Dalton took the first few steps into the security checkpoint beyond the airlock, Gauss Rifle at the ready, just in case. He seriously doubted that the zerg had managed to dig into this place, but it wasn't impossible, he supposed. The way was clear, though. No blood, no bodies, no bullets scattered around. Just chromed walls and dead lights, a million shiny surfaces off which his flashlights and the red emergency lighting reflected.
The room was little more than the airlock they'd just come from. A longer, taller variant, this one with frosted windows looking down on it from either side. He envisioned uncertain figures lurking, checking a dozen different pieces of scanning technology each time someone came in. Big dark drone guns hung from the ceiling like giant metal spiders.
Dreaming, but not dead.
"Frost?" he asked as he scanned the area. There was just one way to go, dead ahead, and it was locked up tight.
"On it," she replied, walking past him and up to the door.
She had it open in ten seconds. Another chamber awaited, this one a bit less hostile. It actually had a large, circular desk dominating the center, with doors to either side. One of them was open, and as Dalton moved deeper into the vacant room, he saw a narrow stairway leading up to one of the security zones behind the frosted glass.
"Now what?" Finch muttered anxiously.
"Give me a moment," Frost replied as she stalked across the reception chamber to the open doorway. "I need to access their internal network."
As she slipped up the stairs, Dalton walked over and looked up after her. He wouldn't be able to fit up there, not in his armor. He hoped nothing was waiting for her up there. Her dimmer flashlights faded as she got to the top and headed back in the direction they'd initially come from. When he heard nothing, he trusted that she had it covered and moved on. Checking out the room, he found more of the same: abrupt abandonment.
"Goddamn, this is creepy," Baker muttered.
"You really think they bugged out?" Forrester asked.
"Yeah," Dalton replied.
"I'm into their network," Frost said over his radio, and judging by the lack of reaction from the others, he guessed that she was speaking solely to him. "And there's some bad news. It looks like there's been a wipe. Basic functions and intel are still intact, but that doesn't leave us with a lot to work with. This seems like a pretty top secret installation, so even on their own internal network, huge sections of the map are just blacked out. I'm sending you a copy of the map. It does look like they bugged out, but I can't find anything beyond an evacuation order."
"Great," he muttered, accepting the data packet and then looking at the overlay. The installation was bigger than he'd assumed, with corridors stretching hundreds of meters. After a moment, he'd located a Repair Bay. "Where do you need to go?" he asked.
"Data Core Alpha," Frost replied.
"All right. Listen up, people," he said, garnering their attention. The armored figures had spread out across the reception area, poking through the place. "Frost found a map. Looks like everyone bugged out after an evac order was given. I'm forwarding the map. Take a minute to study it. We're going to split up. Frost and I are going deeper in to see if we can recover more information on what's happening in the region or if there's anymore information on these zerg. The rest of you are going to the nearest Repair Bay, which is Echo on the map. Sergeant Dixon is in charge. Keep it tight and focus up. We get in, we get out. Now let's go."
He couldn't tell what kind of look Dixon was giving him because he was pretty much hidden behind his polarized visor, but if he had any qualms about the order, he kept silent. The others seemed grateful just to be doing something, the installation unnerving them. Dalton moved over to the door that would let them into the station proper and opened it up. He had to admit, an abandoned top secret installation was a bit nerve-wracking, and the emergency lighting wasn't helping, especially against the backdrop of a brutal alien invasion, but…
There was no way they'd made it inside, and the place was locked down. Why would there be zerg in here?
He supposed he was nervous about maybe running into security systems, those drone guns could shred them if they weren't careful, and if there were any who had stayed behind, they might be looking at a difficult situation, but he thought Frost could talk her way around any Confederacy personnel they might come up against.
The door let out into a T-junction. The right was sealed up with an emergency bulkhead, but the other two ways were open and clear. He saw nothing but dozens of meters of tall, broad, red-lit, empty corridor.
"Clear!" he called, making way. The others slowly spilled out behind him. "You all remember which kits we need?"
"Four and Seven," Dix replied. "Don't worry, I can handle it."
"Check. Stay in touch, five minute intervals."
"Understood."
They parted ways, Dalton and Frost heading down the central corridor.
Neither spoke as they moved through the red-lit titanium gloom. As oddly comfortable as he felt in this place, Dalton couldn't dismiss the tension lingering on the air. His big boots echoed down the lonely passageway. They paused a few times to check out the doors that were open, and found more of the same each time.
Abrupt abandonment. Blocky furniture that glinted dully under their probing lights, some of their surfaces still scattered with items and trash, some of it tossed across the floor. They'd left in a hurry but that was no surprise, given what was happening out in the Wastelands. They checked a public bathroom, a pair of offices, an officer's lounge. All vacated with the same sense of urgency. It didn't help that Dix seemed surprisingly anxious over his check-ins.
They ran into a problem shortly before the third check-in.
A large door, sealed shut and blocking the entire passageway off.
Dalton cursed and quickly checked his map. This was right at the edge of one of the blackout zones. That couldn't be a coincidence, or maybe it could. Hard to tell in a place like this.
"Dalton, we've got a problem," Dix said.
"So do we, what's going on?" he asked as Frost marched over to an access panel and popped it open, then set immediately to work.
"Found a sealed door blocking the whole hallway. It's damaged somehow, and there's signs that it was welded shut."
An uncomfortable pause passed. "Are you sure?"
"Wouldn't have said it if I wasn't," he replied, sounding vaguely annoyed.
"Great. Hold on. We ran into something similar, but I think Frost can get ours open. Frost?"
"Yeah, but I'll need time," she replied.
"According to the map, the only way through to that sector besides this way is another corridor coming out of that blackout zone of yours. We'd need to double back and join you."
Dalton was already checking his own map and saw that Dix was right. "Yeah, makes sense. Okay, get back here, double-time."
"Already on the way."
"Frost?" he asked.
"Like I said, I'll need time," she murmured.
Dalton sighed softly. His tension levels were rising. He looked around, waiting impatiently in the gloom-saturated tunnel. What kind of things went on here? He couldn't help but speculate fruitlessly as he waited, patrolling back and forth, checking the corners, the doorways, the vent grates. There was nothing in there but him and Frost.
Finally, he saw a light appear at the other end of the tunnel, followed by several more. Dix and the rest of the squad reappeared, looking anxious. He could hear them arguing in hushed but severe tones as they approached.
"What is it?" Dalton asked.
"They're worried over the welded door," Dix replied.
"It isn't a big deal, it could be anything. We have no idea what they do in here," Dalton said.
"Exactly," Dixon replied with a surprising gravity, "we have no idea what they do in here. It could be anything. And after fighting a bunch of hopping whats-its, 'anything' just got a lot deeper and a lot more worrying."
Dalton realized he had a point, and suddenly wondered why he was arguing the opposite. He looked around again, abruptly unsettled.
"Got it," Frost said.
"Okay, get ready, everyone. Standard formation, stay frosty," Dalton replied, making himself focus.
The door opened up, revealing another long length of passageway, but immediately Dalton saw something maybe fifty meters down the way. Something laying on the floor in a familiar yet unidentifiable pile.
"What is that?" Dix muttered.
"Frost?" he asked.
"It's...a Marine. Or a suit of armor, anyway. On the floor," she replied as she stared down the scope of her rifle.
"Alive or dead? Or just the suit?" he asked.
"I can't determine that. Not alive, if anyone is in there," she replied.
Dalton sighed softly. "All right. On me. Let's do this."
The tension rose and his own anxiety began to crank up as they started making slow progress towards the cryptic suit. It was probably just that, a suit of armor. Maybe the armor had malfunctioned during the evac, and they'd just dumped it in the hallway? It was possible. Unlikely, but definitely possible. Maybe it was something else.
Maybe-
"Oh shit," he whispered as he finally got to the corner where another immense corridor bisected this one.
He barely even registered that not only was there in fact a dead man inside of that suit, but that he was missing his lower half, and seemed to have pulled himself a good distance, judging by the smear of blood on the deckplates behind him.
What immediately grabbed his attention was the rest of the corridor in that direction. The corridor that Dixon and the others had to go down to get to the repair bay, was an absolute mess. There were easily a dozen dead Marines, their corpses stretched out in a gruesome display of death and destruction. Besides the gallons of blood that were sprayed across the broken bodies, he saw bullet holes in the walls and spent shell casings everywhere.
And, sure enough, several dead zerg.
"They got inside," someone whispered.
"Apparently," Frost muttered.
"So I'm not as comfortable splitting up anymore," Dixon said.
"Yeah, me neither," Dalton replied. He sighed as he considered it, looking briefly the way they had to go, then down the death-splattered corridor, the way to the Repair Bay. "All right, we all go to get the kits. Then we'll deal with what Frost and I need to do on the way back."
He wasn't sure how Frost felt about this shift in plan, but regardless, she kept quiet about it. They began making their way slowly down the passageway, careful of the corpses, now more paranoid than ever. Dalton felt something in his head straining as he led the way, struggling to keep his calm. He really had believed that this place was empty, but now that he had found this...why? Why had he believed that?
It was his decision-making that had led him in here, led them all in here.
He should have been much more paranoid. Why had he been so sure this would be a safe place?
The programming, he realized, it had to be. It had bypassed his defenses. Confederate brain manipulation affected the mind in a number of ways, some of them obvious, some of them subtle, some of them outright bizarre and unpredictable.
He supposed it wasn't all that unpredictable that he had associated a top secret Confederate installation with absolute safety.
Stupid.
He was going to have to keep a better watch on that in the future.
They managed to make it through the slaughterhouse without running into any survivors from either side of the battle. They were almost to the end of the passageway, which terminated in a security checkpoint that had been utterly overwhelmed. But as they approached it, something caught his attention and he raised his fist, locking the others in place.
"What is it?" Frost murmured.
"I don't know, something weird," he muttered as he stared at the strange things embedded in the nearest wall. "What do you make of these?"
"Projectiles of some kind," Frost said quietly as she studied the curiosity. "Spines of some sort. They look...almost like bone. Or something organic. They aren't metal, I'm fairly certain."
"I've got more of them over here," Dix said suddenly.
Dalton looked over and saw a row of the strange spines embedded a good couple of inches into the solid metal walls.
"Whatever was launching them was doing so with a tremendous speed and power," Dalton muttered as he reached out and prodded one. He felt a chill ripple down his spine and straightened up. "Keep moving."
As he led his team of survivors through a smashed-open security checkpoint, he discovered that the butchery behind them was nothing compared to the abattoir that awaited them beyond the threshold. It let out into a huge, square room, the ceiling of which was open and showed a second story ringing them above. He had the impression of stepping into an arena of some sort, a place that was meant to be observed from above.
The room was studded with a number of glass chambers, what looked to be operating units, each containing a table orbited by an array of equipment and trays and all manner of medical instrumentation. Several of these chambers held…
Dead zerg.
Spread out between these chambers were a lot of dead bodies. Dozens upon dozens of them. A lot were Marines and Firebats, but several more were science personnel. And along the walls…
Every surface seemed to be made mostly of reinforced glass. A lot of the windows had been broken open, but not all. Everything seemed to be covered in a horrific melange of blood, gore, and shredded flesh. There were several dead zerg around, but he saw a few things that immediately caught his attention. The first and most obvious were all the chambers and the research equipment. All of it top-of-the-line and state-of-the-art.
Was it possible that they'd been researching something else, and had just jumped on the opportunity to research the zerg when they'd arrived? What kind of timeline were they working with here? How long had the zerg been on Mar Sara?
Or was it darker than that? More sinister?
Where had the zerg actually come from?
But the other thing he saw that he was focusing on was…
"Aw shit, man, I knew it!" Finch moaned, breaking the silence. "They were making them! They were making the damned things here and they got out!"
"Shut your fucking mouth, Corporal!" Reed snapped with an intense venom. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"
"They've got them in cages, Sarge!"
"They coulda been rounding them up for research!"
"Shut up!" Dalton snapped as he walked over to the anomaly that was partially hidden among the corpses and behind a particularly blood-splattered chamber. "What the fuck is that?"
It was a dead body, he was sure of that, but the shape it made was all wrong for a human or a zerg. It was too big, too weird-looking, and right now, too obscured. Slowly, he began making his way towards it, mostly strafing to the side so that he could get a better view without getting too close. Whatever the hell it was it looked dangerous.
As he came around the bloodied chamber and finally got a better look at it, a cold stone of pure terror dropped deep into his gut.
"What...what in the name of fuck is that?" Reed whispered.
Dalton could feel his heart starting to hammer faster. It was big, a lot bigger than the zerg he'd seen so far. It almost looked like a giant snake that had the torso of another creature shoved onto the top. Bony protrusions came out of its long, slender lower body. It had two huge arms, each ending in a razor sharp scythe, a lot like the other zerg. Its head was large, sporting a massive jaw and a bizarre crest jutting up and back. The whole thing was covered in what looked almost like plates of natural armor. Its face was a mask of alien horror and he could imagine what it would be like to see it alive and in action. Its jaw alone looked like it could crush metal.
There was no question, though: this was a zerg.
It looked too similar to the other ones.
Which meant that 'zerg' no longer meant a single thing.
"I don't even know what I'm looking at," Baker muttered.
"Obviously these aliens come in two types, big and small," Dalton replied. "I vote we call the small ones hoppers and the big ones snakes."
"You think there's more around?" Finch whispered anxiously.
"Knowing our luck, yes. Certainly. So don't flip out and lose your shit when you see one up and slithering around," Dalton replied. "Now–"
He cut off as something made a noise nearby, far too close for comfort. They all turned towards it, weapons aimed. Directly across from where they had gathered was an unbroken window looking into a darkened cell in the wall. That was where the noise had come from. Dalton slowly approached it, Gauss Rifle spooled up and ready to unleash a torrent of wild metal death. There didn't appear to be anything behind the glass, but the bottom half of the wall was metal. He kept going, angling his rifle down as he raised it up a bit.
Sure enough, as soon as he got close enough, one of those hopper zerg leaped against the glass with a chirping shriek, though the fact that it bounced off it, leaving only a smear of ugly slime, broke up the tension a bit.
"So how much do we want to bet that they were making these things?" Dixon asked as he and Dalton walked up to the glass. Three of the hoppers were in a large metal cell beyond. Judging by the scuffing on the floor and walls, it seemed like they'd been there for awhile.
"Could be," Dalton muttered, studying the creatures. Something was bugging him and he picked it out after another moment of study.
They all had something on their necks that was reflecting the light from their flashlights as they hopped around. Something metal, something he hadn't seen on the other creatures they'd fought so far. Turning away from the glass, he began looking around and marched over as he found another dead hopper in the main room. Nudging it with his boot, he saw something metal and flat embedded in its neck.
"What is it?" Frost asked.
He zoomed in with his visor. "A tag," he muttered. "First line reads C Fifteen. Second line reads oh four dash seventeen dash twenty four ninety nine."
"That's a date," Dixon said.
"Yep. I'm guessing that's the day they first got this one. Whether or not they made it or found it, they've had these things for at least eight months."
"Got another one over here, same deal. Dated back to March of this year," Baker said.
"This one's from June," Forrester reported elsewhere in the room.
"That doesn't prove anything!" Reed snapped. Dalton looked over at him. The man looked worse than ever, sweating badly, his eyes bugging out. "They found 'em and they were figuring out how to kill 'em!"
"Reed, let it go," Dalton said. "They hung us out to dry. Even if they found these things, they've known about them months and months. This is all bullshit. You think that comms blackout was a coincidence? We couldn't talk to anyone, until suddenly we could, and then it was crystal clear when they told us to just 'sit tight' and 'backup was on the way', and then suddenly we lost contact again. Nothing was wrong with our gear. They made these things, or they found these things, and they let them loose on us."
"Do you really believe that?" Abner asked uncertainly.
"Yes, I do. We've all been shoved full of chemicals and God fucking knows what else to make us believe the Confederacy is mommy and daddy and God all rolled into one, and they'll always take care of us, and they're just the greatest. It's horseshit, and some of us know that, and some of us need to get with the fucking program. They don't give a shit about us. Hell, we aren't even expendable to them. We're not pawns, we're shit they finally worked up the energy to flush."
"That's bullshit!" Reed snapped.
"Sergeant Reed, I appreciate where you're coming from. I really do. But at a certain point you're going to have to stop letting your programming think for you," Dalton said. He didn't like the look on the man's face. He seemed a hell of a lot closer to freaking out than anyone else.
"He might not be able to," Frost muttered.
"What the hell are we gonna do then!? I knew we shouldn't've come here!"
"No, that's just your programming giving you bad vibes because you were thinking about entering a top secret installation," Dalton replied.
"Stop saying that!"
"What?" he asked.
"Programming! I'm not a fucking computer!"
"We're all biological computers, what the hell did you think was happening when they stuffed you into that 'recalibration' chamber? They did it to all of us. Now, Reed," Dalton said, stepping closer and focusing intensely on the bug-eyed man, "I need you to fall in line and follow orders, do you understand me, Sergeant?"
"I...this is crazy," he whispered.
"I know, that's why I'm trying to get us the hell off this planet."
"How? If you really think they hung us all out to dry, then where the hell are we going to go!? What the hell are we going to do!?"
"Find a ship, get off-world. Right now that's our priority. Nothing else matters but staying alive and keeping us all alive. I know you know how to think like this, how to prioritize, because you got the same training I did," Dalton said, his voice growing hard.
Something seemed to shift in Reed, his gaze and stance calming somewhat, and Dalton knew his little gambit had paid off. He'd had to deal with situations somewhat similar to this before, and it was always a risk. Like defusing a bomb, only scarier, because you could do everything right and the person could still blow up because people were built far more messily and inconsistently than bombs.
"All right," Reed said. "I'm trusting you to get us out of here."
"I appreciate that," Dalton replied, though he didn't like the way in which Frost was staring at the older Sergeant now.
She was difficult to read behind her mask, but he thought she was contemplating killing the man. Given how he might react when and if he learned the truth of their intended destination, that might prove necessary. On the other hand, this whole revelation about what exactly the Confederacy had been up to here in the Harbinger Installation would no doubt grease the others up a bit in regards to that.
As they found the exit to the corridor they were looking for, Dalton worked this new information over in his mind. What did he believe? He supposed it was possible that they'd found these things and had been researching them for months and months now. Maybe longer. If anything he was surprised it had taken this long to get out. There were any number of possibilities, he supposed, but he did believe that they'd been flushed down the shitter.
No one really cared what happened to Wastelanders. The Marines, the Firebats, the Medics, everyone they shipped out here to Mar Sara and Chau Sara, especially to the Wastelands...they only sent you out this way if they at best no longer cared about you. Often times they just wanted you out of the way and were hoping maybe you'd die out here, or get so depressed you offed yourself. It had been known to happen.
Burnouts, rejects, psychopaths, and the too-criminally-insane-even-for-us ended up out here.
He looked around. Except for the Installations, he supposed.
It was obvious they were doing some kind of research, but in the end, did it matter? Even if he hadn't discovered this revelation, he'd still be leaving for the Sons of Korhal with Frost and Dix.
"Here," he said, stopping abruptly as they reached the Repair Bay in question.
Frost got it open and he scanned the interior. Everything looked like it was where it should be. He hurried inside, moving as quickly as he could in his bulky armor, and tracked down the proper kits. Once he found them, he snagged both and handed them off, one to Baker, one to Forrester.
"Now let's go."
They hustled back through the forsaken installation, stepping over corpses, listening to the squelching of their heavy boots in the blood, keeping an eye out for any of the creatures that might have survived the initial slaughter.
When they passed through the main research room again and returned to the junction, Dalton pointed back down the initial corridor. "Go," he said, "everyone. Frost and I will finish our objective. Get started repairing the ship. Keep watch. Dixon is in charge."
"I'm coming with you," Dixon replied. "And you can't talk me out of it."
Dalton sighed softly. He couldn't order him, either, technically speaking. "Fine," he grunted, "Baker's in charge. Just get it done, fast but right."
He expected Reed to argue, given he outranked Corporal Baker, but the Sergeant remained silent. Fine. The fewer problems right now, the better. They split up and Dalton took point again, leading them deeper into the Installation.
"All right, now that we're alone, you mind letting me in on what the hell is going on? Because you two are obviously up to something," Dix said.
"Yeah, I've been waiting for the right moment. Remember when you hit me with 'we should just pack up and leave'?" Dalton replied.
"Yeah…"
"Well, we're doing that, only with an extra, uh, caveat."
"And that is?"
"Sons of Korhal."
A moment of silence passed. "For real?" Dix asked finally.
"For real. Frost has a contact with them. She's bugging out, and she's agreed to take you and me with her. We'll need to run some missions for them in order to carry our weight, and we need the data from this Installation. That's our ticket offworld. You in?"
"I'm in," Dixon replied almost immediately.
"You don't mind leaving the Confederacy?" Frost asked.
"Fuck the Confederacy," Dixon replied.
"Well all right then."
"I'm more surprised a Ghost is leaving, honestly."
"...I have my reasons," Frost said.
"Fair enough."
They found several more corpses as they traversed the inner metal tunnels of the Harbinger Installation, ever wary of more threats. They heard nothing, but he no longer fully trusted his environment or even his senses.
At last, he came to a halt. "Here we are, Data Core Alpha."
"I was gonna ask what's so special about this place that they want it, but given the research they were doing, seems pretty obvious now," Dixon said.
"You think they knew, the Sons?" Dalton asked as he opened up the door and checked the interior beyond. "About the zerg?"
"Could be, but they keep me almost as in the dark as the Confederacy," Frost replied.
"Sounds like the start of a fantastic partnership," Dix muttered.
The Data Core was a relatively small room, small enough that Dix had to wait outside and stand guard. Frost walked right up to the only console in the room and fired it up, then began working it. It didn't take her long to whisper a sharp curse.
"What's wrong?" Dalton asked.
"There's nothing here," she replied, still working, her fingers moving faster than ever now. "There's nothing...they completely wiped it."
"Seriously?" he asked.
"Yes. Fuck. Hold on, let me try something...goddamnit. They wiped it. It's gone. Locals, backups, everything is completely gone. Flash fried. I was counting on a backup being here."
"There's no possible other location it might be? A physical mainframe backup disconnected from the main servers?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, that's why I came here, to Alpha. If it isn't here, or able to be accessed from here, it doesn't exist. That's how these installations are built. Shit."
"Great," he muttered. "How were you going to get in touch with them?"
"That's what I'm doing now," she replied, still working. "Their comms array still works. Hold on. I'm plugging into it...all right, I'm dialing the frequency they gave me. I'm going to patch you in, but don't say anything."
"Check," he replied.
He answered the call when she patched him into her private comm network and waited, hearing the pulsing tone of an outgoing request.
After a long moment, it was finally answered. A harried voice came onto the line. "Liberty's Wings," it said.
"Void's Legacy," she replied.
"Thank fucking Christ. I've been waiting for you for too long. Give me your location so I can pick you up and we can get off this nightmare planet, Specialist."
"There's a problem. They wiped the data."
A long pause. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure. I'm standing at the console right now in the Harbinger Installation. It's a slaughterhouse in here. They issued an evac order and wiped everything. The data is gone. Even the backup."
Another pause, then, "Wait one."
Then another bout of silence that seemed to go on for a torturous amount of time.
Finally, the person on the other end came back. Dalton immediately felt his hopes sink as he heard their tone.
"I can't pick you up. I'm sorry."
"You can't leave me here, I'll die."
"I'm sorry, no data, no ride. Those are my orders. Direct from Mengsk himself. But, listen, this is the best I can do for you."
"What am I receiving?" Frost asked.
"Burst transmission. It's the coordinates of a cargo transfer station in orbit. Don't know what state it's in, but the most recent manifest shows a ship with FTL capabilities. It can get you out of this system, at least. Best I can do. I'm sorry. Goodbye."
"Fuck," Frost whispered as the line went dead.
"That...is not what I expected to happen," Dalton muttered. "And yet I'm completely unsurprised."
"So am I," Frost snapped as she snatched up her Canister Rifle and marched out of the room.
"What's happening?" Dixon asked.
"We got screwed," Dalton replied.
"Damn, they didn't even wait to meet us to turn on us."
"The data's gone, that was our ticket out of here," Dalton said.
"So now what?" Dixon asked.
"Now we get onboard our dropship, get up to a space station, and hope that there's a ship with faster-than-light capabilities waiting for us," Frost replied. "Now move it."