The hum of the Hyperion was a lullaby of rebellion, a constant thrum of power that both comforted and irritated Nova. She moved with practiced ease through the corridors, each step silent, each breath measured. At twenty, Nova Terra was a masterpiece of efficiency – a blonde ponytail a sleek whip against her back, green eyes sharp and calculating. Enhanced reflexes, honed combat skills, and a mind like a steel trap – she was the Terran Dominion's finest Ghost operative. Her mission: eliminate Jim Raynor.
Tonight was the night. For weeks, she'd been studying Raynor's routines, his habits, the rhythms of life aboard the rebellious flagship. She'd familiarized herself with the ship's schematics, the ventilation shafts, all the various nooks and crannies. Her mission was supposed to end with a clean kill. A whisper of a blade, a single silenced shot in the dark, then a swift, silent exit. But Raynor was proving to be annoyingly elusive. He wasn't reckless, he wasn't predictable, and he surrounded himself with a loyal crew, a collection of hard-bitten soldiers and tech-savvy misfits who were always on the move, always on guard.
And then there was the added wrinkle: Nova's new, experimental miniaturization device. A risky piece of tech, sure, but a potentially game-changing one. It allowed her, for a limited time, to shrink her entire body down to the size of a mouse. The perfect tool for infiltration and escape.
She was close now. Raynor's personal quarters were just around the corner. The atmosphere around the area was a different one than on the rest of the ship. The defensive grid was higher, and the energy was different. She could feel it in the air. Her psionic abilities would be useless near that area.
She stopped near a brightly lit alcove that housed a row of vending machines overflowing with various treats. She reached into her utility belt. She had been waiting for this moment. This was the perfect opportunity to get inside close to Raynor's quarters. There were no cameras in this area so nobody would know about her presence. She pressed a small button on her miniaturization device. Immediately, the world seemed to enlarge around her. She felt her own body become smaller and smaller. Within seconds, she was the size of a rat. With quick movements she dashed to the nearest vending machine, its glass front a titanic barrier, the selection of sugary snacks a colorful mountain range. She slipped through a small opening near the bottom, the machine's innards, a labyrinth of metal and plastic, welcoming her like a mechanical womb. Her mission was simple: wait for the right moment, then pop out near Raynor's quarters for a surprise attack.
She perched precariously on a candy bar raft, feeling like a Lilliputian adventurer in a land of gigantic goodies. Inside the vending machine, the air was surprisingly warm, filled with that familiar aroma of processed sugar and artificial flavors. It was an odd, oddly comforting, and ridiculous place to be planning a high-profile assassination. She had to concentrate. Her objective was to be in and out before the device's time limitation expired.
Time ticked by, each second marked by the low hum of the machine and the frantic beating of her own heart. It was just a matter of time before her device reversed its effect and she was back to her normal size. She relaxed a bit, and tried to enjoy her time in this weird hiding place. She amused herself by imagining how those chocolate bars would taste to her tiny self. She felt a little peckish, but she quickly remembered that she was here on a mission. Not to eat, but to kill.
Then, it happened. The familiar tingling sensation, the first sign that the miniaturization was wearing off, raced through her body. She tried to suppress the panic that was rising up her throat. She had to get out now. She had to…
Her body grew, rapidly, and the vending machine suddenly seemed much, much smaller. The space she had been occupying just moments before was now a medieval torture chamber for her, a cruel metal rack of plastic and glass. She expanded, legs first, then torso, head last. She felt a sharp pain as her arms pressed against the glass, and another as her legs tried to stretch out in a very confined space.
It was like being stuffed into a suitcase three sizes too small. Her Ghost suit, usually a comfortable second skin, now felt like a straitjacket, constricting her in all the wrong places. Nova's right cheek was plastered against the glass, her lips kissing it with a desperate, rubbery press. Her head was turned slightly to the left, her neck already starting to scream in protest, but there was no room to move, a plastic snack rack was digging into the back of her head, holding her head hostage. Her right hand was pinned between her butt and the product racks, her fingers being squished like sausages under the pressure. Her left hand was trapped between her belly and the glass, a dull, aching throb spreading up her arm and into her abdomen. Her legs were no better off, tightly clamped between the glass and the product rafts, her feet pointing downward because there was no space for them to go anywhere else. The worst part was that her feet couldn't touch the bottom of the machine. She was just suspended in the air, a human pretzel made of equal parts frustration and squishiness.
Her breath came in short, panicked gasps. She tried to wriggle free, but any movement only caused more discomfort. She had to get out. She had forgotten that there were no cameras in this area, but that meant that there was also nobody to save her.
"This is unacceptable," she hissed to herself. She tried to activate her miniaturization device again, but it was completely out of reach and she could barely even move. She was doomed.
She then tried to channel her psionic powers, to telekinetically remove the glass front or simply bend the metal of the machine. She focused, she summoned every ounce of her mental strength, but nothing happened. She forgot that the anti-psionic field was too strong in Raynor's area. She was a Ghost stripped of her powers, a highly trained killer trapped in a vending machine like a particularly unfortunate bag of chips.
A sudden, sharp pain shot up her leg, a sign that she was running out of time. The uncomfortable position was becoming more and more unbearable. She let out a little moan of pain.
Then, she heard it, the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. Her heart sank. It couldn't be. Not now. Not like this.
The footsteps stopped right in front of the vending machine. She could feel someone looking at the machine. The presence was there. She knew that presence.
A deep chuckle, low and amused, echoed through the silence.
"Well, I'll be damned," a voice said, a voice she knew all too well. Jim Raynor's voice.
Nova froze. She could see him, with her face pressed hard against the vending machine's glass. He was standing there, a wry smile playing on his lips, his brown eyes twinkling with barely concealed laughter.
"What in the blazes…?" He chuckled again, the sound reverberating through the vending machine, each note a tiny, mocking hammer against Nova's nerves.
Nova's mind raced. She had to salvage this situation. She had to regain control.
"Raynor," she said, her voice muffled by the glass, her words slurring slightly. "Help me."
The amusement in his voice deepened. "Help you? Well, now, that's an interesting turn of events, ain't it?" He tapped his fingers on the glass, the sound like a drumbeat against her cheek. "I'd say you look…well, you look like a pickle in a jar."
Nova's pride was bruised more than her body. "I am in distress. Now, will you help me or not? This is a serious situation."
Raynor laughed outright now, a hearty, booming sound. "Distress? Honey, you look like you're posing for one of those 'hilariously failed mission' posters. I didn't know the Dominion were recruiting from the local clown college."
Nova gritted her teeth. She could feel the anger rising, a cold, hard knot in her chest. But she knew she couldn't afford to lash out. Not while she was stuck like this. She had to play it cool.
She tried to project an air of calm. "Raynor, I demand that you release me. This is a violation of…"
Raynor interrupted her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Of what? Vending machine rights? Last I checked, they didn't exactly pass any laws about stuck spies. And besides," he added, his voice taking on a playful tone, "I've always wanted a pet human."
Nova's green eyes narrowed, her gaze fixed on his face. "This will not gain you anything. I advise you to reconsider. I can be very…persuasive."
She struggled against her bonds again, but the pain stopped her immediately.
Raynor just smiled wider. "Oh, I'm sure you can be. But right now, you're not very…mobile. You know what? I think I'll keep you here for a few days. Just to…contemplate the absurdity of this situation." He started to walk away, then stopped short. "Hold on a moment. Before I go, I think this deserves documentation."
Nova could hear the click of his phone's camera. She had to endure the humiliation of being photographed while looking like a deranged mannequin inside a vending machine. The flash went off, blinding her for a moment with a white light.
"Perfect!" Raynor chuckled, satisfied with the image. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a few things that need my attention. Don't go anywhere."
And with that, he walked away, whistling a cheerful tune, leaving Nova trapped in the cold, metal embrace of the vending machine.
Nova's panic started to rise to a completely new level. She had to get out of the vending machine. Now. She could feel the sharp pain in her legs, her arms, and her neck. Her whole body was starting to go numb.
"No! Wait!" she screamed, "You can't leave me here! I need help. Help! Please!" she continued to scream in rising volume.
All she heard was Raynor's laughter as he walked down the corridor, a sound that was incredibly distant now.
She tried to wriggle again, but the pain was unbearable. Each movement was like a knife twisting into her flesh. Her fingers were starting to feel completely numb. She started to hyperventilate. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. Not now. She was one of the best in the Dominion, and yet, this was how she was going to end? Inside a vending machine waiting for her bones to break?
She tried again, and again to use her psionic powers. She had to break the glass. She had to get out of here. She pushed with all her mind, but she couldn't feel even a small tremor of movement. It was just no use, she was completely trapped here.
She tried to reach her device again. She pulled with all her body, she strained every muscle, she pushed with her feet and her shoulder. Nothing. It was completely out of reach.
Tears started to well up her eyes. She couldn't stop them anymore. She was exhausted, and scared. Never in her life had she been so desperate.
She let out a frustrated sob, the sound muffled by the glass. She was Nova Terra, the Ghost operative, the Dominion's finest. And she was trapped. Inside a vending machine.
Oh God... she thought. How long has it been since Raynor left? Probably a couple of hours already. Oh God! How many hours or days did she have left in there? She was going to DIE in the vending machine! She could barely breathe. Maybe Raynor would check on her in a few more hours? And then he would release her? Or maybe he would actually leave her there to suffer? She didn't know what to do.
She felt a sharp pain shoot up her leg. She started shaking her head back and forth from the side to try and release the pressure on her neck. She had to try something, anything. She started to hyperventilate trying to calm herself down.
Her eyes went wide with horror as she realized the horrible truth. Raynor had mentioned days. He was going to leave her there for days. Several days in the cramped space of the vending machine. Her body ached, her limbs were screaming. Every second was pure torture to her. She closed her eyes and desperately tried to forget about it. She prayed for Raynor to come back soon. She didn't care if he was laughing at her. She didn't care how humiliating this was. She just wanted to be free. She just wanted the aching to stop.
She was going to be stuck there for days.
The realization was a cold wave of horror that washed over her. The vending machine's glass pressed against her cheek, the sweet smell of processed food was now the smell of her impending doom. She was the Dominion's most dangerous operative, rendered helpless by a few product racks and a handful of candy bars.
And as the first few tears dripped down her cheek, the reality of her situation began to truly sink in. She was going to be here for a while, she would be squished inside the vending machine for at least a couple of days, and there was nothing she could do about it.
And of all the things that could have foiled her mission, it had to be a vending machine. The irony was almost as painful as all the aches in her body. She closed her eyes and tried to brace herself for the long, long days that laid ahead, in the cramped prison of her metal and glass tomb. She was completely and utterly mortified. And completely and utterly helpless.