped with a long talon, tapped a marker out onto a holographic map of Augustgrad. Lasarra looked up from it and at Valerian, feeling at the minds of the trapped terrans a moment more. One is close to death, several are in very poor physical condition.
"Send us the coordinates then," Mira Han spoke. Though not present, the mercenaries cybernetic eye zoomed in as she observed from her vidscreen. "A rescue operation will be mounted immediately."
"Sent," Valerian said, firing off the coords to Mira with a few taps and a quick swipe. "We will send you more as Lasarra finds them, thank you miss Han." Mira's vidscreen closed without delay, the mercenary woman and her forces were very, very busy.
Looking up from the map, Valerian studied the protoss intently. "Forgive me if I am being too forward Lasarra, but you seem very distracted," Lasarra had been quiet and withdrawn ever since the dramatic change of events, even the light of her eyes seemed dimmer.
You are perceptive, young Emperor. Lasarra admitted, intently staring at the map; choosing who lived and who died, there were nowhere near enough able bodied terrans to save all the ones in need of dramatic amounts of medical aid.
I have regrets not speaking to Jayce before she left, I know just how much Rory Swann meant to her. I hesitated. A cowardly protoss, she felt ashamed, but some things need not be shared with Valerian.
A thought, strong in its emotion, flickered to the forefront of Valerian's mind for only an instant before he could repress it purposefully. Glowing eyes, sharpening at the edges and focusing, looked up from the map and directly at him.
You planned on telling me James Raynor was alive, when exactly? Lasarra's words were as crisp and frosty as an autumn morning.
"Again, I wish you would not do that," Valerian reminded her curtly.
The mind does not work as you think it does. Hardly in the mood to discuss the terrans collective terrible lack of mental discipline, Lasarra focused on the information she had gleaned instead. If James Raynor yet lives, would it not be kind to inform Egon, Matt and Jayce? It may do them well to hear it.
"I would prefer not," he frowned, watching as the protoss continued to present more and more points on the map, wondering how they would manage to save all these people; the task seemed impossible. "At least until we know what kind of condition they are in, we have very little information right now."
Lasarra's eyes narrowed into glowing slits as she regarded the map, fingertip pausing above a point for a moment before glossing over it; the Emperor had power now, and his motives had suddenly become suspect. There were many reasons to keep the Raiders from regrouping and recovering, especially the infested ones.
As such when she felt the mind of General Horus Warfield come to her attention, separated from the zerg swarm somehow, she refrained from mentioning it.
It is a thought. Lasarra murmured, squinting as an unusual force prevented her from communicating with the infested man. Interesting.
Jim regained full awareness with a gasp, sitting up with a sharp jerk and seemingly being thrown down with equal force. Eyes opening wide, he looked down and saw the restraints, the pristine white walls and flooring; a lab, he was restrained on a table in a lab.
A trickle of fear ran down his back and he tried to get a handle on it, he had woken up strapped to tables before. With some dismay he regarded himself and his bindings, noting that visually, he was still very much infested, and that these especially thick bands were not going anywhere.
"Jim?" A familiar voice crackled through a comm overhead as he began to attempt to flex and twist at his restraints anyway.
"Valerian?" Raynor's fists clenched, wanting very much to get his hands on the person responsible for jailing him like this, "Is this where you tell me I was a fool?"
"No," Valerian sounded perfectly calm, and why would he not? He held every last card now. "A lot happened when the artifact went off, Jim. I will gladly fill you in but, I need to know that you are in control of yourself."
Raynor's guts twisted, so something had happened; it was a blessed relief to not feel the swarm eating away at the edges of his mind, he had just assumed that it happened to everyone else... "How am I supposed to prove something like that anyway? Quit wasting my damn time and tell me what happened, Junior."
"And get me out of these damn restraints too!" He hollered, annoyed; what happened to everyone? Where was Sarah? Probably tied down in some room too, a real welcome back to humanity.
After a brief pause, the heavy bands strapped across what felt like every inch of his body snapped open. Jim slid off the table and to his feet in a hurry, getting a better read of the room; smooth white everywhere, it was hard to discern where the door even was, but he found it.
"I believe that is proof enough, the others did not seem very capable of reasoning," Valerian said, watching as Jim prowled around the room like a caged animal; he frowned when he began to bang on the door shortly after identifying it.
"Where is Sarah?" Jim growled between bangs, though he was not putting real force behind it. Not yet.
"Easy Jim, Sarah is nearby but she is-"
"Let me see her. Now." Valerian's response would dictate whether force was about to be used or not.
The door slid open soundlessly and Jim charged through it, Valerian called after him, "To your left, but Jim!"
Ignoring the prince, Jim navigated through the sterilized and cleanly medical wing, not sure what he was looking for but damn sure in his ability to find it.
It came as a large surprise when Valerian himself, dressed as fine as he ever was, rounded a corner and clapped a hand to Jim's chest; the surprise alone is what stopped his feet, and the escort of 8 fully armed marines might have had a little bit to do with it too.
Whatever the younger man had to say must have been important, and Jim leveled a cool gaze at him, waiting impatiently.
"She has been..." Valerian looked very uncomfortable, perhaps even regretting being physically present, "ripping them off."
Jim's eyes widened before he caught himself, "Take me to her, Valerian."
Sarah Kerrigan stood in a battlefield of one, the table she awoke on and all of its restraints had been ripped to metallic ribbons and chunks, buried under what seemed to be over a dozen sets of wing blades and a few long hair tendrils strewn among the mess. She was in the process of mechanically ripping off a freshly regrown skeletal blade limb, growling away the pain, when the lab door hissed open and rapid footfalls came rushing in.
"Sarah, stop!" A voice, familiar and evoking further overwhelming emotions, called. Warm hands, but not human ones, caught her own and firmly pulled them away from their destructive work.
"It's gone. They are gone, all of them." Sarah's voice sounding so broken hit Jim right in the heart, but the words worried him. Could she really miss the swarm? He certainly did not.
"You are free, we are free, Sarah. It's okay now." She was still facing away but he pulled her into a tight, warm hug anyways, bladed limbs stuck between them and all. "Valerian can help us to-"
Her hair tendrils bristled, clattering between their bodies as she bared her teeth and went rigid. "I have my strength ripped away from me, everything that has ever made me what I am, and wake up tied down in a lab. Now I am expected to want this?"
Jim quietly cursed Valerian for his choice, but the damage was done. "Just a precaution darlin', I woke up that way too. Seems a lot went down when we got knocked out by that artifact." He gave her another squeeze, comforting; the only certainty he could offer right now was that he was there, and he was not leaving. "You don't have to do anything, I'll let them poke me with as many needles as it takes until they figure out how to cure us."
Sarah closed her eyes and clenched her fists, trying so hard to focus, to master her emotions. It was a cold and lonely place now, her mind. "You can't cure a race, Jim. There is no cure." She felt his arms going slack as she raised her head, glaring firmly at the white and purple spattered wall. "We are zerg. Zerg without a hivemind, without purpose."
He felt crushed, she could have turned around and ripped his heart out physically and it would have hurt less. Could she really, truly miss being that monster? He reasserted his hug, more for himself than her now.
"I wish," she let out a breath, anger rushing away and melancholy flooding in, voice softening; "More than anything, that you succeeded on Char and killed me like you promised you would." How could she live with killing so many? Never mind being subjected to experiments again, Valerian was undoubtedly lying to Raynor; not that she could read his mind if she tried.
"Darlin'," Jim whispered, swallowing and trying to put the strength back in his voice, "If we succeeded on Char and the artifact did this to you, I never would have killed you. Never would have let a doctor near you again until we knew how to fix you proper."
Both Kerrigan and Raynor turned sharply as one unit when the door slid open a second time, but only Sarah glared so coldly as to give Valerian pause. "Please excuse me for interrupting, I thought it only proper to introduce myself."
"Now might not be the best time, Junior." Jim muttered, lowering his arms from around Sarah but keeping a hand on her shoulder, just in case.
"Oh no," Sarah went one step farther and slipped out of Jim's grasp in one firm movement, eyes gleaming. "Introduce yourself, Mengsk," there was a very unfriendly emphasis on his last name that did not go unnoticed.
"I understand you have certain expectations of me because of my last name," Valerian frowned, "but I am Valerian Mengsk, and I am not my father." Sarah's glare did not subside, but he understood. "It will take a lifetime to undo the damage my father has done."
Reassessing the situation, Jim said, "Might be a good time to explain what happened." He was surprised more at Sarah's lack of violence than anything; she had to be in real turmoil.
"Of course," Valerian gestured subtly to the open door behind him, "Let's walk? The guards are a precaution, I am sure you understand." With limbs and blood everywhere, Valerian found himself suitably ill at ease, and the smell was something he would not bring up either.
Further surprising Jim, Sarah moved first, his arms fell back to his sides as she strode towards Valerian and paused at a suitable distance; as suggested by the many rifles pointing at her. "Easy with the guns boys," Raynor warned, frowning.
"Whatever makes his highness feel safe," Kerrigan sniped as Jim sidled up beside her.
"It is a considerable risk for me to be at such close proximity to you, namely given my relation to my father;" Valerian said, leading them out of the blood stained lab and into the halls of his ship at an easy pace. "But I need you to believe me that I am in no way deceiving you, and trust that I am doing what I think is best."
"Arcturus once looked me in the eye and said killing everyone on Tarsonis was what he thought best," Sarah murmured.
"I care about my people, and I am not a tyrant. My fathers methods and school of thought...Well, they are not mine." Valerian studied the way ahead intently, thinking on what room to receive his guests in. "Allow me to explain what happened on our end when the artifact went off."
"Been waitin', Junior." Jim said.
Valerian explained the situation to the best of his knowledge as they made their way to his viewing room, with its wall-to-wall view port and silent gramophone. Gesturing to the arrayed furniture, Valerian walked to the view port and gazed at the ravaged cityscape he was supposed to rule over, "We discovered the broodmother dead on the Hyperion not long after. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
A new power at the head of the swarm, Jim's fists clenched at the thought. Would it ever end? It was a small mercy they left. He prowled to a leathery couch and promptly sat, ignoring the sound and feel of the absurdly expensive material being thoroughly perforated by his spines. "Great," he muttered.
Sarah wanted to sigh with relief, not all was lost. Thinking on her protege and the infested men, she stood a few paces shy of where Jim sat and brought her thoughts to life, trying to fill in the blanks. "Zagara may have destroyed Shlassa to take the infested men. They are powerful, she would see them as assets for the task I left her."
Zerg and anything zerg related was the last topic Jim wanted to discuss, his tone made that clear, "And that task is?"
Striding to the view port herself, giving Valerian plenty of space, Sarah studied the ruins with disinterest; she just wanted to be further away from Jim at that point in time. "To find and destroy Amon, should I die on Korhal," she could hear Valerian's sharp intake of breath, even if he tried to hide it.
A heavy pause hung between the three.
Finally, Valerian said, "How did you come to know about Amon?" He had spent so much time giving answers on their way over, questions were beginning to shift to the forefront of his mind.
"I could ask you the same thing, Mengsk." Sarah hissed, glaring at him from the corner of her eye.
"It doesn't matter!" Jim surged to his feet, keen on intervening. "Will Zagara do it?"
Without hesitation Sarah said, "Yes," Zagara was bound by a stronger force than loyalty to the strongest now, she believed in Kerrigan. Pride warmed her heart then, and hurt just as much; the swarm was her family, Zagara was her daughter, and all of them thought she was dead.
Valerian considered the new information for a few moments, rubbing his fingertips together thoughtfully. "Then the swarm is not a concern for the time being; we can focus harder on helping the citizens and rebuilding without fear of an attack."
Sarah's blades twitched, a gesture that stirred unease in the armed men watching them. "And us?"
"I trust you understand that you will be monitored during your stay on my ship, and that you do truly want to be human again, Sarah." Valerian's tone was even, and he turned his head to make eye contact with her in a very purposeful way.
"Yes," Jim cut in before she could answer, blunt and hard.
Lasarra listened from the map room in which she worked, thoughtful. The Queen of Blades, no longer the incredible psionic threat she was, not even the leader of the swarm anymore; it was a thought to crush her mind, a short and brutal note of revenge for the protoss race. As quick as the thought came she let it flow away, the terrans would see to her punishment, they would demand that.
Command Center - Rebel Base
Nova sat in a poorly lit, dingy break room, staring blankly at the surface of the table she had seated herself at, while Tosh finished a quick recon of the building; the imposing spectre stepped into the room and uncloaked, already talking.
"Mostly abandoned now, minus three shift rotations for the comm tower," he said, pouring himself a styrofoam cup of instant coffee. "No one gonna bother us here, corpse smell bugs them."
Placing her hands on the table, still covered in the smooth ghost suit, she closed them and watched the digits come together; Tosh barely registered, he had not been in her thoughts since she realized what happened. It was perhaps the shock of not knowing her place in the grand scheme of things anymore that was the hardest to deal with. All she knew right now was that her place was not as an Agent anymore, that was for certain.
Tosh had gone quiet, standing there and drinking the scalding fluid as he watched her blue eyes shift back and forth across her fingertips, listening to her thoughts intently. He wondered if he would have reacted the same, and what it was like; above all, he still felt a great deal of pity towards her.
There were no more voices, no grand tornado of wailing souls tearing at her mind. Nova swallowed, feeling guilty that they were not there anymore, the silence and lack of having to try to block them out left a hole that she did not know how to fill. Closing her hands into fists, she frowned; was she not planning on leaving the service of the Dominion after her mission was complete anyway?
Tosh's eyes narrowed.
Never before had the thoughts of a normal, mundane life been anything more than a distant fanciful flickering on the edge of a mental horizon. Valerian could not rightly force her to do anything now, no coercing about the benefits to humanity she could provide, lies or not, this could be a real chance. When Tosh's hand slammed to the table between her fists, she jumped slightly.
"How could you be thinkin' like this?" He sounded truly incredulous, disgusted even. "Just droppin' everythin' that you were and bein' some normal person?" He bared his teeth at the very thought, like it was some great enemy, "You aught ta be raging! Ready to fight to get back what is rightfully yours!"
There was no reaction forthcoming from the silent ghost, until he grasped a hand around her shoulder hard. In an explosion of motion, the smaller assassin stood up and caught the vulnerable hand in a hold, digging her fingertips painfully into a pressure point. Her tone came out even and calm, "I may not have a level 10 psi index anymore Tosh, but I am still an Agent. My training did not just disappear."
Tosh, unflinching at what had to be considerable pain, tilted his head and focused. Nova's grip, hard as any neosteel, was broken by an invisible force. "You lost everything that mattered, girl."
Hand shoved back to her chest by his psionic power, Tosh did make an important and brutal point: they were no longer in the same league. November Terra was no threat to Gabriel Tosh whatsoever. The two took a moment to quietly rub at their wrists, nursing physical and mental pains.
When she had nothing to add, he turned away from her sharply. "Gonna go have a look at our new so-called Emperor," Tosh muttered darkly. "I be feelin' strange things in that ship. You stay here." He strode out the door, and Nova was certain he only added the last part to point out that she could not do even the most basic tasks of a ghost anymore, just to try and rile her.
She sat down, renewing her glaring contest with the table.
Repentance - Deep Space
Hesitantly, Jayce stepped through the threshold of the cockpit and into the small bay of the ship, which she discovered earlier was named Repentance. Lips twisting into a scowl, she glanced between the rations in her hands and the looming container that housed the Devil himself; there was some kind of cosmic irony at work, ruling over her life, she was certain of it.
Picking at dried chunks of who-knows-what and a bit of who-knows-who from underneath his fingernails, Tychus paused and frowned; a grating sound rumbled through his fancy prison, like gears shifting and gyrating. Suddenly wary, he cast his gaze around until a slat opened and, glancing inside, he found a packet of rations laying there.
He smiled, wolfish.
As the food receptacle shifted around, carefully delivering the package to the prisoner, Jayce wondered at the design of the cell itself. In her experience, for every fancy bell and whistle you added to a piece of machinery the odds of it malfunctioning increased tenfold. As the delivery mechanism wound its way back into place, she decided to think no further on it; even though she would rather the cargo starve a bit and for the cell to be that much more secure.
With a small popping sound, the ration dispenser slid open. Like any rational individual, she fully expected the wrappings of the ration to be there for disposal, since no one in their right mind wanted to lounge around in their own garbage; instead, there lay a severed hand. Her own hand.
Frozen to the spot, she stared in horror at the piece of anatomy that was once attached to her body. All the flesh and meat had been removed, tendons clinging to bones were all that remained. As the mental image of Tychus tearing into her digits and arm with his teeth flooded through her mind, the smell hit.
Rotting and putrid, it was the last sensory evidence Jayce needed to realize it was what it was. Gagging, she pitched forwards and violently heaved.
Chuckling, Tychus felt a giddy high rushing through him at the thought of giving whatever idiot was in charge of his cell a real shocker; all while stuffing rations into his mouth around a big grin.
Recovering as fast as possible, Jayce trembled hard and felt a flicker of thankfulness that she could not feel the texture of her former hand as she grabbed it with her new one. For one wild second, as she stumbled towards the garbage disposal, she thought about saving the ravaged appendage; surely the eggheads over on Haven could reattach the...
No, common sense returned just as fast and she violently stuffed the hand into the chute where it would be incinerated by the small reactor of the ship. There was nothing to salvage and the rest of the arm, whatever was left of it, was still in that box. Stumbling back into view of the cell, she swiped at her mouth with the back of a sleeve. Even if there was a chance of salvaging what was taken, she would not risk one single life on it.
Anger, white hot and bordering on madness, filled her to the brim then. Compelled, she stepped forwards and referenced the instructions in her mind, swiping her cybernetic hand across the smooth and cold surface of the cell just so; the material shimmered under her hand, solid yet liquidy.
Tychus blinked as light flooded through the side of his prison, eyes widening. Jayce standing there, whole and radiating an anger he had yet to see, left him flabbergasted into silence; but only for a moment.
Jayce did not flinch when the monster bared his teeth and made a violent stab at the wall of his prison, so fast she could barely register it with her eyes; there was no doubt that it was made with killing intent.
Blade skipping off the wall with a shriek, he growled and straightened, glaring down at her. It was offensive, a downright mark on his manliness, that she lived after he took an honest shot at ending her life. "How the hell are you alive?" He said.
Staring at him, like a storm cloud building strength, Jayce did not react to his question.
It occurred to him then that there may not be sound, he did not hear any telltale crackling, none beyond the electricity that powered his prison anyway. He waited, all while patiently studying the renewed and apparently severely tenacious little terran woman, tilting his head a degree. She was well groomed and wearing an outfit from the Bucephalus, all pressed and pretty. Even her hair was proper and shiny clean, if a bit mussed looking now.
After waiting for a time, Jayce had apparently reached her capacity and hit the button to open up the comm with considerable force.
Reacting to her gesture and the telltale sound of a comm opening, Tychus immediately said, "You can't be serious. I know you ain't that stupid, so who forced you into being on this rig with me?" He could tell now that he was on a ship, some kind of small system runner, judging by what he could see around the enraged looking Jayce; he also suspected he already knew the answer to his question.
Cold and furious, she stared him in the eye and listened. Findlay could talk enough for the both of them, and she wanted to hear just what he had to say.
Eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring, he glowered and rumbled, "Too damn stubborn to die. Don't think you realize just how screwed you are now sugar, what I did was mercy."
His words seemed to spark the fire in her eyes, and she spoke in a low, calm tone, like discussing what was for dinner. "Long way to go between here and our destination," she gave his cell a pointed once-over, "There won't be anyone who gives enough of a damn to cry about you when you show up dead in that box."
Tychus leaned forwards until he was eye level with her, eyes bright as flares, glaring, challenging. "Real brave now, with all this here steel between us," he mocked.
Her voice lowered to a rasp as she held his glare with her own, "Believe you me, I'll figure it out." She jabbed a finger at him aggressively and bared her teeth, "You're a dead man."
Tychus glanced towards the cockpit then and she violently swiped his face in response, shutting off the visual channel. He let out a thunderous laugh at the expression of terror that filled her before it all went black; laughing even harder yet when she tried to close the comm and realized the button was broken due to her zealousness.
"Fuck," she whispered. Filled with very real fear, she ran into the cockpit through the door she had so foolishly left open, praying feverishly that no sign of their destination, Haven, was displayed anywhere. It could be all it took to screw everyone over, if Tychus could contact the swarm at any point; she felt like such a fool, especially after she nearly crucified Valerian over the same damn thing.
A sigh of relief escaped her when she found no visible sign of Haven anywhere. Pure luck, she felt sick just thinking about it.
Findlay had caught on already, grinning from his prison, "Afraid I might find out where we're goin', sugar?" He cracked his knuckles at the thought of it. "Oh I will," he promised, "And when Big Dog gets outta this cage, there won't be any mercy no second time; not for you, not for the eggheads, no one."
Gritting her teeth, she shut the cockpit door and fell into her chair with an exhausted huff. He was going to be a distraction now, with that broken comm, he would milk it for all it was worth. Still, the promise gave her new misgivings, new fears as she stared out into the stars blurring past.
Tychus knew Dr. Hanson, what she looked like, even her voice. Very thin ice was being tread upon now, all he needed was one god damn hint and Haven, all its civilians included, would go right back to being zerg bait; Hanson would need to be informed and precautions taken.
Of course...Jayce glanced at the closed door. Tychus Findlay did not have to make it there alive, she did make her own promise after all; and that bastard had taken her arm, ate it and had the planet-sized balls to call it mercy to her face.
Yes, time grew short for the big man now. Her eyes narrowed in determination.
Leviathan - Deep Space
Zagara, Izsha and Abathur sat within the chamber of the Leviathan that the Queen of Blades used so often before, the stars spread out before them through the eyes of the massive living ship; they were deep within a candid conversation.
"We do not even know what Amon is, never mind where he is," Zagara was hissing in frustration. Controlling the entire swarm was taxing, it would take time to get used to it.
"Survival of Swarm is paramount," Abathur intoned, "Queen of Blades is dead. Zagara leads Swarm now. Join Amon. Secure Swarm's future." The Evolution Master of the swarm's view of the situation had yet to change.
Zagara and Izsha knew better, thankfully. Izsha combed through the memories and thoughts stored within her, every stray thought and tactic related to Amon, his hybrid and the prophecy that Kerrigan saw fit to have her remember; there had to be something, some hint of what to do, a hidden gem of guidance from their fallen master.
Following Izsha's thoughts, Zagara's head drooped a degree, "I fear Kerrigan was the only one strong enough to confront this foe."
"Stukov was the strongest left," Izsha said, regarding her new leader curiously, "We should have collected him before leaving Korhal."
"We would suffer significant losses to return and do so now," Zagara reasoned, "We must preserve and grow our forces now, and trust that Amon will reveal himself to us in time." Already, she had gone a step further than Kerrigan and activated some of the forces that the fallen Queen no longer wished to utilize. Every weapon had value now.
"I fear we are doomed to failure," Izsha stated plainly. "Even the Queen's infested projects were strong, we should have made sure to take them to help us."
"They are on Korhal, it is no longer an option," Zagara said firmly.
Izsha coiled upon herself, shifting subtly on the spot. She said, "You are our leader now, as our fallen Queen wished. Lead us, Zagara."
"Not all specimens on Korhal," Abathur, fingertips pressed together, had almost been forgotten until then.
Both Izsha and Zagara stared at him.
"Explain yourself Abathur," Zagara prompted when it seemed the Evolution Master would fall silent again.
With a decidedly smug air about him Abathur said, "Organism Tychus. In transit. In space."
Zagara considered the Evolution Master then. He was the oldest of all zerg now, one of the earliest creations of the fallen Overmind, and his power could not be understated. It was good, she reasoned, that all he cared about was his creations and the evolution of the swarm; Abathur could have taken many shots at a higher status, perhaps leadership of the swarm itself, had he wished it.
Instead of harass Abathur about not speaking sooner, Zagara said, "Where? Tell us, Evolution Master."
"Unclear," he admitted, hands making a helpless gesture.
Annoyed now, Zagara spat, "What good is that information to us? We do not have the time to waste looking for one worthless infested terran."
"He overpowered you," Izsha pointed out, without a trace of mockery in her tone. "Perhaps he could be of use."
"I gazed on all that made up that fleshling." Zagara hissed spitefully, "It is a purely selfish creation, Tychus Findlay will not help the swarm."
"Perhaps," Izsha inclined her head. "It is a thought. We still do not know where Findlay is going, Zagara. I simply suggest we remain on the lookout for him, and seize him should the opportunity arise."
"I will allow it," Zagara nodded in grudging acceptance. For now, they would continue to drift aimlessly in space; the full might of the swarm had been called once more to join them, but sitting and waiting was a frustrating thing.