Korhal - Augustgrad
Two marines in dark CMC suits stood side by side staring at their radars warily, their black suits did little to hide the blood spattered over the paint.
"You see that?" one said, frowning. Black eyes gleaming with the reflection of a bright light emanating from his HUD.
The second, subservient to the first, walked forwards towards the curious anomaly that continued to blip insistently. "Confirmed. Movement ahead," he said.
"Go check it out," the older man grated, unblinking black eyes fixed to the vespine containers ahead and rifle held at the ready.
Steeling his nerves, Tate took a deep breathed and listened to the approaching heavy steps of the armed killer. Crouched behind a sealed container of vespine gas, he waited until the target was near before bracing his feet and hissing out loudly, "Pssst!" Without waiting, he kicked off the heavy green object and took off running, heart pounding in terror.
"Hey!" the CMC jerked in surprise, the man inside snarling, "Get back here!" His rifle was already aiming, but it seemed even a grunt knew better than to shoot into a gas storage unit.
Tate's life was counting on it.
"What is it?" the whiskey voice of the squad leader grated, "Report."
"Just a kid," the grunt laughed harshly, guiding his CMC to smoothly charge after the target. "In pursuit," he said.
A slow frown formed on the leaders face as he eyed the news feed scrolling down the side of his HUD. "Hm," he muttered.
"Boss," a third grunt spoke, tentative.
Brows drawing together in annoyance, the squad leaders tone echoed his face, "I'm thinking. Report said there were two insurgents, wire me that footage again," he snapped, finger swirling in the air impatiently.
"Uh, Boss..." Eyes widening, the grunt's voice took on an insistent, tense tone.
"WHAT?" the leader barked, rounding on his inferior. His eyes widened and his rifle raised far too slow.
"We're under-" the grunt blared stupidly as both of their CMCs went rigid, their emergency power cutoffs triggered at the same time.
As the CMCs and the mind controlled marines now trapped inside fell to the plascrete ground like toys, Warfield planted a foot on the mechanical chest of the leader. "Shh now, wouldn't want to ruin the surprise," he smiled.
"Sarge, do you read me?" It had been several minutes of radio silence and the leader of squad two was getting antsy.
Pulling his rifle in close, his partner continued to glance from the radar to every darkened corner of their surroundings. "Doesn't smell right, maybe we should call for some backup," he said.
Shaking his head sharply, the gesture lost inside his suit, the leader said, "We don't make that call. Besides, Korhal belongs to the master, we're guarding a whole lot of nothing," his voice leveled, soothed by the mention of the master.
They both let out startled shouts when the plascrete erupted beneath them, inhuman hands reaching up in unison and tearing at their emergency power cutoffs with a sharp bzzt!
"Hey! What the-" the leaders shouts dimmed to nothing as his speakers powered off.
Snarling and shaking inside the suit, the second glared at the form in front of him, shaking off earth and plascrete dust.
"Gentlemen, you have my apologies," Stukov chuckled, giving a CMC a pat on the shoulder and starting its fall to the ground.
Sweat flew from his hair as Tate ran, mouth hanging open and gasping in air. He only hoped he took the right path, darting through all the vespine containers so fast had turned everything into a bright green maze; made all the harder by the casual pursuit of the gunman behind him.
"Come here you little rat!" the voice of his pursuer crackled through a microphone, to the left! He was going to run left next. In fear, he deviated from the plan and darted right around a canister.
As a metal fist the size of his chest caught him by the front of his shirt, Tate gasped. He'd been played.
"Gotcha!" the man shouted, triumphant. Lifting the boy into the air, he inspected his quarry casually.
"No!" Tate cried, unable to keep his voice low anymore. He'd failed and now he was going to die, or worse. Beating his fists against the cold metal holding him, he continued to gasp for air as his heart raced.
The visor of the CMC popped open and slid back with a hiss, the scarred and smiling face of a black eyed marine stared down at him. "Don't know how you managed to get by for so long, but it's time you joined the fold," as he spoke, black smoke trailed upwards from his mouth and eyes.
Tate closed his eyes and held his breath, this was it. The smoke would come and he would no longer be Tate. He had seen it before.
Thunk
The jarring sound startled him but Tate could not open his eyes, could only cringe away from fate. Not until the familiar voice of his assailant uttered a muffled, "Huh?"
Relief poured into him, filling his soul to the brim as he opened his eyes and saw the familiar talon-tipped fingers of Warfield prying the CMCs hand off his shirt. Only when he had removed the offending limb and put Tate on his feet did Warfield speak, "Sorry we're late, you did good son." There was a note of unmistakable pride in his tone.
Blinking hard, a tear still managed to streak down his cheek. "Thanks!" Tate said.
"Let's go," Stukov cut in, hiking a thumb at the green slime-sealed CMC helmet, "their absence will be noticed before long."
"Hng!" A man shouted as he was pulled bodily from his seat and expertly rendered unconscious.
Pressed for time, Warfield tossed the man aside like a sack of potatoes and made a sharp gesture to his companions. "Get in!" he said.
Sounding no small part amused as he took his place in the passenger seat and watched Warfield put the former drivers hat on, Stukov said, "Alright General, we've got the tanker and we are en route, what now?"
In the middle seat, Tate barely managed to buckle himself in before the massive tanker roared into gear and began its journey as though nothing had happened. "Thank you for not hurting them," he said quietly, looking up at Warfield, not sure if the man would hear him but uncaring all the same.
Warfield heard, though his eyes remained focused on the road. "Don't sweat it. Now we follow the route and get to the starport; there, we get real close, rig it up to explode and get the hell off Korhal." He smiled, looking up at the sky. They were so close.
"And the checkpoint?" Stukov sounded exaggeratedly curious.
"Checkpoint?" Blinking, Warfield looked back down and saw the road block ahead. Armed guards flanked a Goliath, all of whom were looking at their approach by now. "Ah hell, change of plan," without pause he pressed the gas pedal to the floor and watched as the marines responded in kind, scattering in momentary confusion as the tanker smashed through the small panel blocking their way.
A moment later a gauss spike exploded the side mirror next to Warfield, making him cringe away.
"You won't have time to hide this thing anywhere," Stukov pointed out, looking back through his in-tact mirror and not liking what he saw. The goliath was not firing, thankfully. A full vespine truck was not something you shot at without care.
"I'm thinking," Warfield said through clenched teeth, taking a sharp turn that made Tate let out a distressed squeak.
Stukov gripped at the door for further support, voice rising over the pattering of gunfire and the roar of the engines, "Well think faster, because this tanker is not bullet proof General!"
The tanker swayed perilously around another sharp turn, the starport looming above buildings ahead of them ominously. "Get out!" Warfield yelled.
"What?" Stukov said sharply, eyeing his companion as though he'd gone mad.
"I said get out! Take the kid and find a ship while I deal with this," Warfield glanced at his companions, face grim.
"Aren't we going to stop?" Tate yelled, eyes wide as his feet braced on the dash, pressing himself back into the seat.
Deafening sound poured into the cab as Stukov jerked open the door with one hand and yanked Tate clean out of his seatbelt with the deformed other. "No," was all he said.
Grabbing on to the zerg-infested fist for his life, Tate wailed as he was pulled out of the speeding vehicle, "Aaah!"
Gritting his teeth and jerking his head away from a spray of shattered glass, Warfield glared at the starport with determination. He pressed his foot down on the gas even harder.
Keep me informed. Stukov said, swiftly rising to his feet and unveiling his unharmed charge. Tate looked a little green.
You too, be ready to pick me up. Warfield said, resolute.
"No time to rest boy," Stukov said sharply. A quick glance over Tate showed he was done, barely able to keep standing and looking ready to vomit. Without hesitation he picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder, taking off at a run. Tate couldn't even bring himself to object, not when he saw the small shapes of enemy marines in the distance.
Gripping the wheel firmly, a blinking light drew Warfield's eye from the road ahead to the comm built into the dash of the tanker truck. Up until now, it had been silent and unlit. With a will of its own, the comm began to crackle and buzz.
Forcing his eyes back to the road, there weren't many men in the military sector yet, but there were some; they would surely be looking for a place to cut him off and immobilize him by now. The crackling grew louder. In agitation, he reached over and palmed it off.
The noise abated, and he considered his options. There was no element of surprise anymore, and the enemy no doubt knew where he was bound by now.
Crackle
His breath froze, chest tightening as the comm flared to life of its own accord. The massive freighter wheeled around one final corner, revealing a new blockade ahead. Scrambled together, the former group of marines and their goliath had jammed themselves into the bottleneck entrance to the starport; they loomed ahead, waiting.
His foot let off the gas, bringing the tanker to a coast towards the blockade as the comm hissed menacingly. "Bring the vehicle to a stop - Amon - or we will open fire - Comes."
Baring his teeth, Warfield opened the comm with a sharp gesture. His foot stamped down on the gas pedal once more as he spoke, "Son, you tell the son of a bitch that brainwashed you to go to hell." The tanker would be within firing range of the goliath soon.
The marine's voice grew cold, "Amon sends his regards." The comm sputtered and died, smoke rising from between the dashboard panels.
Distant gunfire roused the exhausted child hanging over Stukov's shoulder; the position and jostling combined made for a squirming, not rested kid.
Swallowing hard, Tate began to speak "How is he going to-"
"Shut up," Stukov muttered.
"But-" Tate tried again.
"No," Stukov said firmly, setting Tate back to his feet in a jarring motion. "I need to listen, and we need to not be found. Now follow," he said, striding away from the boy; Tate would adapt or he would die. Stukov was not Warfield.
The gunfire quickened his pace. They were sneaking through hangars and across launch pads at a close to running speed. "No transports, must all be out or up on the platform," Stukov finally spoke for Tate's benefit. His eyes gleamed then as he looked up, "no small ones anyway."
"Can you really pilot that?" Tate sounded awed as his gaze followed, the boy had found his second wind though all of his clothes were soaked through with sweat and clinging to his wirey frame.
"We are about to find out, aren't we?" Stukov looked down at him, baring a half-ruined grin.
"C'mon girl, don't give in just yet. Couple bullets aren't gonna put you down," Warfield said, patting the steering wheel firmly.
A couple bullets was an understatement. There were two massive mechanical feet flailing just in front of the smashed-in glass of the cab's front window, the goliath had been just tall enough to scoop it up from below and now it clattered haplessly on top of the full vespine container; which was spewing and frothing its bright green cargo through numerous holes.
It was a wonder it hadn't exploded.
We have secured transport. Stukov's voice connected to Warfield's mind like a sharp slap. Status?
Warfield barked a laugh as he pressed deeper into the starport compound, the main building only moments ahead. Under fire, in a tight spot, nothing unusual. The goliath's cannons whirred to life and carved furrows through the plascrete on either side of the truck, unable to hit the vehicle it was trapped on top of but trying its best all the same.
We're going to be under fire soon too, comrade. Your plan needs to come to fruition very soon. Stukov focused intently on his task while Tate sat at a console nearby, clearly getting into something. "Don't break anything," he warned.
Sprung a leak. Not going to be any clean way out of this Stukov. If I don't get out of this, you take care of that kid. You hear me? There was a note of finality in Warfields communication that Stukov did not like.
Moments later, an overlay screen popped up. Displaying live footage of the wounded tanker and its zealous pursuers. A tight spot was not the words Stukov would have chosen to describe this hopeless situation. "He's going to crash!" Tate yelled, on his feet and staring in horror, "No!"
The inside of the transport bloomed with bright green color as the tanker connected with a building, the video footage shrouded in flames and debris. Tate let out a hopeless sob and began crying in earnest.
Stukov remained stoic, feeling out with other senses than sight. "Easy boy, keep your eyes open now. Watch that screen," he said patiently.
Tate did as he was told, but the boy was clearly in hysterics. "He's gone! He's gone!" he gasped and wailed.
Flying low over the burning debris where the General was last spotted, Stukov began to smile. "There! Have a little faith in the General, boy. Hah!"
Tate gaped, eyes wide as Warfield emerged from beneath a pile of plascrete and debris. The General was busy tearing off his on-fire shirt as he ran towards the transport.
They were already making for the sky as Warfield burst into the pilot room. "A Hercules-class transport was not as subtle as I was thinking, Stukov!" he said, but there was no menace. The singed-looking infested man was clearly glad to be alive, he even let out a laugh.
Raising his hands up as he slowly spun around in his chair, Stukov was decidedly smug. "We must make use of what is available to us, yes?"
"Let's just get to that platform before the fly boys make it over here-" Warfield jumped a little as the small form of Tate collided with him, scrawny arms curling around him and squeezing as tight as they could "Oh," he said in surprise, brain attempting to decide what to do.
"This monster can take some hits, she'll get us there in one piece," Stukov assured, turning away to face the console once more. His human hand curled at the steering controls confidently.
"I'm glad you are alive," Tate said, looking up at Warfield with liquid-filled eyes. "I thought..."
"I'm glad I'm alive too son, but don't worry about me." Warfield finally chuckled and allowed himself to unwind, curling his arms around Tate for a simple comforting hug. When was the last time this kid received one? It was the least he could do, even if he was tired and could feel severely burned flesh on his back slowly knitting together.
"We're not out of the woods yet. Korhal may be enemy territory right now, but sky shield? That is the front line," Stukov said ominously as Korhal fell away from below them, the massive transport trembling as it fought through the planets atmosphere with the brute force of its many thrusters.
Frowning and eyeing the expanse of space unveiling before them, Warfield nodded. "I know," he said. Who knew how many ships might be chasing them at this point, he was not sure if bringing them to the lamed Bucephalus was a good plan, but it was also the only plan. They would have to hope it was not a rescue mission.
Bucephalus - Sky Shield Platform
"Two hours have elapsed. Swap psi screens with your designated partner now," the Adjutant, ever nonchalant, announced over the comm.
"Agent, we have a problem over here."
Nova bit back a sigh as she received the message from the stressed resoc. "What is the problem?" Her feet were already guiding her to the location of the disturbance. There had been many.
"Please don't take it, please-," a man was begging, not yet in sight.
"He is refusing to yield the psi screen to his partner," the resoc sounded uncertain, his hand was placed on the man's shoulder but he had otherwise not taken action.
"We need them more than them!" Another shouted, Nova taking in the small crowd as she rounded the corner. A designated swap area where the two groups had separated from one another.
"It's our turn!" A woman shouted from the group of those who were meant to be receiving their psi screens, their pale features and strained looks only an echo of the torment their minds were poorly staving off. Others echoed her sentiment in a rapidly rising din.
Nova's voice cracked like a whip, slicing through the chaos. "Calm down. These rules are in place for your safety, these tools are dangerous when worn for too long," while speaking she approached the man who first refused to yield, he already looked defeated. "Now, give it to your partner." Her tone brooked no arguments.
The crowd collectively watched the psionic assassin, temporarily distracted from their terrible need. Nova knew some would wonder at the intimidation factor of a Ghost, and others would be watching the way her body moved as she walked away. She did not need to have her power to know these things anymore, and they did not need to know she did not have it.
"S-s-sorry Amanda," the man murmured as he relinquished the small net-like device to his partner.
"Thank you," Amanda said stiffly.
Strained conversations budded and quickly faded away as Nova rounded a corner and left them to their business. Her mind clouded with worrying thoughts as her fingertips trailed up to her earpiece; the pain, anxiety and other disturbing thoughts that bit at her bones and gnawed at her mind were wearing her thin quickly.
The chirp of an established connection brought her back to reality. "Valerian," she said in a hushed tone, "this situation is getting more volatile with every hour, every swap. We need to start thinking containment."
"Containment..." Valerian trailed off, seemingly distracted.
Her fine brows furrowed, stepping through a hissing doorway. Her feet were taking her towards the next swap location. "Yes, are you listening?"
"There is nothing you can do," Valerian said simply, cutting off the call before she could even respond.
Nova clenched her teeth, if Valerian was not capable of leading then the situation was quickly flying beyond control. A rapidly beeping incoming call mixed with the insidious desire to rip her new Emperor to shreds left her ready to scream. "Ugh!" she spat through clenched teeth, regaining her composure before accepting the transmission.
"Agent. Another situation."
"Where?" Not surprised, her eyes narrowed. It would be good to dish out some punishment, she could only hope for it. No, wrong thoughts. She gave her head a sharp shake.
"Group of crew members holed up and refusing to relinquish their psi screens. Orders?" The resocs were blissfully unaffected by the continual psionic pressure, but this was not a situation they were trained to handle.
Nova's head hurt. Bad. She paused, collecting her thoughts and pressing a palm to her forehead hard. "Pry the damn things off if you have to, but no weapons and no injuries. Am I clear?"
"Understood." Click. Transmission ended.
"One crisis at a time," Nova reminded herself firmly. The walls had begin to close in, but by sheer force of will she shoved them back into place and stepped through the door between herself and a different new confrontation. She almost barreled into the two wrestling terrans.
"Give it back! I need it!" A woman cried, grasping and clambering at a man who had his back to the wall,
"No, get off!" he shouted, one hand and one leg trying to shove away the possessed-looking woman and the other hand trying to keep her fingertips from prying his psi screen off.
The walls began to twist and strain, Nova placing her hands firmly on the shoulders of each struggling person. "Hold it! Stop!" she said loudly, eyes widening slightly when the conflict continued regardless of her presence, as if they could see no one but each other.
Nova's hands fell from the two shoving and shouting people, her suit warned against her rapidly increasing heart rate; her comm buzzed in her ear. "Agent, they are armed and threatening violence. The situation over here is escalating, force may be necessary," yet another resoc said.
Stepping backwards, her back pressed against the cold steel of the door. It should have opened automatically.
The man whose back was against the wall seemed to come to from his struggle as the fury of the Ghost became apparent, his eyes widening.
Unslinging her canister rifle, Nova raised a fingertip to her earbud, "engage hostiles."
We are different, you and I.
Looking up from the neuroscan result sheet she held in her hands, Roshelle blinked. Was that flicker of light at the corner of her eye a result of exhaustion? Perhaps it was time to take the sci screen off.
Different species, gender, goals, desires. It is time to see and reach beyond our boundaries, for the good of all that remain.
Shaking fingertips pulled the psi screen off, placing it on the counter top reluctantly. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes immediately as disturbing and distressing thoughts bombarded her mind.
It is time to be one. Lasarra held her hands upwards, palms out, eyes bright and expectant.
Hugging the clipboard to her chest tightly, Roshelle closed her eyes and cried.
"I be ready," Tosh said, raising his hands in turn. A bright pillar of psionic energy, a myriad of twisting colors, bloomed between himself and the protoss.
Incoming transmission
"Sir," Vaughn's pallid, sleepless face appeared over Valerian's grand desk, "there was an explosion on Korhal! We believe it was a-"
"I don't care, Vaughn," Valerian said, sharp and cold. He did not lift his gaze from the floor, slumped in his chair as he was.
Dumbstruck silence filled the room for a moment. "Pardon me sir?" Vaughn said, not sure he heard his leader correctly.
Valerian gave a heavy-lidded glance up, mouth a hard line of disdain, "You heard me. We have lost, give up already." With a gesture, Valerian ended the transmission.
This is it. Nova thought, words springing from her mind and out of her mouth as she stood over two previously conscious terrans; scattered gunfire was going off in her earpiece. "The moment we collapse from the inside out." The pressure of the psionic attack was mounting, a palpable force pressing against her brain that the psi screen could barely hold back. "There is nothing I can do," she said to the bodies at her feet apologetically. "Maybe if I still had my power I could- Oh."
Something incredible was happening. A hazy film was being torn away from everything she could see, exposing a forgotten brightness, as though the depressive and violent thoughts had begun to paint the ship.
A familiar low, smooth voice touched her mind.
Breath it in, that peace of mind, Tosh said.
Bewildered, Nova pulled the psi screen off with boneless fingers, a chill of excitement rippling through her as a decidedly friendly energy tingled through her skin and muscles.
Mira Han still poses a threat, you are not safe. Lasarra warned, the protoss' familiar soft blanket-like voice had taken on a rougher edge.
But your minds are, Tosh was smug, but he had every right to be.
"Tosh, what have you done?" Nova questioned the air, thinking as hard as she could. How did she ever speak to people telepathically before? It had become second nature so long ago. She felt blind and dumb to the whole situation, but could not find the anger to make the feeling fester.
What be necessary girl. Now go on, get these people fighting again. Tosh said simply. We be watchin' things now.
Calming his shaking hands, Valerian grasped the iron will that had been missing and opened a call to the bridge quickly. "Captain Vaughn, I believe I owe you an apology," he said.
Vaughn himself sounded awed and giddy, neither of which Valerian had ever heard in his captain before. "Not necessary sir," Vaughn said.
Spreading his gloved fingertips over the smooth holo table surface, Valerian reopened the reports he had been monitoring previously. "I believe you were reporting about an explosion of some sort? I would appreciate details now," he said.
"They celebrating now, but they should be fighting," Tosh said, even though his stomach gave an insistent rumble.
A moment of respite, they have earned it. Lasarra could not help but look at the plate of food in front of the Spectre, curiosity bubbling. The most tumultuous part of their bonding was complete, and the psionic protection they now offered to the terrans aboard the ship was much easier to maintain.
"Heh," Tosh rumbled, grasping a fork and grinning broadly, "you really want to know?"
Yes, I do. Oh... That is truly disgusting.
Cheek puffing out as he pressed the tasteless mass to the side to chew and talk, Tosh's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Rations would not be the first meal I would share, if it were my choice," he said.
A drink, perhaps? If a protoss could make concerned facial expressions, she would. As it was, her eyes crinkled at the corners as if in pain.
Swallowing and nodding quickly, "Oh yes, there be some drinks I can show ya," he grinned then.
Many Protoss believe that eating and speaking with orifices is primitive. She noted as they left the mess hall, where the remaining terrans were giving tearful hugs and apologies. Celebrating and mourning, some were killed in the violence that began to erupt moments before she and Tosh could intervene.
"What do they know, eh?"
I believe it should be explored while the opportunity is there. This was a temporary arrangement, after all.
"Then we will do that while we can," and he knew just the assortment of drinks to get started. Tosh headed for the cantina, curious protoss in tow.
Shield Hub Alpha - Sky Shield Platform
"Keep up, son," Jim said, looking ahead at who-knew-what from atop a pile of rubble nearby.
Egon was always 20 steps behind, at a minimum, the pace was agonizing with the clock ticking down as it was. "Your hands aren't tied, Jim. I am also not suited to this kind of work," the young infested scientist sounded especially arch. Bad enough Jim had him running towards the enemy, but with his hands tied behind his back too!
"Shh," Jim hushed him firmly.
"Coast is clear," a familiar and up until a few hours ago, terrifying, female voice reported smoothly.
"AH!" Egon nearly jumped out of his skin as the Queen of Blades herself brushed by. But she was not there in the grand hive mind conscious anymore, it was bewildering. And fascinating.
"SHH!" Both Kerrigan and Jim hissed, visibly ruffled.
"Sorry," Egon muttered, using his long legs to swing over a tire that may have belonged to a hellion, the rest of the vehicle was missing. At least being infested had some perks, not a drop of sweat or burn of fatigue was to be had. He wiggled his butt comically to make it the last few inches before his feet touched the ground again.
They arrived at their destination, and it did not look promising. Jim winced as he pulled aside a severely dented and jammed door, peering into the unpowered and dark insides of the defense station. "Let's hustle. No telling when the front line will be here, but she never wasted time before," he said.
"What happened to her?" Egon chased after Jim quickly when he realized Sarah came to stand behind him once more, clearly bringing up the rear.
Gritting his teeth and wading through bundles of fallen and worryingly severed cables, Jim muttered, "Amon got to her. Got to all the terrans, far as we can tell."
"That is...real bad news," Egon analyzed his feelings on the matter and decided they were detached. His feelings about the half-ruined control panels they were approaching were very clear however, "Where do I even start?"
Looking upwards at bloodied walls and broken windows, Sarah remembered being the claws and teeth that ravaged this place with crystal clarity. "It is likely Amon will have control of Valerian and his crew before we are done here," she spoke with clinical coldness.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, one problem at a time," Jim grimaced.
"Still," picking up an arm-thick cable with her hands, she became very interested in it all the sudden, "we need to consider exit strategies."
Whirling to face her, Jim siad, "So we can run off and rejoin the swarm, that it?" The worst part was she would not look up.
Pursing her lips tightly, her wing blades betrayed how much she liked the way this conversation was going; they rattled together and lifted upwards partially. "No Jim, but the swarm is our only-"
"Ehem," Egon's pointed throat clearing drew two pairs of angry inhuman eyes.
"What?" Sarah and Jim addressed him as one.
"I need to get to work, restraints please?"
"Right," Jim grudgingly complied.
"I'll keep an eye out," Sarah did not give anyone a chance to say otherwise, slipping out of the building with an unnatural quickness.
Jim clipped the restraints to his belt and gestured at the equipment he was almost certain was hopelessly destroyed. "Me too. Call if you need anything Egon," he said.
"Yeah..." Before Jim managed to leave, Egon shouted in an angry tone, "How about a whole team of SCVs?!"
"You know what I mean son," he let out a chuckle and slipped out after Sarah.
The Queen of Blades was standing atop a small rise, smoke rising in the distance framing her figure. "All clear," she said.
Clenching his fists, Jim remembered vividly the old Sarah. Framed in a hundred different ways, and while many were terrifically violent, they were all terran in form. Pity welled in him so deeply he wanted a drink. "I'm sorry darlin'.
"Don't be."
Stepping up beside her, he looked towards the plume in the distance. Time was ticking and he felt a simple acceptance of the fact settle in. "It's just...Seems like you'd rather be back to rulin' the zerg sometimes." It was his turn to not be able to look, could he have said anything more horrible?
"It's not that, Jim," a quick shake of her head created a small clatter. "I was supposed to defeat Amon, this big destiny I had no say in. I was preparing for it."
"Yeah, Zeratul told me, well, showed me." He fancied he could hear the sound of hundreds of foot soldier slaves running towards them, feverish to serve the new god of the Koprulu sector. Maybe the universe, too.
"If I was not meant to win with the zerg, then what? When?" her voice became thick with tension. "Why all of this?" she held up a thick tendril of her own hair, so thoroughly disgusted all of a sudden she found herself surprised.
"I don't know darlin'," he caught her hand in his, still warm and rough, and gave a reassuring squeeze. "But I'll be damned if I'm not there beside you when it's time."
"Thanks cowboy." she squeezed back.
"My pleasure."
Her eyes narrowed, hawk-like. "Contact."
He had to blink and look harder. "Ah hell, is that a tank?"
"Yes."
"Egon, status!" Jim shouted as her burst back in to the crumpled building, Sarah slipping in a half-step behind.
A few lights were blinking, limited power was flowing, but that was not enough. "The zerg shredded everything Jim, there's just next to nothing to work with in here!" Egon nearly shouted, feeling helpless as he continued to feverishly splice wires together and pull circuitry off of scavenged bits and pieces.
Jim concealed how impressed he was to see lights to begin with. "Damnit Egon, any grease monkey could have told me that! I brought you because you know how to make the best out of the worst!"
"I am trying! Oh, I wish I had my energy drinks so bad," Egon lamented.
"He needs more time," Sarah said simply.
"Then we need to get out there and make a distraction," Jim turned towards her and smiled like a beacon.
"Ready to get your hands dirty?" she smiled.
"Always." Before he strode back out, Jim had a thought. "Keep workin' Egon. If you get it going don't wait for us," he said.
"Okay Jim," Egon waved him off, far too distracted to absorb what was said.
Knelt beside the burned out and toppled husk of a train, Jim eyed the prey intently. "Couple marines, 3 tanks. Wonder why she's not throwing everything at us?" he murmured.
"The ship is helpless, loss is inevitable. Why not take your time?" Sarah was crouched at his side, wing blades tucked close.
"It's just not like her."
"It isn't her."
He grit his teeth. "My armor penetrating rounds can deal with at least one tank, but I'll be gettin' shot at as soon as I take one out."
Lips playing at a smile, standing as she gave his shoulder a tentative pat, she said, "I'll handle it."
"Be safe Sarah," he readied his rifle.
Egon was ranting,"How can he expect me to do this? By myself, no resources, no help, no-ah!" The pieces of material he had in his hands flew this way and that as he dropped to his knees heavily as if struck.
"Oh god. Jim Jim Jim!" He gasped and heaved, hands pressing to the sides of his head as if to keep it from exploding.
Plain Terran eyes peeled away and he gasped, closing his eyes tightly and reopening them until he could see like normal again. "Can't call Jim, could get him killed," he said. Looking around the room wildly, every claw mark and blood spatter resonated a hundred times over, making his head spin with an alien lust for destruction. "They'll kill Jim! No no no!""
Seizing his courage, the young scientist dashed out of the building at a breakneck pace. Jim had to be found, the swarm was here.
"Easy," Jim murmured, "Nice and quiet now. Here goes nothin'," index finger resting gently on the trigger, the rifle would expel a HEV round that would shred through a tank, creating so much shrapnel inside it the rider would be dead instantly and messily.
He could see her faintly, a shadow here, a shift of colors that were slightly off. Even without her psionic abilities, Sarah Kerrigan was fully capable of stealth. As soon as she was in position trailing behind two of the three tanks, he took aim at the lead. "Here goes nothing," he whispered.
In the time between pulling the trigger, the deafening sound of gunfire, and a neat head-sized hole being punched through the lead siege tank, he was already being fired at. "Agh!" he shouted, barely avoiding a searing hot mess of plasma and slag as the shelled out train blew up beside him.
He ran for his life. Several more siege tank rounds had fired off, he counted only one in his direction however. "C'mon Sarah!" he shouted, voice drowned out by a nearby wall being vaporized, this was cutting it far too close.
"Jim! Look out!" Sarah shouted over the comm, subtlety discarded.
"Yes I am being shot at! Thanks!" he'd been angling a sharp curve back towards the siege tanks to get up close, and his quarry would be right around the next heap of rubble. Why would Sarah break comm silence for that? he questioned fleetingly.
Something in her tone pulled at his attention. "No, it's the-"
Jim found himself roughly tackled into a wall, just shy of getting at the tank around the corner. "Hnf!"
Sarah's lips pressed up against his ear as she forcefully pinned him, her tone urgent, "Swarm."
He could hear it now. Shrieking. Hissing. Roaring. It had all blended together, the sound of battle he had grown used to but now found himself on the wrong side of. Sarah's grasp relaxed as he gave her a small tap, silent and focused now. There was a buzzing in the air, innumerable Zerg descending upon the platform, but their local position was much quieter.
A heavy thump, followed by metallic screeching and a more telling meaty tearing noise painted an unpleasant picture of what happened to the remaining tanks. Zerg were feasting.
Carefully rising to a crouch, Jim gestured around the corner and got back on the same page with Sarah. There was a new potential enemy to deal with, the battle was still on.
With cautious regard to the sound, he slung his rifle back over his shoulder and winced at the crunch of his spines being snapped off, brandishing them as weapons once again. He leaped around the corner as one with Sarah at his side, a snarl on his lips.
It died immediately when greeted by familiar gutteral laughter. Tychus, or something so similar in shape as to be familiar, was on top of the siege tank, looking down on a giant furred beast of a primal zerg feasting on whatever was inside the tank, it's head and torso were stuck inside it.
"Hurry it up son, can't go keepin' an Emperor waiting." Tychus boomed, he was facing towards the lamed Bucephalus.
Jim couldn't help it, he gasped. Sarah paused beside him, much more wary.
A subtle clatter of chitinous hair filled the quiet as Tychus turned his head slowly towards the noise. It was hard to tell emotion on his face now, more zerg than man, but his eyes widened dramatically. "Jimmy?" he said, disbelief evident.
Catching his breath, Jim swallowed before speaking, his voice thickened with emotion, "Tychus? What in the hell happened?"
"He's evolved," Sarah said, wing blades fanning outwards in a not-so-subtle challenge. He was a thief.
The creature feasting on the insides of the tank went still, though it remained half-buried inside. Tychus leaped down from the tank and landed heavily, small dust clouds erupting from under his feet. "I-I thought you was dead," his fists clenched, "came to kill Valerian for betrayin' us."
"Where is Zagara?" Sarah said, glancing at what had to be Dehaka. How did Tychus manage to keep the loyalty of the primal zerg?
Tychus grunted, "Alive." He jerked a blackened, clawed thumb upwards, a Leviathan floated lazily above them as scores of zerg continued to pour fourth. "Abathur helped me knock her down a peg or two," he said.
A warning bell went off in her head. "Abathur? You can't trust him, Tychus." It seems the evolution master had his own agenda after all.
"Valerian didn't betray us," Jim said, eyes widening in realization. "Dear God, you betrayed her."
"Son, I-" Tychus attempted to speak, but guilt was written on every twisted inch of him. Worse was when his gaze shifted to a shrunken, completely misshapen infested that was loitering at the corner of the siege tank. Its whole body gave a twitch.
Jim lost all sense of composure, voice rising in a roar. He shot forwards and clamped his hands down on Tychus' shoulders, careless of the blood drawn. "You turned her!" he could barely stand to look, but he forced himself to glance at the infested Jayce to fuel his righteous anger. "That girl never did anythin' wrong but care for a man who didn't deserve it! And you ain't even a man anymore!"
Sarah hissed, "Don't become weak! Stay in control." It seemed she was the only one present who recognized the true danger.
Gently, Tychus curled his hands around Jim's forearms and held him still, at least to keep from doing further harm. The dagger-like fingers piercing into his thick hide already hurt a great deal; greasy purple blood welling up around them. "Jim, brother, I have made the biggest mistake of my life."
"You're damn straight, but it's gonna be the last!" Jim roared, bits of spit spraying. He curled his fingers hard, he'd dig through the rotten son of a bitch if he had to, but before he could truly begin to fight he found himself flung backwards and staring up at the zerg-filled sky in confusion.
Tychus stumbled backwards, hands pressing to the side of his head. It felt like a railroad spike was being driven into his brain repeatedly, hammering away chunks of sanity. "Augh!" he screamed.
Sarah helped Jim up quickly.
Reeling to his feet with the quick assist, it came as a shock to see the huge infested man writhing on the ground holding his head. His claws did not do that. "What's happening?" wild eyed, he looked towards the infested Jayce and watched her spasm, distant shrieking and roaring taking on a note of confusion. Something significant was happening.
Letting go of Jim, Sarah rushed to Tychus and grabbed at his shoulder, trying for his attention. Hot greasy blood spread across her palms. "It's Abathur, it has to be! Fight him Findlay!"
Specimen Findlay. Weak. Not fit to rule Swarm.
"N-n-noo," shrugging off the annoyance touching at his burning skin, Findlay struggled to his feet like a wounded animal as Sarah fell back, eyes shifting away from him.
"Hell," Jim said.
A sinuous tentacle wound about Tychus' neck from behind, giving the infested man's neck a crushing squeeze as the deformed creature attached to it leaped on to his back.
"It's gone," Sarah leaped back, grasping Jim's arm. Together they turned and ran, full speed. "Abathur wanted to give the swarm to Amon, I doubt he's changed his mind since then!"
Tychus' head turned, guided by the flexing tentacle, meeting pits of red burning embers. Jayce.
I REMEMBER.
He felt himself being pulled in, no longer a willing participant and unable to stop it. Pure, undiluted malice burned into his brain until darkness closed in.
Void Seeker - Shakuras
Space and time twisted together into a knot, until a ripple spasmed through the chaos and spat out a lone, smooth vessel. The Void Seeker hovering expectantly in space as other anomalies appeared, warping and twisting until bright lights popped out, rippling outwards like a disturbed pond.
It was not there.
Confusion twisting his brows, Zeratul beheld the void of space where the homeworld of the Nerazim was meant to be. Shakuras was absent, and a cold feeling began to fill him as he observed debris floating about. The Void Seeker did not make mistakes. My holy homeland...Where is it?
A bright serpentine figure slid through space towards the Void Seeker, coiling and dipping around massive chunks of debris. Believe the evidence of your eyes, prophet. Shakuras is no more. The soldier of the dead gods, the phoenix creature, spoke gently.
By the gods, what of the dark templar? We must search for survivors! How could he have let this happen? But even as he thought it, what could he have done to stop it? Was his discovery of the army of the gods too late? The Void Seeker began deep scanning.
A chord of alarm strummed through the bond between himself and the many serpentine creatures waiting expectantly in space around him. Beyond the dust of this world there is a battle, come. Passing by the Void Seeker, the creature began to navigate through the rubble and dust of the planet.
Wordless and grim, Zeratul followed.
Warnings, red and insistent, soon drew his attention as he guided the Void Seeker close enough to see with his own eyes this battle taking place, eyes widening to bright green orbs at what he saw. Golden vessels, diving and dodging, exploding in brilliant hues of white and blue. That is no dark templar craft! The golden armada attacks their own?
An enormous protoss mothership, a delicate-looking golden flower from afar, was carving a swathe through the smaller vessels getting in its way, but clearly on the run from the much larger force chasing it down.
Coming to a stop behind their leader, the army of the gods hung silently in the dust of Shakuras, spread out through the rubble like muted stars. The Khalai belong to Amon, they said.
Zeratul nearly jumped. Of course! The khala...There were many Khalai on Shakuras. Refugees. The dark templar must have been set upon without warning. Shakuras is a portal world. Was. Amon would have brought devastation to my people, leaving them no escape! Then he was truly too late. Slumping down into his seat bonelessly, Zeratul mourned lost time; what he would not give to go back and fix all the wrongs.
Do not despair, look once more, they sang as one.
He looked up a second time. Guiding the visuals of the ship to observe closer. His old hearts leaped with joy. The mothership that is under attack must be survivors!
The battling ships shifted into the warp, blinking out like so many stars. The mothership had not escaped, all it could do was change the location in which it was overwhelmed.
Focusing upon the army at his command, he took their steady surety and made it his own. I know not how Shakuras has come to ruin, but saving those who remain is still within my power.
Your command? They thrummed, bodies brightening and glowing with fury. It seemed they drew upon their leader much the same.
Pursue the golden armada and its prey! For Shakuras! He roared.
We move.
Vorazun. A voice called.
Increasing exponentially in volume, the voice was insistent. Vorazun!
Vorazun blinked, coming back from the depths of space laid out before the bridge of the mothership, it was all too easy to get lost in it. Yes? She turned her head to regard her second in command.
Where are you taking us? A large protoss even by Khalai standards, Zurenth was a ferocious giant. Behind him stood a ragged ensemble of Khalai, their nerve cords varying degrees of severed, and Nerazim.
She appreciated his skill at arms, not his council. The golden armada, piloted by the enslaved Khalai, pursues us. I am taking us to our last hope, the Terrans.
The terrans?! His bright green eyes gleamed with outrage, but that was all she could glean, their lack of connection a blessing. Then we are lost already, the primitives don't stand a chance against the armada. We should know, a bitter tone poisoned his thought speech, we helped build it.
Vorazun raised her hand calmly. It was hard to be anything but numb after orchestrating the destruction of her own home, but she would be damned if Amon took it. I sense your anger and I understand. But we must do what we can, what has been done cannot be undone. The Terrans have proven themselves time and again in dire straights.
It seemed that Zurenth was focused on the past. We helped them recreate an unstoppable machine of war- he gestured sharply back towards the few Khalai present as he spoke.
To take back Aiur, which we desired as well. She conceded, this was the truth.
-to give Amon the very weapons he needed to destroy us!
The Khalai can be freed! A young Khalai shouted from his group We are proof! We did not want to help Amon any more than you!
Eyes narrowing, Vorazun slammed the butt of her staff to the floor, green flares flickering at both ends, releasing a deafening crack. Enough!
A pin could be heard dropping in the silence, the subtle humming of warp the only disturbance.
With the newfound focus, she took full advantage of their attention. The terrans will have no choice but to respond when the armada appears, their hand will be forced. Both Artanis and Zeratul placed much trust in the primitives, we must now do so as well. We Nerazim are meant to be open minded.
Zeratul killed the matriarch, Raszagal. Zurenth said, voice tight with anger.
My mother. Her eyes narrowed, what gave him the right to mention that? A fact I have not forgotten or forgiven, nor shall I ever! However, she raised a clawed fingertip, had we listened to his message...
The large Nerazim tipped his head forwards, acknowledging the truth bitterly. Things may have gone differently.
I believe we would be fools not to listen now, the mad prophet's words have rung true ever since we first heard them. She turned to look down upon the huddled masses arrayed below her platform. So few warriors left. You are tired. Your bodies are weakened and wounded, but you are not yet dead.
She raised a hand in assurance and greeting. Some of those below had never been so close to the Matriarch of the Nerazim, surely it would not be comforting to know she was possibly the last leader of their race remaining. Rest as much as you can, we are safe in warp, but when we arrive at Korhal there will be battle! You will be ready! You will fight and should you die, you die as one! You die for Shakuras!
Shakuras! The Nerazim chanted, the warriors raising their psi blades high.
And Aiur! She added, clenching her fist and channeling her fury into it.
AIUR! The Khalai bellowed, their psionic voices rich with anger.