Starcraft

Three Vultures circled around the dead carcass of an abandoned truck, two dead bodies lying eviscerated on the floor.
"Looks like a Hydra bite..." one of the bikers scanned the scene, thinking aloud.
"Looks like Private Lester to me. They were just bringing back some supplies from Backwater. Zerg don't move like this though...they don't break off into little clusters," one of the other bikers replied.
"Jones, get a record of this. If there were Zerg here that means the swarm is in the area. We need to report this to command. Get me the Magistrate..."

The Magistrate sat, pondering on what Duke had just said. He had been 'relieved of command.'
"No evac for me then," he thought, staring at the blank screen. Suddenly, it flickered back into life.
"Magistrate," Sergeant Ares appeared on the screen, hurtling along at some speed. "It seems the Zerg are here. We need to get away...now."
"You do realise I'm not a Magistrate anymore..."
"Yes, well, you're the closest thing to a leader we have. We need to get out of here. I respectfully ask: if we cannot call for help from the Confederates, we put out a call to whoever we can."

Jim Raynor spun his food tray around, stuck in the brig. Why did the Confederates imprison him? He had to destroy that building. Then again, calling it a building was being generous. It was vile, the twisting mass of tentacles snaking around a ruined mass of metal girders. He took the water can and hurled it at the wall. The Confederates... they were just looking for an excuse to imprison him. He had to laugh. He'd almost gifted it to them. The Zerg had already begun to make his life a misery. At least the Protoss hadn't stuck their oar in yet...

The Magistrate just stared at the screen blankly. He had sent out the call, but in the chaos, it was unlikely a signal would get through. Having ran to this far corner of Mar Sara, at least he could avoid the Confederates for a little longer. The screen flicked back into life, and the Magistrate felt his hopes raise slightly. Arcturus Mengsk appeared on the screen. The Magistrate barely heard what the man said. Mengsk offered to help evacuate the colonists. It seemed the Sons of Korhal were the only ones who picked up the call. He knew that this man was a terrorist, a traitor. He was trying to overthrow the Confederates, leader of a group of rebels. But, then again, was the Mar Saran Militia not now declared a group of dirty traitors too? What did the word, traitor, mean? Did it mean a terrorist, a villain? Or was it someone, like Raynor too, willing to risk breaking the chain of command to do what was right? Suddenly, the Magistrate knew what he had to do. He knew where his new allegiance lay. Now, he had to convince the other men that too.

Raynor stared at the ceiling. Then he heard the rattle of knuckles on metal, calling him to the bars of his cell. He saw a large, strongly built set of arms pull a heavily scarred face towards the grate. He saw the Sergeant.
"Morning buddy," he grinned, content in the knowledge he now had someone to talk to.
"Sergeant, it seems the confederates have a bit of an issue with the both of us."
"You think this was all an excuse to lock us up? Well, I suppose, after what I said to my commander..."
Raynor's eyebrows rose. It seemed there was more to this Sergeant than met the eye.
"Intrigued?" the Sergeant smiled wryly. Raynor nodded. "Thought so. Well, naturally, I was kinda' pissed that they weren't sending any support for the colonists. Then I just said, 'What is this, some kind of test of the Zerg strength?' That didn't go down well. They thought I was a conspiracy theorist or something...which means there probably is a conspiracy."
"True. Example, why were they so narked that we burnt that Infested Station?"
"Maybe they wanted to study it," the Sergeant scanned his room.
"More fool on them. Good way to get yourself killed, sticking your nose in the Zerg's business..."

A small dust cloud sped across the dunes of Mar Sara, hurtling towards the Magistrate's Command Centre. As they came across the horizon, the ground suddenly became a mass of purple goo, writhing under the Vultures' anti-grav fields.
"What in the name..." one of the bikers cried, before a tentacle burst out of the ground, impaling him against his seat.
"Harrison!" Ares cried, watching a small dribble of blood trickle from his comrade's mouth. "Jones, evasive manoeuvres!"
Another tentacle burst from the ground, ripping Jones apart. Ares slammed his foot on the accelerator, the g forces pinning him to his seat. Tentacles pierced the ground, appearing barely inches behind him. He swerved, so steeply that his feet nearly touched the ground. Pulling on the bars, he began to zigzag across the terrain, dodging the spines that almost traced his racing line towards the base. Suddenly, two Hydralisks appeared in a shower of dust and shale.
"In the frigging ground!" he cried, slamming the breaks and power sliding. In the distance, he saw one of the Zerg buildings throw a tentacle into the air and then puncture the ground. He had realised; it was the buildings that were attacking him. Accelerating, he barely dodged the spine. Swinging around again, he faced the Hydralisks. They arched their shoulders, preparing to fire. Ares gripped his Flak Pistol and drove his foot into the accelerator. Gritting his teeth, he placed his free hand on the grenade launcher trigger. Spines flew overhead, nearly grazing Ares, who had leant forwards, under the windshield. Peeking over the crest of the vehicle, he fired at one of the Hydralisks, who was stunned by the impact. Ares then leant over the side, shooting the Hydralisk in the face. Neither shot had the strength to kill the Hydralisks, but that was not the desired effect. All he needed was time to slip by. Ares breathed a sigh of relief, seeing real dirt beneath him again. Meanwhile, in the distance, he could swear he heard the Hydralisks let out an anguished cry of frustration. Speeding back to base, he could not help but let a little smile creep across his face.

Raynor watched a small guard saunter along the corridor, toting a Flak Pistol.
"Little bastard thinks he owns the place," the Sergeant sneered.
"Which ship are we on anyway?" Raynor asked.
"Why, Marshall, we are on his Majesty General Duke's personal Prison Ship, the Guantanamo Bay!" the Sergeant smiled sarcastically.
"Hmm, that's reassuring. I'm guessing he 'wants a word with us'" Raynor replied.
"Naturally. He'll be here to 'have a word' soon enough. And, when he means 'a word' he means he'll be putting them in our mouths. It's best if you just keep quiet, answer the question he asks, say nothing more," the Sergeant sat down, remembering a long past memory.
"You've been here before, haven't you?" Raynor was intrigued by the man. Indeed, perhaps it is not only the battle-scars that define the Marine, but what lies beneath, in the depths of his mind.
"Damn straight I have," he stood up, smiling. "One of the good old Guild Wars veterans!" The Sergeant smiled, throwing a mocking salute at the guard.
"Still causing trouble then, Sergeant? I always wondered," the guard said, drawing up closely to the prisoner's cell. "How did you never get promoted? Then again, an ass like you-" but he didn't finish his sentence before the Sergeant was holding him in a vice grip by the throat. The guard's legs were dangling, weakly swinging in the air across a dropped Flak Pistol.
"I'm sure you won't be finishing that sentence. Unless, of course, you want your voice box to decorate the inside of my rather plain wall. I lost my family in that fucking war, and the wrong side won too. Drop your attitude, before I drop you, dead."
With that, the Sergeant threw the man across the corridor and into the wall. Then, he caught the gun in the corner of his eye and grinned. The guard, in his dazed state, dived, but was too late.
"And now I call the shots!" the Sergeant smiled.

Ares wiped some blood from his face, running to the Magistrate. His dread-locked hair swung clumsily behind him as he bowled over a few technicians. Slamming his hand on the comms panel, he gasped into it.
"Magistrate, we haven't got much time."

The Sergeant trained the gun on the guard.
"Open the door, little Confederate bitch!" he barked. Raynor was surprised to see the man react like this, but he understood. It was only during the past few days he had realised how corrupt the Confederates truly were though. He realised now that not only had they beaten their opponents into submission during the Guild Wars, they had seen fit to rub salt in the wound. This wasn't, by far, their worst act though. Raynor remembered long past articles about the annihilation of Korhal. Even to this day, the radiation had passed, but all that was left was barren desert and mutated creatures. He'd only seen video logs, but it was horrific. He barely understood how accustomed some men were to the site.

Arcturus Mengsk sat at his desk, playing with a key-card and watching the shifting sands in the distance. He had heard about the Protoss involvement near Mar Sara, what they had done to Chau Sara. Their war crimes, destroying an entire planet, almost matched the Confederates. Nevertheless, now was not the time for new enemies when there were those old ones who still remained. For many years the Confederates had ruled over the entire sector with an iron fist. A hatred of such tyrants burned inside Mengsk, fuelling his crusade. The Umojan Protectorate had sworn neutrality, but it was no matter. He was sure there were other allies, out there, ready to help him overthrow those who had oppressed him so long. Suddenly Mengsk heard a knock at his door.
"Come in Daniels," he smiled. The man was always an odd breed amongst Terrans: a technophobe. He always said, 'If good old human flesh can do it, why not let it?'
"Seems to be a response from Mar Sara. The Militia. They say that they will accept our help."
"How long will it take to send the Dropships?" Mengsk simply asked.
"Well, we've got fifteen birds ready to go. Their mass-driver engines are up to scratch, so they should get there in about thirty minutes to an hour."
"Excellent. Inform the Magistrate that help is on the way, and I will enjoy working with him as a new ally."

The Magistrate walked in front of his men.
"You may have heard of the Sons of Korhal. Terrorists, you may say. Well, these 'terrorists' offer us something the Confederates do not, a chance to escape the Zerg. Make no mistake, those of you who accept their help today will be branded a traitor. But I implore you, a traitor to what? Will we sit back and allow ourselves to die because the 'feds will it? Will we hell! We are the Mar Saran Militia. Out planet may die, but we will live on! It is only human, the desire to live, to survive. We stare down the jaws of a great beast, the Zerg. Even now, they run through our outlying defences, ripping our men to shreds. Will you let this become your families' fate too? We must hold this position for only thirty minutes. Then you can make your decision."

After only two minutes, Marines had taken up their positions. Ares ran to his Vulture, scouting the area. He watched the Zerg approach from the crest of a hill.
"Waves. Lots of them. They'll test our strength first. Get the men ready. It's about to start. I'm going to leave a present for them..."

Zergling feet clawed at the ground as the first wave threw itself forwards. Seeing the curious human vehicle in the distance, they gave chase. Suddenly, without warning, a small metal construct burst out of the ground. The Zerglings barely gave it a second glance before it detonated, ripping a small hole in the dense ranks of Zergling. Ares smiled as blood poured into the air, showering the slower Zerglings.
"Test us? Taste Terran metal, bastards."

Fifteen Dropships decelerated rapidly, forming more coherent, recognisable shapes.
"Affirmative, command, we are en route to the colony. ETA is twenty minutes."
"Ten minutes to jump system, impressive Warrant Officer."
"I always aim to please. More than a free delivery at stake here too."
The Warrant Officer caught a prison ship in the corner of his eye.
"Alpha team, fancy something a little more gung-ho than picking up some stragglers? We got a prison ship on scanners. Might be worth nosing around, the Magistrate said he was looking for some guy called Raynor."
"Acknowledged. Load your guns men, we're going hunting!" the comms panel responded.
The co-pilot looked to the Warrant Officer.
"You sure it's wise to go to the surface without fire support?"
"Hell, they were there to find Raynor. Mengsk has heard whispers about this man, thinks he may be useful. Don't worry, that lot are a bunch of gun-nuts, they'll be fine. Just like us."

Dropship alpha approached the airlock. There was hardly any fighter cover. Somehow, they'd managed to catch the ship on its own.
"It's a Bastille class," a Ghost stood next to the pilot nodded. Her red hair swung a little as she looked at the ship.
"And that means? And, I know you're Mengsk's left hand woman, but don't read my mind all the time Sarah."
"That's Lieutenant Kerrigan, to you," she smiled wryly.
"Sure, whatever..."
"It means it's kinda got a dead man's switch. It's not guarded because it can blow any minute. We need to be careful with this one. We go in all guns blazing, it self-destructs. Let me go in. Alone. I'll sort it out."
"You sure?"
"Have I ever let Mengsk down?"
"I don't know, all these crazy schemes...they'll be the death of us..."

Marines fired into the throngs of Zerg, precise shots felling the beasts. Where one fell though, two seemed to take its place in the next wave. A writhing mass of serpents then joined the fray: Hydralisks. Spines flew overhead, ricocheting off bunkers and impaling men against walls. Concentrated fire brought them down, but this just bought time for the Zerglings to leap amongst the troops. The Magistrate watched from his Command Centre, cursing a lack of any armour. Then, primal screeches echoed in the distance, unlike the sounds heard amongst the previous waves. With that, Mutalisks rose above the horizon, firing shards of bone at the defenders. Missile Turrets that were previously lying idle sprang back into life, locking onto the heat signatures of Zerg flyers. Longbolt missiles slammed into the creatures above, ripping them apart and bringing them crashing down to the ground. Nevertheless, nothing could hold the fury of this swarm. Ares could be seen, darting amongst the men, barking orders to and fro. Occasionally he would pull up and fire his pistol into the swarm, felling Zerglings with deadly accuracy. Even he could not control the tides of war though, as he saw the lines buckle. He saw flames rise up from the bunkers, gas canisters exploding, torn men hanging over the battlements.
"Magistrate, get to the evac, there's nothing more for you to do!"
The Magistrate was paralysed with fear as he saw a Zergling tear into Ares.

With that, a Marine placed a comforting hand on the Magistrates shoulder.
"These men were willing to give their lives. We can ask nothing more. There is nothing more to gain from this battle. We must go."
With that, the Magistrate nodded. Overhead, a new sound filled the sky. The sound of Dropship engines.
A sound of hope.

Kerrigan loosened the Cy-blade, allowing the dead guard to fall to the ground. Slipping into the control room, she unhooked a smoke grenade and threw it. In the confusion, five C-10 rounds left five corpses and a clear path to the main controls.
"Go rescue those men, boys," Kerrigan cheerily spoke into the comms device on her wrist, unfazed by the grizzly work she had just undertaken.

"Hah, this station will just go nova anyway! You won't escape!" the guard maniacally cackled, staring down the Sergeant.
"Well, I'll save you some time then," the hulking man coolly replied, pistol-whipping the guard. Hearing his nose crack in two, the weakly man fell to the floor, sobbing. The Sergeant merely raised the gun and shot him in the leg.
"Don't call for help. I was gonna kill you, but you ain't worth my time. Also, I doubt my good friend Raynor would approve."
"Yeah, you kill that man, you are no better than him, Sergeant."
Then, the cell doors swung open, revealing five marines in blood red armour.
"Get down on the floor! We're looking for Raynor!"
"Looks like you got the right man," Raynor smiled, his moustache arching a little.

As he stepped into the cockpit of the Dropship, Raynor could not help but feel a strange presence. It was one he had not felt before, coming from the back of the ship. The thought dogged Raynor while space outside warped, taking them away from the system.

Meanwhile, as the ship bulked, Kerrigan checked her gun. Flipping the sight over, she polished it.
"Don't worry guys. You'll be getting some proper action soon enough," Kerrigan smiled. With that, the ship decelerated again, meeting the other fourteen.
"Welcome home, guys."

Within a few days, Mar Sara was left a charred rock, incinerated by the Protoss again.

With this, began the slow descent of the Confederacy.