82 – Some Kind Of Piracy
82 – Some Kind Of Piracy​

Ten thousand rifles barked out as spiked rounds tore through the scourge of the Korprulu Sector. In this case, not so much zerg as pirates. The New Trinidad pirates to be exact.

"Get some more boys up here, damn it! I'm not going to lose out to fucking mercenaries!" roared a corpulent man who had stuffed himself in a blackened set of CMC armor.

He punctuated his words by firing his own rifle at the advancing and seemingly endless charge of mercenary marines, though as of yet they seemed entirely fucking invincible somehow. He'd seen them walk out of craters left by siege tank rounds, Yamato blasts, and even a goddamn nuke somehow. Or maybe there were just that many of the damn things.

"Boss, we're losing the station, and we've got more mercs coming in on the left flank!" screamed another marine who fired as well at the advancing green morass of marines.

"God damn it! Do you fuckers know who I am? Huh!? We're the fucking New Trinidad Pirates, you shits, you can't do this!" the fat man roared, even as he watched the latest ring of bunkers and troops get out and out overrun.

"Attention Bosco 'Skullbreaker' Teague," boomed a woman's voice so loud it made his teeth shake, "For your actions in the unlawful murder of the heiress to Angel Shipping, Jacqueline Angel, by order of the Dominion you are to be-,"

"Aw shut the fuck up!" Bosco screamed again, despite the fact that the woman's voice kept speaking. "Will someone turn those damn speakers off? I'm tired of hearing this bitches voice over and over again!"

The base was falling apart…it was all falling apart! Where had all of those battlecruisers come from, these mercenaries willingly throwing themselves into the hardest teeth he could muster and breaking through? Lines and trenches and tanks and mines and ghosts and nukes had done nothin' to them! The Dominion didn't have this shit. They weren't supposed to be able to do shit like this!

"Uh, boss," his subordinate jabbed him in the arm, and he almost backhanded the cunt before she managed to step out of the way.

"WHAT?! Don't you see we have a battle to win!?"

But then he followed the pointing of her fingers at the trio of mushroom clouds that literally vaporized his entire right flank…as well as the zerg who had been there. The question as to how there were supposed to be zerg mercenaries was seemingly permanently ended there as well. Then, before the clouds and fires even finished burning out came another wave of marines, that same eerily silent charging force with the same jungle green paint.

"Fuck."

"Boss, we gotta get out of here before they kill every one of us!"

Bosco snarled, his heart pounding, as he contemplated shooting the bitch in the face. Fuck, he barely even remembered her name. Some…captain or another, part of his fleet, his subordinate crews and ships.

"You think we're going to get through that?!" he waved his gun at the dozen battlecruisers that had appeared in orbit. "Fuck me right in the ass, they blew our ships out of the water, and where the hell are those siege tanks?!"

The last part was bellowed at anyone in hearing range, though the fires and explosions everywhere had deafened many.

"There aren't any!" screamed the captain at his side, 'boss' having dropped entirely out of her vocabulary at that point. "We're out of tanks, we've only got a few ships left, the bunkers are falling, damn near everything is on fire you fat fuck! I'm getting out of here!"

Bosco roared at the insult and whirled, ready to shoot the bitch, but even as he sighted on her and pulled the trigger while she turned and ran – the coward! – he was knocked on his side by a nearby explosion. His ears range, his body sluggishly responding to him trying to get on his feet, before the shattered helmet was somehow wrenched off of his head and sent flying away.

"God damn," he slurred, "This fucking smoke…"

Then he heard new voices, at dangerously close range but even as he blearily groped around or a gun or…or anything they kept talking.

"Right, so that was the end of the Brood War. UED force got wiped out, Protoss had to skedaddle so they can try and rebuild, and Dominion ran off too. Leaving Kerrigan as 'Queen Bitch' as it were.," came a man's voice, his voice twanging like someone from out in the Sara sector.

"…so. Essentially, fuck Arcturus Mengsk," a woman – the woman's voice on the speakers! – replied with the same cold rage that his ex-wife had before he stabbed her to death.

"Right, fuck Mengsk," the man said, and then there was a gut-wrenching tumbling sensation and Bosco found himself thrown onto his back again, this time hard enough to set his armor to shrieking and sparking as it broke all over the place. The sheer force also happened to completely shatter his jaw.

Only then, on his back, did he get a good look at them. Gargling in his own blood, unable to move for some reason, his CMC screaming warning signals at him, he did the only thing he was able to.

He spat his own bloodied teeth at them, the shards of bone only making it a short distance before the long rotten things fell to the ground.

"Oh! There he is!" exclaimed the man with surprise, who strode over, his hands in the pockets of his green and black camo pants, with an unbuttoned and massively ornate jacket with golden epaulets on the shoulders as his only torso covering. Not even a shirt or shoes! "Be this him?" His voice changed as he spoke again, now in the worst stereotypical piratical accent that Bosco had ever heard.

The woman though, she was actually dressed in some kind of…sweat pants and a shirt which in bold type stated 'Guns and Roses'. She, on the other hand, was wearing socks and sandals and how the fuck.

"Graghggh," Bosco gurgled, to the quirked eyebrow of the man and the woman.

"He is marveling at how I'm floating," the woman tapped the man on the shoulder before, indeed, floating over slightly. "What a monstrous little man. Decades of murder, pillaging, slaughter, theft…and other things," her face twisted with disgust as she spoke and – god damn it Bosco knew what she was.

"Ghognngng!"

Again he tried to flail, only to find his arms locked down, his legs pressed into the earth, his whole body starting to, slowly, be crushed into the metal ground. His mind! His body! Fuck, she was some kind of ghost!

"Do you think I could be a ghost, Mann? He thinks I am one," the woman cocked her head at him like he was a bug and not the leader of the greatest pirate band in the Korprulu Sector, the fucking –

Bosco's thoughts were drowned out by the sudden crushing pressure on his skull which forced a scream out of him and let the few remaining bits of his teeth cut their way down his throat, lubricated as it was with his own blood.

"I dunno. Th' ghosts be kind of like yeh. Psychic commandos? But with guns and such and, on average, far less power, d'yarr. Nova blew up a skyscraper, Kerrigan can rip them apart…but…yeh can trow' big ol' carriers around too so who knows at this point. Anyway, yeh gonna let me take the' video or no?"

The pressure on his skull eased, but only before the man lifted him up somehow with one arm!? The man's bright green eyes glittered slightly as he held Bosco up before throwing him against the burning ruin of a barracks wall. All this while, the mercenaries had continued to charge in, blowing apart his vultures and gunning down his own troops while the siege tanks kept pulling farther and farther back…apparently to no use. The man, 'Mann', the bitch had called him, swaggered his way forward before pulling out a camera behind him and setting it to floating behind him.

"Is it – okay, is this going through properly?"

"Yes. Yes indeed, Mann," came the wintery voice of the rich fuck who had told him he'd regret blowing that Angel cunt to pieces for trespassing.

"Fnggngksdg," Bosco tried to say, coughing out more blood instead.

"He is attempting to say 'Fuck You', Mr. Angel."

"I understood the sentiment if not the words, young lady," the aristocratic shipping magnate replied, the audio crystal clear through the camera.

"Anyway," Mann turned around, his coat whirling about him, the blood red cloth swooshing against Bosco's by now thoroughly ruined armor. "Mr. Angel, how would yeh prefer 'im? As yeh can see," the camera turned around, broadcasting the shattered ruins of the New Trinidad Pirates, "This organization is finished. We've blown up or commandeered the last of their ships, with zero escapees, and me boys are busy hunting down everyone else. Bosco here be the last of the leadership, and the top of it as well."

"How much pain can you put him through before he expires?"

"Quite a bit. Is that what yeh want?"

"Yes."

Bosco was actually grateful for all the smoke everywhere so he didn't have to see their expressions, though he certainly felt it when the pain began to radiate through his body. Any attempts to speak were reduced to wet screams as his armor was torn away from him, letting the various rolls of constrained fat flop outwards before his entire body began to tremble and quake.

"Observe the' swelling."

Bosco screamed.

"Observe th' blood pouring from th' ears."

Air refuse to escape, because there was none left to give.

"Observe-,"

And Bosco died, his entire body exploding in a massive eruption of blood, bile, booze, and bone.

======================================
Dominic Angel did not flinch even for an instant as he watched the filthy degenerate vermin die through the camera. In fact, he almost shivered with pleasure as it happened. Almost. He had too much self-control to do that. But there was most certainly some visceral satisfaction at seeing the man dead. For a moment, his merely extended a finger to press the button allowing the video to reverse itself so he could watch it happen again. And again. Though after the third time he ceased and focused himself on the matter at hand.

"So, has our work been satisfactory, Mr. Angel?"

"I do not know where you came from, Captain Mann, or your companion, or your forces. But you have given me my revenge, and at a much more affordable price than any of the others mercenary forces."

"Dominion still employed their own though," Mann stuck his finger in his ear as he spoke, wriggling it slightly before pulling it out with a pop. "Bet that they're regretting that."

"It does not matter to me. The payment, in minerals as you requested, has been delivered to your flagship."

Mann smiled, then, his teeth near sparkling with their incongruous cleanliness. Through the recording, Dominic watched as he produced a black and gold trimmed tricorn hat from somewhere and plopped it on his head. The three rainbow colored feathers were almost completely obscured by the jewel encrusted belt of gold that had been wrapped about the top, but Dominic controlled himself from making any audible noises of his disgust at the sudden appearance of the monstrosity. Killing the man who murdered his daughter did admittedly grant Mann a considerable amount of leeway.

"Excellent doin' business with yeh, Mr. Angel," the man bowed slightly before the camera feed shut off.

Dominic then very slowly rose from his desk, and moved over to a nearby stand where a bottle of wine was waiting. He poured two glasses, though only took one for himself before raising it towards the night sky above him.

"To you, my daughter. To you."

====================================
"DUDE! We be back, me hearty cow lass – ow!" Mann didn't actually feel pain like she did, Yuriko knew, but it still felt good to throw a fifty-pound dumbbell at his skull as they reappeared in Cow Bay 01.

"For god's sake, Mann, knock off the accent," she grumbled as she walked past, the dumbbell already flying back out of Cow Bay 01 to Yuriko Bay 01.

For a time, she had struggled with leaping from Guy to Mann. With the changes in his personality, it was strange for her to think that just a short few months before that he had been a different person. Mann was…more boisterous. Violent as well. But for the most part, if she was honest with herself, he really was a generally more cheerful person now.

"Alright alright, heh, I was just having a bit of fun with it. What do you think of the hat?"

She couldn't help it, her hands instinctively went to her hips as she floated and glared at him.

"That thing is ridiculous. Why the feathers, and the gold, and the jewels?"

Mann shrugged.

"Snazzy pirate captain hats are cool."

"It is absurd."

"Moo!"

"See! Dude agrees!" she gestured at the cow as it meandered over.

"With me," Mann said as he rubbed Dude's head. He flopped his hand around at the entire bay that could have, considering the original design, been an entire troop bay built for deployment. "I built this whole place for her! It's got grass, it's got a babbling brook of fresh water, I can accurately reproduce the weather effects in here, the projectors make it a damn near holodeck, it's got a sun, why would Dude ever not agree with me – that's real cold, Dude."

The cow had, during his speech, wandered away and nuzzled at her outstretched hand. She allowed herself a rather smarmy smirk at the almost comically disheartened look on Mann's face.

"She likes us because we feed her. I keep telling you that you can't keep attributing too much intelligence to her. She's not a dog or dolphin."

Mann waved her words off, seemingly as always when it came to Dude.

"Fine, fine," he dusted the non-existent dust off from his pants before striding over, the bottom of his coat dragging along the ground. "Anyway, you were wondering why we went through this instead of other stuff?"

"Yes, explain to me why we went through this at all?"

Mann didn't even blink as his legs bent to allow him the illusion of sitting on air while she herself floated cross legged on her own psychic energies.

"We needed to get our name out there first, just a little bit of legitimacy. A quick buck besides as well. Plus I wanted to test out our robo-marines."

"So…because you were bored?" she frowned.

"They used siege tanks on an innocent woman," Mann leaned forward, his eyes almost hooded beneath the giant hat he wore. "They were the most widespread and vicious pirates in Korprulu, had gone on for decades. We put a stop to that. Is that not enough?"

She bobbed slightly before giving him a slight nod.

"No, it is. I…agree with our deeds there. I was just wondering at your reasoning. What's next for..." she sighed at the name, "MannCo, otherwise known as Mann Incorporated Solutions?"

Mann shrugged, the faint energy she'd seen behind his eyes fading away to leave his eyes 'human' once more disappearing as he leaned back. The sheer silence of his metal innards still shocked her on some level, but thankfully she was growing more used to it.

"Couple of things. One, we bounce by Umoja to poke about at their technologies, go hunt down some more pirates and such throughout Korprulu," he put up a hand to stop her from speaking, "For money. Bounty hunting, basically. Also running through some uninhabited systems for minerals, resources, etc."

She couldn't help it, she put her face in her hands and groaned.

"How is this being a pirate? We're being like…the Punisher or something? Taking down criminals, using up their resource for ourselves?"

Mann cackled loudly, and she looked up at him as he leaned back and laughed harder, enough for his hat to fall off his head.

"Ahah! Ah…oh, Yuriko, we aren't going to be pirates for humans…except for maybe a few Dominion stuff when they start getting into real assholery. But it's only 2501. Shit isn't going to really go down for another three years. And frankly," Mann stood then, and shrugged down at her from his annoying seven feet. "The Dominion, at the moment, is doing the work of rebuilding the damage wrought across the sector. Humanity could use the work they're doing…for now. For the most part. And we have to remember that while Mengsk and a worrying amount of the leadership are total assholes, the majority of the polity are just…people."

Then he gestured, and a protoss like he'd shown her images of before appeared…only this one was covered in black armor, red light gleaming from the frame.

"Which is why we're going after someone else. A nation built around near-enslavement of their own citizens in a fucked up caste system, brutal warfare, allegiance to Amon, murder, and devastation."

Yuriko floated closer and began to examine the wicked wrist mounted blades on the holo-image, her knowledge of Amon already letting her admit that anyone serving was insane, evil, or both. Or at least 'worth smacking a bit', as Mann had said earlier about the 'Xel'Naga'.

"Let me introduce you to the polity that is about to suffer from our piracy."

Several more images popped up, of war machines, minimized images of ships, and more. Dude walked through one of them, uncaring, which rather ruined the menace of the machine's look, but even so the rest were sufficiently deadly looking.

"These are the Tal'darim, the Chosen of Amon. We're going to be planting a bit of a boot up their collective asses."
 
83 – Yo Ho
83 – Yo Ho​

I didn't have a Gorgon, mind you. The most advanced ships that the Confederacy had, many of which lay in ruins across the surface of Tarsonis after the Fall, were just the best of the best of the Behemoths. I'm not precisely sure on when the Gorgons and Minotaurs and whatever showed up, but the Dominion certainly didn't have them at the moment. Besides, it's not like I couldn't do what I needed to with the Behemoth chassis, the general design of it. And I'll be honest, I did like the hammerhead shape and all that. Don't care if it's the ultimate best design or not, when you deal with the materials and technologies I have access to at some point aesthetic is an okay thing to have come to the forefront.

Anyway, yeah. My new ship. The old stealth orb dagger thing had served me well, but it was time to move on and refresh. Hence, the new one. I was actually quite proud of it. From the best of the graves of the slain Confederacy, I had drawn up and checked over their designs. Shattered and ruined remains of star ports, factories, barracks, and various labs and such. The Old Families had spared no expense in the fortification of their world, and it had amounted to nothing against the sheer numbers the zerg had possessed. For god's sake there still were zerg on Tarsonis, if only left feral now that Kerrigan had bummed off to Char.

First, a simple Behemoth chassis, then scaled up a rather tremendous amount. Nowhere near the size of, say, the Spear of Adun, but that thing was an arkship built for carrying or at least preserving a viable chunk of protoss civilization. My ship jumped from, if I had kept everything the same except the size, being able to carry 4,000 to 7,000 crew to 35,000. At least, it could probably have carried that much before I got rid of a lot of the excess space. I only needed life support for a few areas, while massive chunks of its innards were dedicated to generators, and the various bits and bobs dedicated for multiple overlapping bubbles of shielding and various cannons.

Because yes, while the regular laser cannons that the battlecruisers here possessed were nice, I still have a strong soft spot for turbolasers, ion cannons, and plasma beam swivel-ball turrets. Without the need to care for a massive living crew, meant that my ship was almost porcupine-like with its overlapping firing lanes and point defense weaponry. My favorite part, for this ship, at least, was the yamato cannon.

Because who doesn't like the yamato cannon?

Or, in the case of my ship, with the size and energy draw allowing it, five? That can cycle through almost like a revolver?

Anyway, Dude got her own personalized bay which would have once been a massive section on its own. As did Yuriko, who I'd just transferred everything else into her place with actual walls between areas now. We of course also had onboard production facilities too, from whence would come my endless armies of robotic soldiers. Did I feel a little bit like I was stealing the idea of that from someone else? Perhaps. On the other hand, pirate. I didn't call them a Legion or anything like that. They were just…Mannco Mercenaries, from marines to siege tanks to wraiths and so on and so forth.

The other eleven ships I possessed were actually just straight Behemoth-class vessels.

As to how I got all of these things, I'd quite honestly just…reverted to type like I did a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. I went outside the Korprulu Sector and away from other people to the far edges of the dead zones – because the Asgard and Ancient's level of FTL is simply gross regardless of the universe – and set up shop over a few solar systems. Energy and metal, so on and so on, yeah?

Regardless, I'd left those eleven ships behind to guard what I'm going to call the Gravel Sector – I found it, the suns are all red and slowly dying, no one's there, I get to name it I got there first – while setting up my droid admiral programs to produce a sufficient defensive force to protect my resources. Not like I expected Amon himself to somehow show up out of nowhere but I wasn't going to take any chances, not right now at least.

So it was just me! Me, Yuriko, Dude, and…my ship. And it's many, many shields, guns, cannons, and missiles. And internal army and navy.

…heh.

===========================================
"YARRRRRRRRR, there be our first target! A fine target she be as well!"

Yuriko snorted as Mann danced around the bridge, which was technically redundant since he was apparently in total control of the ship anyway, and floated over to a waiting throne. Not a chair, but a throne. The difference was very important, both to her and to him, and considering that it was a massive…thing of pure gold and titanium with a bed's worth of cushions, she let it go. It's not like there was anyone else on the ship to criticize the tremendous lack of caution when it came to Mann's tendency towards flashy displays of wealth.

Besides, the cushions were comfy.

Splayed out sideways along the throne which could probably have held three of her on the 'bridge' such as it was – as in a dozen or so chairs in a half circle facing out towards the projected 'window' – she lolled her head slightly to glance at Mann as he swung the honest to goodness wooden wheel back on its post back and forth despite it having no real bearing on the ships direction. Not to mention –

"Oh lord, you upgraded the hat."

Mann whirled back on her, his captain's coat swishing, and smiled.

"I did indeed, me lass! Whaddya think o' this one?" he finished by flicking the thing, a metallic 'ding' sounding out as he did so.

"I think…that you replaced the fabric of the hat…with gold and brass. You are wearing a golden hat. A literally golden hat, with jewels and more gold and those three feathers on it."

"And?" Mann bounced his bushy eyebrows at her, even as on the massive screen behind him showed the menacing red and black Tal'darim patrol fleet.

"And it looks ridiculous?" she offered, before pointing behind him. "When are you going to deal with the fleet over there?"

Mann drooped at his words, but, as she was secretly thankful for, he always bounced back and whirled back to face forward.

"Right about when they detect us...which I'm actually a little surprised about. Man, protoss observers do not fuck around!"

Yuriko found herself utterly pitiless for the aliens before her, as Mann rocked himself back and forth slightly, hands tightly held on the ridiculous wooden wheel. He'd quite well described them, their innate tendency towards treachery, butchery, and the fact that they were willing to produce a 'Death Fleet' dedicated to cleansing all life of the Sector. That alone would have made her accepting of tearing them apart. But really? If she was honest with herself? The part that made a very angry and cold part of her actively desire to kill them, a part that quite well remembered being a psychic commando of another polity, was the fact that it was all for some self-proclaimed God.

She very, very much hated them for that the most. And it wasn't a case where Amon's divinity could be proven completely false. Even if he was a god, any being that demanded what he did, did not deserve worship or recognition! Apparently one of their number, somewhere, was willing to push them to rebel, but only out of anger and 'treachery' on the part of the Xel'Naga. Yuriko found that not to be quite worth it at all.

Better to kill them.

Better to die than let a God – or anything calling itself a God – control any aspect of one's life.

"Wahay, they've turned about! Now they'll feel the awesome power of…THE BOOT!"

She still couldn't believe he'd named the ship that.

"Behold, even th' mightiest o' their void rays cannot pierce our shielding!"

"A good thing too," Yuriko drawled as she watched the red light dance across the suddenly visible blooms of The Boot's shields, "Otherwise you they'd be melting through all the gold you plated the outside of the ship with."

Mann waved a hand dismissively at her before she felt the ship tremble slightly as one of the Yamato cannons fired and obliterated a Tal'darim…carrier? Yes, that was what they were.

"It's a solid two meters of gold, it would take even their ships a little bit of time to melt through that, I think."

"Are you sure of that?" Yuriko asked without looking at him, in favor glancing around at the shag carpet on the floor. "I'm sorry – is this entire bridge just these viewing thrones, your little wheel, and the screen there?"

Outside, in the void, Yuriko could actually feel the seething dark rage that had befallen the protoss, bouncing out across the void, and she smiled privately at that as The Boot steamrolled forward.

"Uh…yeah," Mann rubbed the back of his head, "Pretty much. Didn't have much in mind for a 'viewing area' at the time. If you want, you can head out, get to Park Bay 01 and hang out there?"

Yuriko shrugged in her throne before sliding even further into the cushions.

"I'm all right. Though…you do know that part of being a pirate is actually boarding, right?"

Mann barked a laugh before pointing at the floating mothership which was directly in the center of the fleet which was by now down to a third of it' original size.

"Way ahead of you."

===================================​

Executor Nuraji screamed a might war cry as he leapt into the charging fools who had dared to assault a ship of the Tal'darim, a war cry that was echoed by his many followers. A simple patrol, that was all it had been, but between the dark spaces, the void where he should have been strongest, he was being overwhelmed! As another two dozen of the creatures and their primitive guns fired and managed to still somehow cut down another of his warriors, he reflected upon this furiously.

His ships were being utterly blown apart by the massive incoming monstrosity, it's golden head heralding it as it simply appeared out of the darkness. His probes had detected something approaching but even as he angled his ships forward and ordered them to fire the moment it had been revealed, they had failed utterly to breach it's shields! While the design was almost reminiscent of those of the terrans whom he'd read reports of, he also knew that they were supposed to have nothing like this! And yet came the primitive warriors now, their 'marines' known to the Tal'darim in preparation for the coming time of ascension, in seemingly endless waves!

With a roar, he lifted up and bisected a heavily armored creature down the middle before his shield went down to another set of burst fire from another duo. Their rounds struck deep, and even as he forced himself to turn to them and unleashed a glorious blast of blazing red energies to vaporize them, he felt a great many new holes being opened up throughout his torso as if his armor was nothing. Yet still his forces fought on, alarms blaring from all over the mothership as his troops struggled to beat back the boarding parties that had begun warping in the moment the shields had fallen.

"Status report!?" he roared as one of the charging foe shoulder checked him, just in time for him to disembowel it and throw it behind him, slicing it's gun in half at the same time.

"We have lost communications with the rest of the fleet, their psionic signatures are weakening!" replied one of the few remaining Tal'darim on the bridge.

A death scream heralded their collapse over the same console they had operated from, a series of booms from seven of the terrans.

"Weak minded creatures…have you no thoughts of your own?!"

In truth, he had figured it out early on when he tore apart the first boarding team. These were terran in design, he knew, but they were not terrans within the armors. They were machines, robots like a probe or wrathwalker that were ravaging his forces. The insult was tremendous in and of itself, the shame that they, the Chosen, were losing to such mindless things of metal was all encompassing. At the least he could actually feel a reasonably powerful presence, the equivalent of a middle ranking Ascendant. It did little to salve his pride and the rage against his impending death, but if he fell to nothing but machines he was sure that Amon himself would rend him to pieces once he joined with the Void!

Face me! He roared across into the mind of the terran – for he knew what their primitive minds felt like – only to be rebuffed by a great wave of contempt and fury.

Before he could muster another attempt to get a worthy foe, something that would bleed for him before he fell, another of the terran machines approached and unceremoniously unloaded the rest of its ammo into his skull killing him instantly.

=======================================
"Pretty good haul, right?" Mann said to her as he walked around the bridge, lightly nudging various protoss corpses with his foot.

Yuriko let him ramble, instead she sought out the still cooling corpse of the one who had rather surprisingly and violently collapsed her own mental shielding to yell loud enough to make her bleed from the ears. Psychosomatic reaction to the sheer violence and power of an alien psychic – or should she say psionic as was the parlance for this universe as Mann had let her know. Either way, she wasn't particularly happy about it. The last time she had even fought against another psychic had been against her progenitor…and she had certainly lost.

It was one thing to rend tanks and flesh apart, to create shields of psychic energies to block bullets and explosions. But clearly her own actual mental defenses against her own kind were…lacking. Significantly so. Worse, she was very aware of the fact that, according to Mann, the protoss as a race were incredibly powerful psionically, with Kerrigan and Nova being some of the most powerful human psychics as well. For all that the Empire of the Rising Sun had called her their perfect psychic commando…she was lacking!

This would not do. Her pride as a Japanese, her pride as a person, as a psychic, would not accept this!

"I'm thinking we take all of the ships we took, and just peel them apart and examine them. I'm thinking…we actually won't get that far as with pure mechanical stuff. A lot of their tech is psionic, Khala-based, that sort of thing. But we can probably hit Cybros up and just look around that. I mean, they're built around being an equivalent army to modern protoss and they are full machines. Which I think could work out for us? And -…Yuriko?"

Mann stopped in front of her, waving a hand before her eyes. Yuriko blinked for a moment before leaning back and looking at him with a scowl on her face.

"I need to learn about psychics in this universe. More. Like these ghosts, these zerg, and these protoss. All I can do is big…flashy things. I need to be able to defend myself better."

He blinked and then rubbed the back of his head as he took a step back.

"Uh. Okay? I guess we can…okay, I'll set up some droid fleets to harry them while we take a sooner stop than I thought by Umoja."

"What about those spectres - with the 'terrazine' and 'jorium'?"

The idea of these super-psychic commandos intrigued her, if she was honest with herself. She was a soldier, and her arsenal clearly needed improvement.

"Uh, haven't heard anything about them on the news but I'll look closer," Mann shrugged at her. "But yeah, Umoja first, and then we'll get back to pillaging their tech and such, packing all the booty off to Gravel."

Yuriko waved her ascent before crouching down and grabbing the 'Executor' by the throat and moving his head back and forth, a frown on her face.

"You almost tore my mind apart. It will not happen again," she promised the corpse.
 
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84 – Nonequivalent Exchange
84 – Nonequivalent Exchange​

They called him Captain Hardass when they thought he couldn't overhear them. His real name, of course, was Clemson Steele, but he knew for a fact that he'd more than earned the name due to his dedication to discipline and proper procedure. Others in the Umojan Navy might have been more relaxed, but Clemson had fought in the Guild Wars and then again when the zerg first appeared. All anyone wanted to talk about was all the Confederate worlds that had been lost to the alien menace, they liked to ignore the fact that the zerg had been all over the Korprulu Sector. Umoja and the worlds around it hadn't been spared that flame. Even so they faced a drop in the bucket compared to what the others went through, or at least that's what everyone said.

Considering the fact that Clemson had lost his eye and half of his face to a hydralisk, he figured that he had just gotten the worst fucking part of the goddamn drop in the fighting.

"Captain on the bridge!"

He paused, and waited for the salutes accorded to him by protocol before stepping forward towards his XO.

"Mary Anne, anything on the scanners?"

"Nothing yet, Captain," she replied as the two of them walked towards the viewport, to gaze out at the stars in front of them.

"Five hours out here, waiting in the black, for a pirate," he muttered, "What has the universe come to."

"Don't know. But the chance for some intact and exotic protoss technology…exotic for protoss…is worth a lot, don't you think?" she piped up as she peered at the darkness.

Clemson snorted and then began walking back towards the captain's chair.

"Frankly, I'm not even fully convinced that this is the real thing," he grunted as he sat down heavily in the leather seat.

"We've seen the tapes from Deadman's Port. If those weren't energy shields, personalized for a single human, then what were they? Not to mention the plasma blasts their ship let off when their deal went sour."

All around them, he carefully let the wash of the usual bridge activity wash over him, calming him with the knowledge that everyone was doing their duties to the best of their abilities. The marines on the bridge were not engaging in useless chatter, so near as he could at least hear, meaning that they were maintaining a radio channel inside their suits or something likely. Either way, he didn't need needless conversation clogging up what might be an important report or message from passing through.

"Not the point. Someone trying to sell of protoss technology should have known that Deadman's Port would have swarmed over them to get at it. The only reason we know about it at all is from one," he looked at Mary Anne and held up his finger for emphasis, "One single shadowguard."

"One of our best," was the rejoinder, and at that he slumped slightly in the chair, acknowledging the defeat. "Whoever they have, they have a psychic," she continued, "And they knew that the Protectorate is desperate for anything protoss-related."

Clemson snorted, his a fist clenching slightly as he leaned forward to prop his chin upon one of it as he pulled a datapad from his side to turn on and gaze at the video in question.

"Bunch of xenophiles, falling over themselves to have the protoss 'enlighten' us," he grunted. "And now we're taking what might as well be trinkets for all we know…in exchange for what?"

Mary Anne hummed and tapped a button on the armrest of her own chair, bringing up the fleet tracking system on the console in the center of the bridge. On it were five battlecruisers, and plenty more wraiths besides that were in stealth mode, held just out of range of the system ready to warp in at the first sign of trouble. For the moment, the Freedom's Ring was entirely alone save for its strike craft compliment.

"We don't actually know what they want, yet. If they pull something stupid, we'll take the protoss tech and buzz off immediately. If they don't, and it's something we can afford, then why not?" she glanced at him, "It's not like we don't need every edge we can get to keep the Dominion off our backs."

He just grunted at that. He knew she was right, but that didn't mean that it was something he was happy about. The founding principle of the Protectorate was its independence, and surrendering their ability to make their own future and see to their own defense in favor of slavering over all things protoss itched at his pride. Not enough to make him not admit that they really did need every advantage they could get against someone as terrifyingly demanding as Mengsk. Anyone who bleated that insane ideology that he somehow had the 'right' to rule over all of humanity was someone that Umoja could use a few protoss guns or shields against at the very least.

The tranquility of a calm and orderly bridge, one of his more savored sensations in his existence, came to an abrupt end as proximity alarms began blaring.

"Four Behemoth-class battlecruisers just jumped into the system, and they…," the officer stammered before returning with, "They've got a bunch of protoss ships between them!"

"What?!"

"We're getting a communication from the lead vessel!"

"What is that thing stuck in the middle!?"

Pandemonium had erupted, the tac-screen displaying the vessels in question outlined in green and red, before Clemson slammed his fest against it hard enough to make the image flicker slightly.

"EVERYONE QUIET!" he bellowed, "Get our tac fighters in a proper screen, open communications, and remain at your posts!" Only then did he quiet, and calmly folded his arms behind his back once again. "Everyone remain calm. Helm, are they adopting an aggressive posture in any way?"

"Uh," the young ensign flicked her eyes from her console and back up to him, "No sir. They're just…sitting there."

"Hmm."

He breathed deeply as his comm officer finally got the wherewithal to press the right button to reveal a dark skinned man with the most absolutely ridiculous hat he had ever seen perched atop his head. Was that…solid gold?

"AHOY!" the man boomed before granting Clemson a view of his pearly whites in a wide grin. "Be you the Umojans we were told to expect?"

Clearing his throat, Clemson nodded.

"I am Captain Steele of the Freedom's Ring, of the Umojan Protectorate. You are…Captain Mann…of," he deeply desired to sigh in disgust be instead kept his distaste for the man out of his voice and expression, "MannCo?"

The insanity of a pirate and mercenary gang calling themselves a corporation in any manner offended him, if was honest. It reminded him of the Combine and their cruelties.

"Indeed. See, way out there, in th' void 'tween the starrrs," Mann drew out the word, "I found myself a Tal'darim fleet, and figured…I could probably find someone who wants some o' the booty!"

"Tal'darim," Clemson raised an eyebrow, "Not the protoss?"

At that, Mann rolled his eyes.

"Tal'darim are protoss, yah poofy white suit-wearing boy. They've got sects and tribes, don't you know anything about the protoss?"

In point of fact, Clemson did not know that. And he was willing to bet that this conversation would be heavily dissected and checked over by analysts on Umoja.

"Besides, the protoss that yer folks want to shack up with ain't Tal'darim. Tal'darim are a crazy militant cult, and that's the best part about this. You get protoss tech, and ya don't run th' risk o' offending Artanis's bunch!"

It seemed entirely too good to be true. This entire occasion screamed to his instincts that the universe shouldn't be offering up things like this. Of course, that was exactly what he had been sent here to investigate and verify.

"Right," he finally replied. "And yet this entire time, you've not specified a price, yet. You already offered us a 'taste' in the shuttle containing the probes and warrior armors, now you offer a small fleet. All the while, you've not specified a price."

It was a trap. It simply had to be a trap.

"Yep!" Mann said cheerfully before his expression grew serious. "Now we talk about price. Now, I'm not the kind of guy who is too cutthroat in business. I don't do fucking around with people who I might be selling to, I don't do slavery or any of that shit. Nah. Nah, the reason I'm willing to dump all of this on Umoja to pick apart with glee, is for one reason."

Clemson's fingers twitched to hit the button that would summon in the fleet.

"I'm giving you five Tal'darim modified void rays, three carriers, and an honest to goodness mothership…for my girl here," he finished before pulling a girl into frame.

She was dressed, perhaps unsurprisingly, in the same sort of equipment that a ghost might – though not that of a shadowguard. Her expression was…largely unreadable, though Clemson noted the total lack of guns on her as she gazed at them from across the way. This, surely then, had to be the surprisingly powerful psychic that had been noted by the shadowguard that had been stationed on Deadman's Port for information gathering. Initial psi-index projections were a solid 10.

"This here is Yuriko, and she's feeling…like she wants to get some proper psychic training," Mann jostled her slightly though the girl only rolled her eyes and let a small smile on her face display how largely unbothered she was by the man.

"The Dominion says that it accepts all psychics, regardless of their strength," Clemson said mildly, tapping his fingers in a slow beat at his side.

"The Dominion's Ghost Program has mandatory bullshit tha' neither she," Mann pointed at the now named Yuriko, "Nor I," he pointed his thumb at himself, "Are much into. I hear th' Umoja's program is better."

It was, in Clemson's not so humble opinion, but even so.

"You want an entirely unregistered psychic, of extreme power, and complete lack of loyalty to Umoja, to just…be accepted into the Shadowguard Academy," he drawled. "Who comes from a man with no records up until half a year ago when you showed up over New Trinidad."

Mann only grinned at that.

"Aye. Because I'm giving you all of this," he gestured as if to somehow encapsulate the massive hunks of metal, glass, and crystal held protectively at the center of his fleet. "And," he cocked his head, "I can get you more. I'm willing to start a relationship lad, up to and beyond dealing in protoss tech."

Clemson narrowed his eyes at the smile on Mann's face and the apparently untrained psychic at his side. She was far older than most who were brought into the academy, definitely in her mid-twenties. He was just a captain, he didn't find himself interacting with shadowguards on a daily basis, and had in fact never met one before. But he knew of them. Had seen one on a single newscast once though they had obviously never been identified.

"I will have to…speak to my government on this, of course."

"Of course, of course," Mann nodded vigorously before winking at him, "Course we'll have to keep our hands on all this largely pristine protoss tech in our custody until a decision is made by the by."

The communication ended and Clemson was already barking out orders to speak with the Ruling Council about all of this.

=======================================
"If they accept me…you'll come back, right?" she looked over at Mann who had previously been reclining in a nearby bridge throne with his fingers laced behind his head.

At her words he flopped onto his feet and walked over to her, his smile no longer the grossly exaggerated ones he put on for anyone else watching.

"Of course," he ruffled her hair in the way she knew he knew she hated, "And I'll keep a close eye on you the whole time. You getting a small guard compliment is…non-negotiable," his eyes turned wintery as he said that before the warmth returned to them. "Besides, you did get plenty of your own military training. You're not going in there wet behind the ears or anything. You know that right?"

"Right," she fidgeted slightly before pushing away from him to lean go sit down herself and glance at the screen displaying the single Umojan ship hanging there in the dark. "You're sure that we can overpower them if they try to force the ships out of our hands, right?"

"Oh, yeah. They have a nice little reinforcement fleet built up, sure," Mann said, already having had the wooden wheel come rising out of the floor so he could grasp it before he looked back at her with a bemused look to him. "But we've got more. More ships in our fleets, and more fleets in general."

He shrugged, then.

"This is the third mothership we've taken. Eventually the Tal'darim are going to start getting pissy, but for now they have no idea what's going on. It'd be worse if we were trying to sell to the other governments but the Protectorate is much better at being covert a lot of the time compared to the Dominion."

"So you're saying you can handle it."

"We," he pointed out, thrusting one of his index fingers in the air in a pose, "We can handle it. Besides, buck up!"

"If this works, you're going back to military school."

It was two hours later that they got their response. They were to escort the protoss vessels over to Umoja, and then Yuriko herself would undergo testing to see if they were even going to accept her in the first place. Mann was confident, Yuriko less so, but the fact that they were being invited at all was promising. Either that or the greed to examine such technology was simply that valuable to the Umojans to keep an edge on things as well as satisfy what was, according to Mann, some weirdly almost fetishistic love for protoss things in general.

She would be stronger. She would be better. It was one thing to be a companion and friend to a terrifyingly powerful and sometimes remarkably childlike and foolish intelligence such as Mann, or Guy, or whatever else he had and would someday call himself. It was another to be drawn along like a fish in a net. Besides which, she wanted to be sure that she could properly fight these zerg and protoss on her own, at some point at least, without being surrounded by thousands of robots and machines. If that was pride speaking through her, then she would let it do so. There was no excuse for her to not seek self-improvement and to add to what she could do.

All the better to kill the slaves of a false god with, of course.
 
85 – School Days
85 – School Days​

There were, obviously, far more complex negotiations that had to occur once they reached Umoja itself. Yuriko didn't partake in them, preferring instead to load up what amounted to luggage for herself, though all things considered the hastily fabricated ghost suit on old Confederate designs was all she had excepting some basic clothing and toiletries. As well as a teleport homing beacon she was to keep near her at all times just in case. For all that the Umojans were, as Mann said, 'the closest thing to good guys except for Raynor's guys this universe has got' neither of them were fooling themselves into thinking that this could go very badly, very quickly. For an organization that heavily relied on subtlety and subterfuge to make up for the massive sheer numbers difference between them and the Dominion, they had to be careful.

Even if Mann was performing his practically patented manner of interacting with people. She'd heard him refer to it as 'too big a gift horse to ignore' sorts of maneuvers. Yuriko was reasonably sure that the word horse was not quite enough to fully encompass what he did. For here he was, offering more secure and largely undamaged alien technology to a people who were slavering for any hint of it. And potentially more. For all that Mann was quite open with her he still kept some thoughts in his head. Technically all thoughts considering the fact that she could not read a machine's mind. Yet as they embarked on a dropship with a full dozen robotic marines surrounding her, with Mann himself beside her, she felt…happy?

Perhaps.

She had been lazing around for too long. It went against her nature. There was only so long that one could exercise and eat and play without doing something more fulfilling. For herself at least. Mann could likely sit on a bean bag and eat ice cream for eternity if she let him. But her thoughts on that were put to rest for a time as Mann snapped his fingers and dragged her thoughts out of her navel and back up towards his face. Perhaps a little uncharacteristically, his looked moderately serious, to the point that his hat was being left on the ship that had brought them here.

"So here's the deal Yuriko," he tapped his knee in a staccato tempo. "You're into the Shadowguard Academy…but you aren't an Umojan citizen. Pretty much the only reason we're getting away with this is the fact that I basically crammed their second greatest wish down their throats…and even then that wasn't enough."

She stilled, and tilted her head as she looked at him.

"Mann…I don't…this is largely my own selfish request, we don't have to."

"Nah, it's fine, I'm happy to help you out. You want to get more psychic commando training, you'll get it. I mean, they agreed to having a small guard compliment – mostly because their Academy is far less full of people than the Dominion's," his eyes narrowed as he momentarily clenched his teeth and fists. "In the Dominion, they force people into the program. Not to mention the mind wipes. But anyway," he shook his head, "MannCo is as of this moment in possession of an unofficial slash covert Letter of Marque to go fuck around with Mengsk and the KM. Not really bothered about doing it either, but yeah, there's that."

The dropship trembled as they changed atmospheric pressures, but as the only non-robot in the ship it was only Yuriko that was slightly shaken from side to side.

"So…you have to go be a pirate…more?" she chuckled. "What's the problem here, again?"

Mann shrugged, leaning back to thunk his head against the wall behind him, folding his arms at the same time.

"Eh, I dunno. Part of me is fine with it – most of me if I'm honest – but I just wanted to let you know that that's what I'll be doing…as well as some more information that may or may not be pertinent if you run into certain individuals down there."

A chime sounded, making both of them look up before they once more met each other's gazes.

"That's the 60 second drop," he stood as he spoke, offering her his hand to help her stand. "But yeah, someone down there is named Valerian Mengsk. Avoid him if you can…or not, depending on how things go."

"Mengsk-," she almost yelped before Mann put a finger to her lips.

"Yeah, it's Arcturus' son. There was this…book I read once, 'I, Mengsk', and it uh…," Mann snorted, "It went into some stuff. But yeah, he's down there. Somewhat of a good kid. Doesn't always make the best decisions."

And so he spoke of it, of the two living Mengsks and the woman who was lover to one and mother to another. During which she busied part of her attentions with expanding her own psychic senses, peeling back the veil, and examining the rapidly growing populace which was entering her own extra-normal senses. Only those centered on the drop pad they were approaching were apprehensive, while the vast majority around them were almost entirely unaware of anything but the goings on of their daily lives. Even so, she busied herself with focusing almost entirely on building up her own mental shielding. She was here in the first place because what seemed like an almost casual use of psionics by the Tal'darim had shattered through her normal shielding.

"But uh…yeah. If you see either of them, and let it slip that we can heal her or something…do that. If not? Focus on your training…and Yuriko?"

"Hmm?" she blinked at him.

"Try and have some fun with it. Or not, I've never been to a military school. Either way," he headed towards the dropping ramp where six Umojan marines and some people who she quickly scanned and learned to be in fact the Headmaster of the Academy as well as another Shadowguard – who quickly noticed and tilted their head before she found herself blocked out, "Do well."

It was a remarkably clean white and grey landing pad, in a set of six such pods of which they were the only occupants, all of which lead further into a massive skyscraper that she realized was only one among many. The city itself was…massive. A very artful set of glass and metal and stone, gleaming in the sunlight of Umoja's sun. It was, she decided, far more elegant and aesthetically pleasing than the somewhat dirtier and more clunky fashion for things in the Dominion based on what she had seen.

"I don't plan on failing," she informed him primly while levitating her luggage behind her to the impressed and now slightly concerned marines and the man in front of her who…she also could no longer read.

"Headmaster Adrien. This is your newest student, Yuriko Thirteen."

"An unusual name," the Headmaster replied, examining her closely. "For an unusual girl, with unusual powers, brought her by an unusual man."

"Unusual," Mann chortled before calming, "But yes."

"You are aware that you practically held my government hostage with your gifts?" the white haired man raised a single bushy eyebrow at Mann before looking back at her.

"Eh. She wanted it, she gets it," Mann laughed and clapped her on the back. "But I'll tell you this," and the sheer threat in a single step forward was enough for Yuriko to register it in every marine's mind simultaneously, "If you mess with her in any way outside the training – which I'm aware might involve a bit of the old breakdown and rebuild sort of thing, I might end up doing worse than hold your government hostage."

The landing pad was silent except for the wind for a long, long sixty seconds.

"Alissa," the Headmaster finally said.

"I can't read him, or any of his marines," the Shadowguard finally spoke. "Her, though, I slipped into her shields when she got here."

What?!

"No, that's not," Yuriko began, her cheeks colored as she frantically searched for any sign of a foreign psychic presence in her mind.

"Peace," the Shadowguard raised a hand, "Only surface thoughts. Security measures."

"Hmph," Mann crossed his arms. "So, you and your government finally come to an agreement?"

"Aye," the Headmaster nodded before gesturing along the path into the building. "Two of your…guards get to come and be near the Academy. One of your Behemoths can stay in orbit…though I'll tell you that any hint of treachery," and there he trailed off, looking meaningfully at Mann who hadn't changed expression.

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry. And if we're done exchanging threats?"

The Headmaster nodded genially.

"Okay then," Mann turned and began walking into the dropship.

Yuriko felt his two marines step in behind her, and taking heart in that, stepped forward to fall in behind the Shadowguard, her Headmaster, and the Umojan marines as well.

"I wish you to know, Ms. Thirteen that I will be affording you no special treatment whatsoever. If anything, I will be likely pressured by numerous sources to increase the severity of your training."

"Are you going to be sticking needles into my skull with experimental chemicals? Shaving off layers of my skin down to the musculature to test pain tolerance and ability to maintain telekinetic force enough to crush bones of others while they are shooting at me with lethal ammunition? Forcing me to watch others around me be torn the shreds while demanding constant discipline and pain tolerance while being shot at and simultaneously lifting a tank and liquefying the inhabitants?"

He paused and turned towards her, an unreadable look and mind facing her. The Shadowguard as well had gone completely still.

"No," he said in a quiet tone.

"Then I doubt it will be like the training that I have experience with."

A thousand, thousand memories, torn from the minds of her clones. Watching. Seeing. Reading the files. Torn from the mind of the man who ran the institute in the first place. No. Some she had suffered herself. Far more she had only the screams in her mind of, but they counted as well, considering that they came from Yuriko. Not herself, perhaps, but Yurikos all the same.

There was nothing that Umoja could do to phase her. Little could at all these days.

Behind her, Mann's dropship screamed towards the sky, and she throttled the urge to wave before turning back to the Headmaster.

"Shall we, then?"
 
86 – Orientation Day
86 – Orientation Week​

It had been a little amusing that they had at first attempted to hide just where the Shadowguard Academy was on Umoja. Many a twist and turn, commutes on public transportation and doubling back again across multiple routes in order to fool any potential people following along behind her. Perhaps it was not really entirely for her, though it would be impossible for her to tell considering that for the first time in her life she could not read the minds around her for easy knowledge of the current situation. With Mann, it was one thing, he was a robotic…entity. These were flesh and blood people as far as she was aware. So in truth, she knew little of what was going on in their minds though her more physical training ensured she could tell that they were alternating from staring ahead in the latest transport heading into the mountains of the north pole of Umoja and then back at her occasionally.

In point of fact, the marines of Umoja had been dismissed, leaving her with only two 'marine' guards from Mann to be her guards behind her while the Shadowguard and Headmaster piloted the shuttle to its destination. After a few more minutes of silent travel, the Headmaster pressed some few buttons on the console and the ship shifted into what was presumably autopilot while he came back to sit across from her with his hands folded. Contrary to what she had seen of the Dominion's officials, Umojans seemed to prefer utilitarian and gray outfits to the ostentatious ornamentation favored by the larger government.

"This is, as I said before, a very unusual situation we have on our hands here. Psychics in the Protectorate are usually identified and brought in for minimum suppression training when they are much younger," he started, glancing her over.

"Minimum suppression training?" Yuriko tilted her head, though she already suspected just what that was.

"Working to be able to function in everyday society, not having uncontrolled bursts of their powers – we aren't the Dominion where everyone with psionic talent is forced into the Ghosts," he offered before pausing to fold his hands in front of him and look her in the eye. "But something tells me that you won't need things like that."

"No, not really."

"Minister Jorgensen saw the opportunity behind a large mercenary company with no previous records in assisting us in our work against the Dominion, his offer of intact protoss technology in such quantities quite literally bought your way in…and all for you," he jutted his chin at her for emphasis, "So you will forgive me for wondering just why Mann seems willing to do all of this just for you – as well as to your own training."

Yuriko hummed before leaning back into the seat, crossing her arms.

"I'm not Dominion based, if that's what you're thinking. Or Combine. Or Umojan."

"Independent planet, then?"

"Something like that," she shrugged. "I wasn't trained as a ghost like you understand it, though the words 'psychic commando' were used often."

"I…see."

"We will have to test you," the Shadowguard suddenly spoke up, getting up from their own seat to come and stand next to the Headmaster. "See what your abilities are."

"We have literally no precedent for this," the Headmaster chuckled to himself before propping his chin up on a fist, the elbow bouncing slightly on his knee. "But I suspect that we'll be able to make it work."

"There will be academic work as well as the physical and psionic training," the Shadowguard loomed over Yuriko, though for all that she could not read her fellow psychic's mind she was at the least slightly confident she could probably tear her apart at the seams before anything untoward was done to her.

The Shadowguard jerked slightly before settling a step further back than it had been before.

==================================
"Ugh," Yuriko groaned, flopping into the provided bed before rolling onto her back.

The Student Quarters were separated by age and ability, she'd come to learn. But as a 'special student' she had not been bunked with the rest of the potential Shadowguards and those undergoing minimal training. It was somewhat surprising for her to learn that, but then again she hadn't known what to expect in general. And try as she might there had been a constant worry in the back of her mind that she would be descending into another sanitarium, another house of horrors…before she had been pleasantly surprised at the status of the facility in general. Grey and white coloration on a largely utilitarian aesthetic in as close as what she could describe as a post-modern architectural slant. Sharp lines mixed with sweeping curves and rounded surfaces.

"Good first day?" a voice came from one of her marine guards, startling her at the unfamiliar voice.

"Ah! Mann, what the-," she lifted into the air and spun to look sideways at the previously utterly silent servitor. "Why are you talking like that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, lady," the marine grunted before the faceplate lowered to reveal a pale skinned man who actually looked vaguely Japanese. "I am Nobu. We have secured your room from recording devices, scanners, and other such things."

For a moment she stared at the clearly droid replicant body that stood before her, and thought for a moment. Guy wanted his identity as a whatever it was he turned out to be to be kept a secret. He couldn't really simultaneously talk through the suit with his own voice and face if he wanted to keep up the illusion that he was elsewhere and not…networked.

"Right," she shrugged, "Whatever."

"Do you wish to have communications with Mr. Mann?" the marine-who-was-also-Mann asked her with an entirely straight look on its face that was further concealed as the faceplate came down once again.

"Sure?"

Yuriko blinked at the sight of a small disc being produced from somewhere in the suit that was placed on the ground before a to-scale image of Mann blurred into relief that looked down at her.

"Lass," he grunted with a smile on his face, thankfully free of whatever horrifying hat he had devised lately not included. "How was your first day at school?"

"It was…," she thought for a moment, "Engaging."

=====================================
"She's torn through the siege tanks, she's torn through the – AGGGGHHHH" Jameson screamed into the radio as he was whipped out of his bunker at breakneck speed before being spun in the air, his weapons flying away from his hands at enough speed to likely leave fractures in his fingers.

All around him, what was normally used to simulate real-time battlefields for Shadowguards to practice their skills in had become a firestorm of destruction and near death for all who had come to face the supposed 'super-psychic' that had come out of deep space. The entire Protectorate Division which was always seconded to the Shadowguard Academy's classified location had been mobilized, apparently on the direct order of Minister Jorgensen and the rest of the Ruling Council, to test her…and Commander Jameson hadn't been pleased about it.

"God damn it to hell!" a marine screamed as they spun wildly about in the air past, gun flown out of their grip. "I ain't trained for….zero-g…HURK!"

"Command! Command you tell her to stop!" Jameson screamed, and then he pissed a little at the sight of the little girl staring up at them all with visible purplish gravimetric expressions of her power coiling through the air.

Around her, the shattered remains of siege tanks spun lazily as simultaneous physical shields and potential ammo while the rest of the marine compliment whipped around at speeds clearly already capable of making many puke. Jameson didn't even get a good look at her for long before he too was spinning away, a giant mass of men who had become utterly useless despite all of their years of training and experience with Shadowguard trainees floating in the air in a terrifying globe of completely indefensible flesh.

"Stand by for Liberty Bell descent," a voice boomed in his comm, and Jameson could barely let loose another string of curses before the air was once more stolen from his lungs by how he was whipping around.

"They're sending in the battlecruiser?!" a marine screamed before she started flailing even harder as her armor was peeled off of her in strips and chunks.

All of Shadow Squadron seconded to the exercise were either unconscious, rapidly approaching that point, slathered in their own vomit, or worse, leaving Jameson and few others still able to boggle at the words that had just come down the line.

"Liberty Bell, don't," Jameson's stomach flipped as the rest of him did about a half-dozen times in the air at high speed, "Don't you dare! She's just a little…hughgh!"

It was too late. Liberty Bell appeared to Jameson's horrified eyes before he spun away again.

"This is the battlecruiser Liberty Bell to Trainee 'Thirteen'. Your obliteration of ground forces is admirable, but it is at this point that this simulation ends with your surren – WHAT!?"

The battlecruiser began to crumple in on itself as it hurtled directly towards the snowy ground of Training Field 1 the moment it got close enough.

Far and away within the confines of the Academy proper, the rest of the Trainees who had been brought up to watch the exercise in thankfully insulated and warmed rooms on high definition holo-screens...stared. As did the Headmaster and the ten Shadowguard who were on constant basis to protect the facility itself where they were trained. They stared as the battlecruiser shuttled towards the ground at horrifying speed before halting, it's guns and yamato cannon squealing as the metal and circuitry was crushed beneath an ungodly amount of psychic power.

"Where in God's name did this girl come out of?" asked one of the Shadowguard.

"The Ruling Council intends to find that out," the Headmaster murmured, before pressing a finger to the screen's controls to reverse and focus the imagery.

For a former Shadowguard, and now Headmaster for a rather lengthy period of time for someone in his line of work…the look of nonchalance on Yuriko Thirteen's face as she tore down every armored position before her was one of the most disquieting things he'd ever seen. The sheer tonnage of metal that she could crumple, twist, crush, pull, and tear in one go, not to mention non-lethally disabling the infantry sent against her by tearing off their armor and weapons and smashing that all into a single ball, was horrifying on a very primal level. The only other psychic he'd ever heard of having the same sheer destructive power was the Queen of Blades herself and a rumored Dominion ghost.

"And I think they should work to find that out very, very quickly."

Where did you come from?

=========================
"First big battle in a while," Mann nodded, his arms crossed. "But that's not really why you're here, right?"

"Correct," Yuriko nodded. "I do not need their help at taking to the battlefield."

"How did the…mental stuff go?"

Yuriko grimaced.

=========================
The Headmaster boggled – though he did not show it openly – as one of his most veteran Shadowguard vomited violently on the ground after tearing off her mask, hands coated with the stuff as they stayed on their knees. A faint curl of his powers had turned the cameras and recording devices off in the hallway, all others sequestered elsewhere so that this portion of the testing could be conducted in secret. He glanced this way and that before leaning down to carefully put his hands on the Shadowguard's back, rubbing it slightly.

"What did you see, Agent?" he asked gently.

"I…saw her memories, some of them," they eventually said, moving to sit against the wall, wiping her mouth. "We were right, her actual telepathic defenses are pathetic…but I think I understand why, now."

"And why is that, Agent," the Headmaster remained kneeling, looking at her.

"Because they didn't care about her defensive abilities," the Shadowguard grimaced, holding her head in her hands. "All they cared about…was how much damage she could do before expiring."

"Ah."

"The cost, for taking apart Shadow Squadron like she did?" the Shadowguard coughed a bit, shaking her head back and forth slowly to stare at the Headmaster with a disturbing emptiness to her gaze. "Was…horrifying. And she felt every one before she put them down."

"Where," the Headmaster almost growled, shaking the woman by the shoulders. "Where was she made?"

It was obvious that she was a clone of…someone. 'Thirteen'? Obvious. Cloning was not unknown to the Korprulu Sector, after all, given how it was how the terrans had spread out so numerously throughout the area after the colony ships landed in the first place. But where someone like Yuriko could possibly have come from was beyond him. Not even the best of the UED ghosts had been capable of producing the same effects that she had. The idea that there were twelve more of them was a horrifying strategic scenario to imagine. One the Ruling Council wanted answers to, 'gifts' of protoss technology or not.

"I…don't know," the Shadowguard mumbled.

"What?"

"I don't know!" she shouted, glaring at him, "There were…there were too many memories. More than she should have. Dozens…hundreds of lives, all in her head, all of them dead!" the Shadowguard abruptly pushed him away, startling him at the inherent insubordination as she wrapped her arms around her knees. "They're all dead. She killed them…but they were already dead when she got to them…" she mumbled to herself. "She doesn't…there's no defenses there except a basic shield…but she started to…show me things, kept me away from others."

"There's different techniques for mental defenses, force, diversionary," the Headmaster began before the Shadowguard looked up at him, a twenty-year long career shadow operator in the Sector, with what might have been a faint bit of wetness in her eyes.

"That wasn't…a defense, sir. It was an assault. She found my scans and my readings…and fed me the memories when she realized she couldn't keep me out."

The Headmaster sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Did you get anything about where she came from?"

"Yes."

He blinked and then at the silence rolled his hand in the air as prompting.

"She's the last one. She made sure of it. Other than that?" the Shadowguard gave a strangled laugh, "No. Too many…deaths. Too many minds in hers, in death, in torture, in…a void," she shuddered.

Who are you, Yuriko Thirteen?

=============================​

"So…not great."

"Not great, no," Yuriko nodded though she brightened slightly. "Though I have begun to formulate my own ideas about defense. I have yet to be able to fully…'screen' my thoughts, but I have found success with my current method."

Mann snorted.

"Yeah, your 'method'," he made air quotes, "Is shoving the memories of the others into their heads."

"It works, doesn't it?" she spun lazily in the air so that her back was to him.

"I didn't say it didn't…just that I'm not that comfortable with you having to constantly dredge up those memories as a defense."

She could hear Mann's frown, though she did not turn around to face him again.

"It's not comfortable," she finally mumbled, "But until I learn another method, it's all I have."

Then they were quiet, Yuriko breathing and floating and Mann's holographic avatar remaining silent. In the end, though, she knew that he could remain there without moving while his mind shifted troops and armies elsewhere in the universe. And speaking of that, she spun around again, this time alighting so that she could sit on the bed without floating.

"How did your first day go?"

"Hmm?" Mann blinked rapidly, a sure sign that he had been doing something else. "What do you mean?"

"As a privateer for this Protectorate."

Mann's lips stretched open to reveal his gleaming white teeth, though Yuriko knew it wasn't quite a smile.

===============================
"This is Donny Vermillion, live from the UNN Studios on Korhal," the screen sputtered slightly before it kept going, "We've got a breaking news story for you."

Those few people actually conscious in Joey Ray's Bar snorted simultaneously at the words, many of them taking a shot as he said it. Amongst those dusty outcasts of the rest of Mar Saran society, one of them finally spoke up, his voice slurring.

"It's always a breaking news story with him."

"That's the point, Clyde," another man grunted who hadn't even looked up, his face actually pressed against the table with a drink beside him.

"Everyone shut up," another voice, just as gruff as any of the others spoke up, "I want to hear this."

They quieted.

"Tonight, the Dominion has been wracked by pirate attacks, across much of Dominion space," Donny shuffled the papers in front of him, "We have reports of pirate assaults at numerous military supply depots, space stations, and more. We'll go now to Kate Lockwell, live on the world of Tardona with the famous General Carolina Davis, one of the worlds who suffered just such an attack."

The screen fizzled slightly as static washed over it before resolving onto an image of said woman, Donny thankfully having been reduced to a small square in the upper left corner. Kate, wearing her customary uniform, who smiled briefly at an incredibly grim looking General Davis. Around them, a small cordon of red-armored Dominion marines kept onlookers from getting too close, while a siege tank could be spied in the background trundling past.

"Thanks Donny," Kate smiled again, "I'm here with General Davis, whose world was just attacked by a brand new pirate group with no previously known sightings. General, can you tell us what happened?"

General Davis' grimace only grew as she stepped forward into frame, her hands behind her back as she stood at attention.

"Approximately ten hours ago, a series of dropships of unknown origin appeared in system and assaulted the Tardona Shipyards where a number of Dominion Fleet vessels were in the middle of refueling and repairs. Approximately thirty minutes after the incursion, our forces moved to clear the Shipyards, which they were successful at."

Apparently satisfied with that, the General stepped back…before Kate uneasily spoke up again.

"General, I've actually been hearing rumors amongst our fighting boys and girls that the pirates, bearing the Confederacy flag of old, actually managed to steal a few of the ships and sabotaged others, and -,"

"Then whoever has been speaking to you," the General scowled down at the reporter, "Is a liar. No ships were lost in this attack. The ships that departed the Shipyards were being sent to hunt down these pirates – who likely salvaged old Confederate vessels on their own."

"Ah, but General," Kate piped up again, her practiced smile remaining on her face, "Is there any truth to the reports that there were actually zero casualties taken by the Dominion in this? That the pirates went out of their way to preserve lives as they-,"

"The pirates were pirates, and they are being hunted down as we speak. This interview is over."

With that, the General turned and left, her marines accompanying her. Kate looked at her briefly before turning back to the camera.

"Well, I suppose that's that, Donny. It should also be noted by our viewers that General Davis' world was not the only one attacked. We've gotten reports of attacks on Jontur II, Braxis, and Pridewater, among others. A staggering amount of mineral wealth, ships, and plunder has been taken by these pirate – though it should be noted that there are in fact three of these groups that appeared to have partaken in this simultaneous attacks – ones bearing the Confederacy flag, a UED symbol, and a third unknown symbol. At this time, it is entirely unknown if these groups are alone and got lucky, or working together."

The image shuddered as Donny's screen ballooned until it covered Kate's, leaving Vermillion himself to look sternly at the camera.

"Dark news, Kate. But now that the Dominion's ire has been roused, I have little doubt that these ruffians and thieves will be brought to justice, soon."

The inhabitants of Joey Ray's bar were silent with the news as they stared at the screen before several of them turned to look at one of the men who had managed to keep other staggering drunks away from him to create a small area of clear space.

"What?" James Raynor looked up at them, nonplussed. "It wasn't me this time."

Who were these guys?

=======================================
"The Galactic Empire?" Yuriko rolled her eyes at Mann who guffawed. "Really?"

"Yeah," he chortled for a moment. "I'm calling them the Virginian Revenge, led by a 'General Lee', a bunch of boys calling themselves 'Kurtz' Kids', and the Scions of Anarchy."

Yuriko raised an eyebrow.

"Sons of Anarchy was already taken by a biker gang," he explained.

Still, she could see the strategic value of having three different groups all under the same control attacking the Dominion. It was better than setting them off against MannCo in general, at the very least.

"I'm assuming that they," she jutted her chin towards the Umojan Protectorate symbol on the wall, "Know that you're running them?"

"Obviously," Mann hummed. "I'm assuming it's partially blackmail too that they'll release if I ever betray them or something?"

"Like that would work on you," she scoffed as she picked at the blanket on her bed, glancing around the room.

"True. Still, I'm not trying to completely obliterate their standing forces, this sector will need as many bodies as it can when the UED comes knocking again, or when the Swarm decides to get active again."

She acknowledged this with a shrug before floating around the room, examining it more closely than she had in the brief second at the start of the day where she'd put her luggage in. It was stark, she noted, though she had also been told to feel free to personalize it. No windows though it would be redundant with the cold caps of the poles swirling with constant snow and cold.

"What about the Tal'darim?" she asked over her shoulder before looking in empty drawers and in the dresser provided to her.

====================================
"Highlord," the First Ascendant said stiffly, keeping himself completely still as the terrazine around them curled and spat out continuously from the crevices in Slayn's surface.

"Report," Ma'lash growled, his fists clenched at his sides as he stalked around the First Ascendant.

"The Death Fleet is reduced to thirty percent-," the protoss began before the Highlord screamed.

Buffeted by the sudden explosion of psychic power, the First Ascendant was bowled over as Ma'lash snarled and stomped, blades of psionic energy spurting into existence as he turned and began to tear a nearby wall apart.

"RRRAAAAGH!" Ma'lash bellowed before turning back towards the First Ascendant, his chest heaving, eyes burning with the power of the Breath of Creation. "HOW!? HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN!"

"Numbers, Highlord," the First Ascendant replied instantly. "We are attacked on three fronts, we cannot defend against the-," the protoss choked as the Highlord wrapped his hands around their throat and screamed wordlessly into his face.

"WE ARE HIS CHOSEN! WE CANNOT FAIL! WE CANNOT LOSE!" Ma'lash shrieked before throwing the other protoss to the side where they crashed into the same wall that had already had chunks carved out of it.

"We," the First Ascendant rose unsteadily, "We do not know who these 'Goa'uld' or 'Black Sun' are, but their ships are still assaulting us from all sides – when they are not destroying each other."

"And all the while," Ma'lash hissed, his voice now dangerously quiet as he loomed over the still kneeling Ascendant, "These…'MannCo' terrans pick at us like the vermin scavengers they are!"

Finally getting to their feet, the First Ascendant grunted as they felt at their bruised bones.

"What are we to do, Highlord?"

"We fight, you fool! We have lost too many worlds, too many outposts, too many ships! They are coming for Slayn! But here…," the Highlord laughed as more terrazine blasted out around them, "Here in the heart of our power…THEY WILL DIE!"

Where did they come from?!

==============================
"What's the point of making your own ships fight each other?" she called out from where she pushed through the numerous examples of 'Umojan' uniform that had been put in her closet.

"Make it look like they're not together. Besides, I can spare the material."

She knew he could. Mann had shown her the literal hundred lifeless star systems on the edge of the galaxy where he had built his secret industrial heart. Even now, she shuddered slightly at the sight of those secret fleets, the sheer firepower he had access to. Should he have wished it, the war on her earth would have ended within the day, and there would have been nothing that anyone could have done to stop it.

"And in the meantime," she said, carefully pushing the uniforms back and forth to feel how it felt in her fingers, "You get all of that wreckage for yourself."

"Yep. Already working on testing their plasma shielding, cannons, stuff like that. I'm shoving so many Ha'taks and Imperial Star Destroyers down their throats, they're not really able to stop me from taking what I need. Can't…use all of it though."

"Really?" Yuriko poked her head out to look at him, "Why not?"

"A lot of it is psionic," he shrugged. "Needs psychic crystals, khaydarin stuff, pilots and such who can integrate with those systems with said psychic powers, stuff like that. I'd have to…get…hmm."

"What?"

He shook his head.

"Just remembered something. Going to go investigate something real quick."

Yuriko floated back to the bed, having finished…and then stared at him as his face remained scrunched up.

"Um. Mann?"

"YEP!" he suddenly said, almost shouting, his eyes wide, "They're still there, the defenses and Templar are still there!"

"What, what is it?!" she stood, seeing the tension in his frame.

"Uh," he coughed, "Nothing. Just…nothing. Checked on my thing, confirmed."

"…right. Anything else you plan on doing today?"

"Aside from a quick jaunt to a few big ships laying around that no one has a claim on, nah," Mann waved her question away before looking down at her. "So, good first day?"

Yuriko hummed, and lay down to stare at the ceiling.

"I suppose so."

"Cool," Mann smiled at her. "And remember-,"

"If I need you, call, and you'll come running," she finished for him, giving him a thumbs up.

"Right. I'm off to visit the Sigma Quadrant and then poke at an Arkship or two."

Then the holo-image disappeared, and the marine body stepped forward to pick up the disk and place it back into the suit.

"Good day, miss. I'll be outside in shifts with my counterpart."

Yuriko motioned him towards the door and then folded her hands behind her head.

"Goodnight, Mann."

The marine stopped at the door.

"Night," it said in its 'Nobu' voice before walking out again.

And so she stared at the ceiling until falling asleep, a smile on her lips. Mann had been right.

It was a pretty good first day.
 
87 – Status Reports
87 – Status Reports​

The Headmaster stood, hands folded behind his back, in a lonely blue circle as the rest of the Ruling Council faced him upon their elevated seats within the shadowed chamber. They did him the courtesy of wearing the smallest and most nondescript of psi-screens rather than the more fearful open designs which would display their distrust of a psychic potentially reading their minds, which was nice of them. But in the end, he knew they were politicians. Better politicians in character than the Dominion or 'the miners' as the third major power in the Korprulu Sector were often dismissively called, but politicians all the same. More idealistic, certainly, but then he was a Shadowguard. He knew just what was needed and what had been done to ensure that such a bright and shiny idealistic society could even exist at all rather than be a dream of philosophers. He made sure to stare straight ahead, as he knew that they would find his unblinking stare uncomfortable despite their relationship, just as he knew that he would wait for some undisclosed amount of time for them to peruse the files that had been delivered to them. As if they had not already read through them twice before this clandestine meeting was called in the first place.

"She tore a battlecruiser down, and then crumpled it half to pieces," one of them scoffed, slapping the data slate on the table. "And wasn't even winded?!"

Almost immediately afterward another of the Council sighed and began to rub at their temples with the tips of their fingers.

"You've repeated yourself, and that phrase, about half a dozen times now Phillipe, despite how you shuffle the words about," the woman almost growled.

"A battlecruiser!" the man nearly shouted again.

"Moving on from that," the Headmaster coughed, "The results of our testing are conclusive – she was made as a weapon."

"Well," a balding man grunted, fist held beneath his chin, "It's not like that isn't entirely unexpected considering what she's shown us. What else do you have?"

The Headmaster furrowed his brow before continuing to speak.

"We've extensively gone over her sheer physical power, it's the finer details that she struggled with…initially. Frankly speaking she's quite clearly a psychic prodigy, and beyond that an extremely competent student."

And wasn't that the truth, he acknowledged silently. She took to the reading materials with a will, and basic scholarly introductions to the many fields that a Shadowguard would require access to had been devoured almost eagerly. Scratch that, definitively eagerly. A staggering lack of fundamental knowledge about modern technology and history but that was easily rectified enough. An orphan pulled off the streets of Umoja might be the same, save for the fact that she knew even less than that. They had no real idea where Yuriko Thirteen had come from, and despite their best efforts they could not quite seem to figure out even a hint of that place.

"Her…mental defenses," he noted idly how some of the Council shifted at the words, one of them even having the open gall to have a hand tug worryingly against their psi-screen before they realized he was looking, "Were quite frankly atrocious and -," he held up a hand to forestall the immediate series of outbursts from the men and women facing him, "- and fine members of the Council if you will let me speak?"

There was a series of muttered exchanges that he didn't bother himself with listening to for a good minute before they turned to him once more.

"Despite our attempts to scan her mind, to discover her origins, or any other truly pertinent information, we have been unsuccessful. The sheer trauma-," he paused as some of the Council began to outright shout.

"You've had months with this girl, how can-,"

"I thought the Shadowguard were supposed to be the premier-,"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" the Headmaster called out, dragging their attention back down to where he still stood. "If I could continue my report? I know for a fact you've got plenty of more notes, and we can move on to questions later…after I'm done?"

For just a flicker of a second, his eyes glowed with psionic light, before it disappeared within a single blink of an eye. Silence was his answer, and he took that to be good enough.

"We've further moved on to studying her…patron, who if I'm not mistaken is currently responsible for the salivating of our entire R&D efforts regarding the protoss. In point of fact, the technology he has been providing to us still resonates strongly with psionic experimentation without relying wholly upon the 'Khala' of the protoss we've encountered so far," he gestured for a moment and a holographic screen appeared to display the strange yet definitively alien technologies given over to the Protectorate. "Where he is getting them is still not fully trackable for us, though we suspect it is beyond the current reaches of space held by any faction of humanity."

Another twitch of his fingers and three large sigils appeared upon the screen instead.

"We have had, despite our best efforts, little success in infiltrating the three groups that appeared soon after our contract with 'Mann' – if that is even his real name."

It would be not precisely right to say that the Umojan Protectorate was the premier stealth and infiltration-capable nation in the Koprulu Sector. In some ways, others were better, but that number was getting smaller and smaller with every year. Which was why it was somewhat frustrating for him to admit failure.

"Have we even confirmed that Mann is in control of these people, or that he employs them?" one of the Councilmen tilted their head as they gazed at the symbols.

"The Virginian Revenge, Scions of Anarchy, and 'Kurtz' Kids' have each individually been seen with Mann upon their flagships at some time or another, though whether or not he is giving them orders or something else is…currently not known," he had to raise his hands with the palms out in order to forestall the next interruption even as he knew it was coming, "Yet we can tell that they are making use of the accounts seconded to them. Black market exchanges of stolen goods, from foodstuffs to weapons to technology, is ongoing with multiple customers in Deadman's Port."

There was little to be actually seen in the chamber, but the Headmaster was still capable of seeing if not fully feeling the tightening of lips and crinkling of skin around narrowed eyes. They were frustrated, and likely disappointed with how well the Shadowguard had been performing lately concerning Mann and his charge. It was one thing to have trillions of credits worth of technology thrown at them for naught but one woman's attendance to the Shadowguard academy. It was entirely another for her to outstrip the strongest human psychics ever found on record save for – perhaps – one or two incidents elsewhere in the sector. The pride of Umoja had suddenly become a factor in the ongoing discussions, to be so forcibly humbled by the apparent power and resources of one and the sheer psychic might of another.

"I've heard of that," Councilwoman Wotan hummed, "I think they're calling those exchanges 'Dominion Bazaars', from the whole…," she waved her hand vaguely in a circle, "Massive amounts of contraband and stolen weaponry."

"Yes, it is proving to be even more lucrative than we thought it would for Mann, given our initial projections," the Headmaster nodded slightly.

"I've heard that MannCo itself is hiring itself out as a police force," another member of the council said before terminating in a cough, "Or PMC. Or both."

Another twitch of the fingers, and the screen flickered to a wild series of graphs, charts, and names flickering past in a long moving list.

"Indeed. While Mann is running…or organizing…or at the least interacting with the previous three groups, MannCo itself is shaping up to be on the face a fully legitimate company."

"From nowhere," one of the council noted, the sarcastic drawl in their voice unmistakable.

"From nowhere, yes. On that note, as near as we can tell, he is not in fact from the UED, but we haven't fully confirmed the veracity of that theory," the Headmaster swiped his finger along the screen, bringing the automatic scrolling to a halt. "In any case, MannCo is proving itself an able security force across the Sector, and they've proven to be more than capable of tearing apart anyone who comes up against them."

The images that appeared on the screen were evidence enough of that.

"Here, they were put on contract guarding a remote mining post held by one of the minor Guilds from the Combine. Here," the picture changed, "They're hunting down pirates with frankly overwhelming amounts of force," the picture changed again, "And here, with seemingly no regard for their own lives, they tore each other apart as two different Guilds in the Combine hired separate divisions to fight each other."

"MannCo is willing to fight itself?" he heard one voice incredulously say.

"MannCo is willing to kill itself," he replied, the images showing the utter devastation in space between multiple wraiths and battlecruisers in orbit around a moon which even now was still being contested. "Apparently Mann has the, if you'll forgive the inevitable wordplay, manpower to simply throw away at itself."

"And yet people are still hiring them against themselves?" Councilman Phillipe scoffed.

"In limited cases, yes. There are nearly mountains of paperwork to be signed out as they purchase either 'Ruby' or 'Sapphire' divisions," the Headmaster lifted first one hand and then the next with the two designators.

Images shifted to reveal the open colored sigils on the two separate sets of marines which charged at each other upon a battlefield on some forsaken rock or another. There were literally too many to count when it came to the Koprulu Sector, so he did not bother doing more than putting the recorded name of said rock on the screen without comment. In but a moment, dozens were dead on the battlefield, their blood seeping into the stone, while yet more dropships arrived to dump off marines and medics.

"Extremely rich minerals on this particular rock, hence why two Combine families are trying to get at it. MannCo is perfectly willing to throw its soldiers into the grinder again, and again, and again, either delivering bombs into enemy camps or whatever else needs doing."

"And there's no concern that they are working together or something? That they might be colluding to extend their contracts?"

In response, the Headmaster moved to the next image, which showed a clearly high ranking member of a Ruby MannCo force having his head violently torn from his shoulders by the clenched hands of one Sapphire marine.

"Maybe at the start but the sheer violence MannCo is willing to extend its guns to, depending on who has been hired and who the target is, has put that theory to an uneasy rest."

Things slowly shuddered to a halt after that. They asked questions that he had already answered either verbally or that had been provided to the documents they'd been given. He answered them regardless. The Council hemmed and hawed, but the fact of the matter was that they simply had not yet been able to crack much of the enigma of Yuriko Thirteen or Mann at all. It was frustrating, to be sure, but simultaneously intriguing for him. How long had it been since he had retired from active service to become the Headmaster of the Shadowguard Academy? Since he'd had a real challenge much at all? Not in the form of some rampaging horde of zerg or overly righteous protoss, but something more…intellectual.

Eventually the meeting ended, and he more than happily left the city on a stealthed transport back to the Academy. Despite all their advances and the stringent training his kind went through as a group, it was unavoidable that the more crowded areas of humanity were an uncomfortable buzzing in the back of the mind of any sufficiently strong enough psychic. Two more of the senior Shadowguard on Umoja flanked him as he sat, their minds as alert as ever, though he could feel curiosity tingling through both as they more 'felt' than so much as saw the files he flipped through on the way back.

"Sir…," one, the male of the duo, finally spoke up.

"Speak freely Adrian," the Headmaster jerked his chin at the man, "No need for codenames or titles here."

The Shadowguard rubbed the back of his head uneasily.

"Is she really as powerful as they say?"

The Headmaster lowered the files in his hands, and turned to fully face his graduated pupil.

"Yuriko Thirteen is the most powerful consistent psychic I've ever seen. Small instances of specific breakthrough outweigh her, but not by that much. She can crumple battlecruisers, battleships at sea, and lift up weights that would blow brains out of the skull of any psychic that tried," he pointed to all three of them one at a time, "All of us included. She's nearly an equal to the Queen of Blades, or to wherever November Terra ended up, and that's just at the moment. Her powers are growing the more she learns, which is true for anyone, but her?"

"I heard that uh," Adrian cleared his throat for a moment, "I heard that she hasn't even topped out yet."

"Exactly," the Headmaster nodded, "She hasn't. The sheer amount of fine control and power it requires to simply levitate literally everywhere you go is immense, to keep yourself level even more so. But as near as we can tell, all her training up until this point was outright violence, nothing mental or fine, without damn near any of the techniques that we teach. But the more we add to her repertoire, the more powerful she gets."

"I have a question sir," the other Shadowguard finally spoke up from where they sat opposite him in the shuttle.

"Why haven't we killed her?" he finished before his student could. "Because, I don't think we would survive the reprisal."

"So we're just…," the Shadowguard clenched her fists, "We're just…willingly giving training and techniques to this unknown woman, for this unknown man? What if she turns on us, what if it's all a ploy to learn our secrets and tear us apart!"

"Alana, have you seen the kind of firepower Mann's got? He could probably burn Umoja down in a day if he wanted to," Adrian replied, before the Headmaster could, "He's got us over a barrel. A weird friendly barrel, but a barrel all the same."

"And we're just supposed to be okay with that?" Alana crossed her arms, "Just be okay with this girl getting stronger, improving her skills and abilities, because he's giving us all this protoss junk and helping out against the Dominion?"

"I mean…I'm not okay with it," Adrian, "But I accept it."

"And that's the way of things," the Headmaster interjected, looking from one to the other, "We do this because we are ordered to. Whether we like it or not is beside the matter. In the beginning, yes, I'm quite sure that they assumed that Yuriko was Mann's daughter or something, a wealthy man who wanted to ensure his offspring had the best possible psychic education money could buy. By the time we determined the real truth of the matter, it was rather too late to step back."

"Bullshit," Alana growled, somewhat in time with the shuttle bouncing in the airstreams as it escaped the city limits. "We could have told him off at any time."

"Yeah, because the great philosophers of the Council are definitely going to give up on the man who has given them such ludicrous amounts of protoss tech," Adrian snorted. "Divergent from what we knew or no, it's going to allow us to leapfrog the Dominion given enough time at outright exponential levels."

"I know, I know," the Headmaster hummed, "It doesn't precisely sit right with me either, but that's just the situation that we're in."

"Still a ways out from the Academy, Headmaster," the pilot's voice crackled over the comm, "We can go faster if you want, though."

"Do it. I want to get back to the Academy as fast as possible."

===================================
A small flickering in the lights was the only sign that the latest hearing devices had been set on loop. By now Yuriko was reasonably sure that the Umojans had figured out that something was amiss but it wasn't as if they could stop it even if they wanted. Which she was also reasonably sure they did. Unfortunately, such things were doomed the moment they had allowed Mann to put some of his marines on their planet and in the Shadowguard Academy. Shrugging the thought of such intrigues away she instead elected to float back onto her bed and bundle up with her blanket to let the aches and pains of the days training disappear.

"And…done," Nobu grunted as he placed the disk on the ground.

"Greetings, lass," Mann chortled as his image projected upwards from it, his crafted barrel chest openly on display.

"No shirt today, Mann?" she tilted her head even as she asked the question. It wasn't as if he actually needed it after all.

"Nah, trying out the whole 'big captains coat' thing without a shirt. Seems to work to intimidate people when I show up on planets that they need near-on hazard gear to be to negotiate contracts."

Yuriko scoffed at the ridiculous man, but there was a small smile hidden in it at the same time.

"And where did you get experience doing that sort of thing?"

"Well right now of course," he smiled widely before hunching slightly as the smile shrank slightly. "I uh, probably got swindled pretty good early on. But considering the fact that I'm doing it over and over again, you've gotta get experience somehow right?"

"I…suppose," she shrugged. "Is it easier for your more official stuff, or to be a pirate?"

"Piratey stuff," Mann answered immediately. "That's way easier. I give you this, you give me that, if you betray me I'll make you walk the plank-,"

"Airlock-,"

"-same thing," he stressed, "and in turn they'll shoot me or something."

"Not like that would work on you though," she pointed out, carefully stretching out on the bed while continuing to look at him.

"Hasn't stopped them from trying. I've been blown up like, ten times by now. And only most of those by the pirates and thieves and whatevers."

Yuriko paused at that, and for a moment decided to just contemplate that the sentence she had just heard had, in fact, not made her freak out at all. Was that a good thing or a bad thing that she simply accepted that Mann could be utterly torn to shreds but so long as he could reassemble a body he would be…well, not precisely himself again but mostly the same? Then she decided that she'd been dealing with his ridiculousness for years now and since it wasn't likely to change that she'd just move past it. It wasn't like there was anything else to do about such a thing but have a panic attack or something and just wasn't her.

"If anything, I'd suspect that it would help your reputation."

"Oh, it has," Mann's smile then had nothing friendly about it whatsoever. "Anyway, on my end, I've pushed 'Amon's Chosen' back to their one remaining world, all of the rest of their tech is either being stored away or being shoved down Umoja's throat."

"That's good," she found herself saying…and believing, if she was honest with herself. Part of her had wondered if that was a sign of sociopathy that she was enjoying the knowledge of a near-extermination of an entire sub-race…but then she thought about it some more. The rest of her had discarded the previous part. "But what about the Arkships you were telling me about?"

"Ah, them. Yeah, I went and looked them up, as well as the Xel'Naga ship with the other artifact piece."

"Ooh," she turned on her side to face him again, "So now you have those rip-field generators?"

"Yeah," he nodded happily, "They're…kind of weird, and you have to line your own forces around them with either shielding or, well, I dunno yet, the weird materials the Xel'Naga use for their own stuff, but other than that, they're pretty neat. The ship itself is cool too, if a little too open to the air for me."

"If you had your way everything you made would be a giant cube of guns," she snorted.

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Not necessarily," she drawled, "Just not, you know, the most…aesthetically…good," she finished lamely.

"Uh huh," Mann rolled his eyes at the old argument. "Anyway, I've tagged the rest of the artifact locations with troops, so even if Amon or one of his cronies decides to go after them early, then I can drop a few metric fuck-tons of firepower on them."

Yuriko chuckled before flicking her finger at the light switch, causing the rest of the room to dim.

"Only a few?"

"It could be more than a few," he admitted. "Anyway, how was school today?"

"It went well. I'm getting better," she smiled, even if it was now in relative darkness save for the dim illumination of the holographic projection. "Not, you know, stronger necessarily, but…it feels good to be like this again."

"They really put the military in you, huh?" Mann's tone was joking, but even then…

"I suppose they did," she murmured. "Is it so wrong to appreciate the discipline? The…"

"Comradery, and the…yeah, I get it."

"I can't just hate everything about my existence," Yuriko sighed, though she wondered about that as she stared at the ceiling.

"It's not a pleasant feeling, no," was Mann's almost inaudible reply.

"But," Yuriko blinked slowly as she summoned visible psychic energies into a small ball above her which flickered and crackled, "I don't know how long I'll be here. How much longer, I mean."

"I told you, you can take as long as you want, remember?"

The orb began to slowly spin in place.

"I remember, but…,"

"Yuriko."

She let the orb disappear and looked at him again.

Mann had, despite being a holographic projection, leaned back against the door to her quarters. His face, when not keeping up the boisterous pirate exterior, had drooped back into the same tired expression of, well, Guy, from before. It didn't matter that he had entirely different facial features now, in this moment, he looked like Guy to her. But then he smiled, and shrugged, his hands in his pockets.

"We have all the time in the world, Yuriko. Don't worry about it. You could, hell, you could go to a university or whatever here, get a few doctorates, and all that."

"I know. I just…feel like I'm the one who is being frivolous. Coming here. Making you do what you had to in order to get me here."

Mann shrugged again.

"It's no trouble. Believe me, I've had more than enough of trying to do 'higher purpose' stuff to last me a lot of lifetimes and over two galaxies."

The darkness in his voice gave her pause, as it always did when they skirted this topic, but this time she forged ahead just slightly.

"But…you're still…doing good here, right?"

"Well…," Mann shifted uneasily, "I suppose. The Dominion in and of itself isn't…bad, it's just run by a maniac, who employs maniacs. Amon is blatantly evil, what with the whole wiping life out entirely thing…I mean…,"

"You don't have to save everyone at once, you know," she offered up, though she swore she saw another mixture of emotions she couldn't immediately identify cross across his face.

"Slow and steady…cause that's never gone badly for me. Yeah, yeah, I guess. But enough about me, seriously, how was your day?"

She knew he was redirecting, but…well.

Like he said.

They had time.

"Well, they brought in a few new psychics who were born on some of the worlds within the Protectorate, not Umoja itself, and I swear…,"

She pretended to not notice how relieved he was as they spoke of smaller things.
 
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88 - A Pedestal
88 - A Pedestal​

"And…bang."

In point of fact, there was no bang to speak of. The silencer of the rifle, aided by engineering secrets that had probably cost ludicrous amounts of time and money, ensured that the bullet which exited the barrel slammed directly into the neck of the guard. The effects were instant, the only noise to be heard at all the general nightlife that already existed in the usual urban environment. As the guard toppled over backwards, the air itself seemed to shift before he hit the ground, instead slowly being lowered further and then dragged into the shadows of the alley the guard had emerged from.

"And he's down," the shooter's lips curled into a smirk, unseen within his helmet. "Straight in the heart, Minerva."

"I can see that, Pericles. In fact, I'm holding his body right now," a girl's voice spoke up in his ear in a breathless murmur, "Maybe next time you want to wait for when he's out of the streetlight's radius?"

Pericles rolled his eyes, slowly swiveling the scope elsewhere across the warehouse instead of answering. He'd hit the target, no one had seen it happen, so what was the problem?

"I know you heard me, Pericles…you know what? Whatever. Infiltrating now. Cross?"

A green light blinked in both of their HUDs, once, then a second time.

"At least he's professional," Minerva sighed. "Going silent."

With a tap to his tac-visor Pericles blinked as he watched thermal scans arrive in his vision. Even then he could not actually see any sillouettes that would be either of his teammates,

"Yeah, good luck guys," Pericles sighed before setting back on his heels, hands splayed out behind him while he lolled his head about.

From here, visor flicking through various scan-channels, he watched as the bodies within the warehouse patrolled back and forth. Despite part of him twitching to get in there, instead he was reduced to simply observing as a body twitched as it heard something, only to suddenly start flailing as they were choked. In point of fact, he watched for a solid minute as guards were knocked out, dragged into shadows, and so on and so forth before he rolled his eyes and began to rock back and forth to get the tired kinks out of his shoulders. Eventually they got far enough into the building that he couldn't see them anymore, and after another cursory scan across the outside of the warehouse with his scope he leaned back and sighed as he stared up at the starry sky of Umoja, flicking off the various vision-types in favor of 'natural vision' so he could properly look at the sky.

"Can't believe I got stuck on overwatch duty. 'Ooh, Pericles, you're the best one for the job', screw yourself Minnie, you just wanted to be on a job with Cross, you-,"

He barely had time to react when another body shimmered into existence standing above him, multi-vision visor managing to catch the sigil of the Dominion upon the breast before two hands came crashing down on top of him. Pericles had enough time to inhale but before he could call out, he was down, a knife gliding across his neck. The multi-vision visor's faint electrical gleam faded away as its power was cut from the environmental suit it had been connected to. Pericles tried to struggle, the metal beneath them pinging slightly as he was dragged down, but it was for naught.

==================================​

"Fucking dipshit," Minerva growled beneath her breath. "Can't believe I got assigned him for this."

All of this was muffled into silence by her helmet, but even so she just couldn't stop herself.

"Checking the upper levels," the guard coming up the stores crackled onto the comms, the signal long intercepted by her own systems and the fact that she'd integrated the protocols of their entire system from the first one she'd taken down.

"Check this, prick," she hummed as he walked past the crate she had crouched behind.

Her arm snaked around the woman's throat and dragged back, while her free hand pushed out and then slammed back into the solar plexus in a fist. The guard managed a quiet 'oof' as all of their air was driven out of their lungs, but managed to struggle a little longer before the tranquilizer kicked in. For a moment, Minerva marveled at the new tech that had been integrated into her suit, trying to squint and see the needles that had been pressed into the knuckles, before shaking her head and moving on. From here, in the crosswalks that moved about the second floor of the warehouse, she could see dozens of men and women unloading crates from the previously unmarked truck against the walls and into other containers.

"Right, let's see what we've got here," she hummed, minute eyeflicks to a specific corner of her vision within the visor making it toggle.

Circles began to flicker into existence around the crates scattered around the place as the limited AI began to scan their contents, while squares appeared over the weapons carried by the enemy with their own small descriptors. Frustratingly, yet reasonably, the damn truck itself was still somehow shielded from scans which was why they'd been sent out here in the first place. If they could have properly caught it at the starport, this mission wouldn't even have been needed. But then, that's why they existed in the first place.

"Guns and bombs. It's always guns and bombs."

Which was when a full suit of CMC armor stomped out of the back of the truck, her vision suddenly filled with warning signs and a faint tinny alarm.

"Except when it's not, damn it," she swore as she crept further into the shadows. "Okay, so insurgents just got themselves some fucking heavy duty shit, fuck."

On the open battlefield, it was easy to forget that a full set of CMC armor was a terrifying juggernaut of metal and death for anyone who wasn't in one themselves. Or a tank or goliath or something. To unarmored civilians, they were damn near invulnerable. They easily shrugged off most civilian weapons, unless that civilian had an impaler rifle, but even then a single suit of armor could transform an otherwise easy riot into a bloodbath. Unless it wasn't for a protest at all, but was something more sinister.

"Okay, okay, so…," she flicked her comm, "Cross, we've got a problem. The insurgents have got themselves a CMC," she looked over the thin metal sheet on the walkway she crouched behind only to curse again as more suits exited the truck, "Okay, more than one. I'm seeing…three total."

A single green blink winked in the corner of her vision.

"Okay, no, Cross, I need words right now, all right? None of this silent 'I think I'm a badass' bullshit."

The comm crackled with a sullen and low-pitched voice.

"Fine. I'm coming in, the back is clear, happy?"

"Do I sound happy, asshole?!" she hissed back before looking over the walkway again, "Okay, hold on, they're talking."

Immediately Cross's whining reply was minimized in her ears, her helmet suddenly refocusing and straining itself to record every word it could from below.

"Three today, but more are coming," said the first one who had exited while gesturing at his two fellows. "How are things on your end?"

The leader of the insurgents shrugged, long wavy blonde hair swaying with the movement. All of the insurgents, actually, were rather surprisingly high-class looking citizens. Few of them at all wore the coveralls of maintenance workers or street bums and the like, which Command had figured were the more likely make-up of the insurgency in the first place. It was rare to see people wearing suits or at the least more middling class wear for something like this. Weren't these people supposed to be satisfied with their lives, instead of stirring up trouble? Unless they were infiltrators, Minerva mused. It wasn't too unlikely.

"Going well. It's not necessarily what I trained for, back in the Confederacy, but it's still workable. Tighten the screws, make the populace dissatisfied…that sort of thing? Easy enough, plus," he gestured at the golden watch on his wrist, an authentic actual fully metal thing instead of something more advanced, "The perks of all the extra cash are pretty good."

"Well don't mess things up too much," the CMC-wearer, "We want this colony functional for us when the Dominion gets to come swooping in to save it from their ineffectual and corrupt Umojan rulers."

Minerva rolled her eyes, even as her heart raced.

"Oh, yeah, and the Dominion's better," she scoffed. "Cross you in here yet?"

She let a moment pass, trusting the suit to keep recording the enemy's conversation, but blinked as she did not receive even an acknowledgement light on her HUD.

"Cross?"

It was then that something grabbed her arm, and forced her hand into a fist before planting it squarely into her own throat. The tranquilizer needles still hadn't been retracted from when she'd first activated them, and Minerva swore again and again in her mind as they injected the potent tranquilizer into her. Darkness welled up in her vision even as she was laid to the ground.

=====================================
Loud blaring alarms woke her up, and Minerva blinked rapidly at the bright lights above her. All around her the colony was disappearing, fading away as the holographic projectors shut themselves off one by one. Definite features slowly slid away into bright blue outlines that then flickered off as she groaned and slowly sat up. For a moment there was vertigo before she centered herself.

"What happened?" she finally woozily got out.

"We got wiped, is what," Pericles snorted, and she glanced up to find him leaning back against the lip of the building they'd begun the mission on, one of the few around them that wasn't actually part of the simulation.

A long red line of paint had been traced along his throat, as well as multiple points along his chest, marking where the knife had gone on him. Without his helmet, the pale nineteen year-old looked even younger than normal, scratching irritably at the scruff on his jaw. Both of his eyes had gained black and purple circles around them, deep enough to make her wince at the sight.

"Wiped is one way to call it, I guess," she admitted as she glanced around her at the other officers of the Shadowguard Academy moving about in the open now.

Down below all the guards they had taken out were on their feet and in their own debriefing before their commanding officer in the street between the warehouse and the apartment building. Minerva glanced at them for a moment before turning around to look at the rest of the Shadowguard who were busily discussing amongst themselves. There weren't more than ten of them on the roof, but even so she felt herself in awe. This wasn't the Dominion, this was Umoja, to see a single Shadowguard was one of the rarest things that could possibly happen. To see this many, at once? Only possible at the Academy itself.

And she'd disappointed every single one of them, the heroes she'd been aspiring to join the moment she'd first manifested her powers.

"Hey," she said after a second more of looking around, "Where's Cross?"

"Medical," Pericles shrugged, "Also we can stop using our codenames now, you know."

"Oh, sure thing Todd," Minerva rolled her eyes, "You can call yourself however you like. Me? I like my name."

"Well yeah, Billie," he snorted, though he immediately shrank back as she whirled on him, a fist raised with a faint bit of crackling psychic power around it. "Woah, woah, sorry!"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped at him. She hated that name.

Minerva was a Shadowguard-to-be, a woman who was going to be the best Shadowguard in the history of the Protectorate. A super soldier, a history-maker and taker amongst all covert ops. A sophisticated, educated, and amazing woman who was certainly not Billie from some ass-backwards farm in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere.

"Anyway, what happened to Cross?"

"He got hit hard," Todd shrugged. "I got a nice knife along my throat and in my lungs, you got punched with your own special little 'sleepy fist'," she clenched said fist and considered whalloping him with it, "And Cross…apparently just got smashed into the ground really hard. Broke a few of his ribs."

"Wait," she frowned, "By what? I didn't hear anything, and I saw the CMC armor that came out-,"

"Correct," a stern voice interrupted, yet it was one that put ice in her spine and forced her body into a hard salute in the direction of the speaker. Todd scrambled up as well only a second behind. "You saw the CMC armor. However, you did not see the enemy Ghost," the Headmaster flicked his eyes in Todd's direction, "Which was able to take out your overwatch, then Operative Cross, and finally yourself."

"Headmaster, sir, I," Todd began to speak before visibly withering beneath the gaze of the Headmaster.

"You have failed in your mission. The enemy will continue to stir up signs of revolt, dissatisfaction with Umojan leadership, interest in Dominion leadership, and they will have three Shadowguard bodies as proof of whatever the hell they desire to say," the Headmaster began steadily, each word plodding forth methodically without pause from his mouth, "Overwatch showed low situational awareness, did not check surroundings, set up no countermeasures for potential enemy agents with stealth capabilities. Infiltration team showed little communication," he held up his hand to forestall Minerva's immediate objection that she had tried where Cross hadn't, "It doesn't matter that you tried, it matters that you failed. Rest assured Minerva that Cross will be suitably disciplined for his behavior. But you are the one who was equipped with experimental weaponry and became so fascinated with it that you didn't even trigger the simple command of retracting it after use," the Headmaster loomed over her.

After standing there in utter silence, doing her best not to shiver for a full sixty seconds in utter silence, the Headmaster turned slightly to face…another body shimmering out of stealth. Though they wore what was either an appropriated Dominion stealth suit or a very good Umojan imitation of one, they were utterly silent as they looked in the direction of the team they had destroyed. Minerva felt only a little bit better that the form-fitting weave indicated a woman, if she had to hear from fucking Todd about boys versus girls in psychic ability she would punch him in the balls. Especially that the entire mission had begun to fall apart because of his inability to stay attentive.

"Operative Toyotama, your assessment?"

Minerva struggled not to begin swearing again in front of the Headmaster as fucking Yuriko Thirteen took off her helmet, shaking it slightly so that her black hair unbunched from where it had been stuffed inside the helmet. The worst thing in the lives of almost every single person in the Shadowguard Academy who moved beyond civilian life training into actual military applications looked at Minerva with her terrifying almond-shaped eyes. Todd, for his part, did in fact make an audible if undecipherable noise. It was too late for him, both the Headmaster and Yuriko had heard it and both likely made note of it.

"Of the three?" the most powerful psychic on Umoja raised an eyebrow as she looked them over.

Minerva hated Yuriko Thirteen with a fiery passion that even now she was working overtime to conceal psychically. Who ever heard of someone as old as her just showing up out of nowhere? Much less the insane amount of telekinetic power she possessed – everyone still told the story of the time she pulled a battlecruiser down to new arrivals – or the way she'd blitzed through her classes. Some people, like Todd who was so utterly sure he could charm her somehow, said that it was just because she'd started with a larger base of education, so obviously she'd burn through the basics classes. Others, like her, knew that Yuriko was practically fucking lobotomized at the beginning when it came to anything telepathic. The fact that some of the veteran Shadowguard had vomited their brains out during her 'oh-so-special-testing' only cemented the problem. But now? Ugh. A year and she'd somehow aced her way into full Operative status except not because she wasn't! Because the fucking Council said so, of course.

"Minerva deserves to advance," Yuriko gave a small nod, "The other two need more remedial training."

Wait.

"What?" Minerva stared at the Headmaster. "I don't…"

"This was an assessment, Minerva. You passed…barely, but you passed," the Headmaster nodded slowly as Minerva's eyes widened further and further. "That was my decision, but Toyotama was called in to give her own thoughts considering she was more recently in your position than any other."

"You have a habit of getting distracted, but you were largely hamstrung in this mission by your teammates than anything else," Yuriko nodded, before tilting her head slightly in the Headmaster's direction. "You don't have to keep calling me Toyotama, you know. I'm not exactly factory standard when it comes to Shadowguard ranking."

"Humor me, it makes me feel better when I have to think about how you're actually not one of my Shadowguard," the Headmaster replied expressionlessly.

Minerva knew she was goggling, and hated it, but couldn't quite manage to stop it.

Yuriko Thirteen shrugged and slowly began to step backward, still facing them all.

"Whatever floats your boat," she shrugged as the suit shimmered and she disappeared.

There wasn't even the telltale flicker of psychic power that normally heralded the usage of such a stealth-unit.

"Minerva," the Headmaster spoke, a hand coming down on her shoulder.

"S-sir," she yelled, turning away from the now gone Yuriko and back towards him.

"You are moving up in class, but don't think that things will be any easier," he told her firmly, looking her right in the eyes.

"Yes sir!"

====================================
"Well, that was…something," Yuriko rolled her shoulders back and forth as she rode the shuttle out of the Academy.

Part of her understood the reason why the suits were form-fitting. It was necessary for the psycho-reactive synthetic cells built into the suit to be able to completely mask the wearer when properly synched with their own psychic abilities. On the other hand, it was really formfitting. Mann had said that he was looking into getting apparent better suits, but either they weren't developed yet or he just wasn't able to get access to them yet.

"Mann," she sighed, not even bothering with going through the effort of clicking on a comm system or otherwise. Instead she simply talked to the open air of the shuttle's innards as it flew on.

Which, to be fair, was reasonable when the shuttle was one of Mann's units. It was him, for lack of a better word, as far as she understood it. Most of his units were divided out under sophisticated droid minds, but he could still wrest personal control over any of them.

"Yeah?" his voice finally echoed out of the internal speakers. "How did it go?"

"You saw how it went," she rolled her eyes, "I won, they didn't."

"You know, I'd think you'd be happier about excelling so much," he replied, and she could feel the eyebrow in the phrase even if it came from a disembodied machine intelligence.

"I was already a psychic commando," she reminded him, "Even if it turned out to be more like a psychic tank than anything else, I know the mindset. Intimately."

"True," Mann noted as he idly made the shuttle swing back and forth enough that Yuriko could feel it through the internal inertial dampeners, "I guess you are punching up through a bunch of kiddies most of the time."

"They resent me for it, so that's fun too," she grunted as she stretched out her legs, sprawling backwards into the plushy synthetic leather seats. "Nothing like being a total outcast in an entire academy of people who are like me."

"I've told you again and again, if you want to leave-,"

"I know, Mann. You'll take me out the moment I want out, but it's not that."

A small martini glass extended out from some hidden compartment on a thin little metal arm, and Yuriko rolled her eyes before smiling and taking it.

"What is it, then?"

"All my life, I wondered what it would be like to be around other psychics," she mused, sipping idly from the glass he'd offered her, "My only other encounters were from my clones…and we looked across the planet, right?"

"Right…?"

"And now I'm here," she gestured in the vague direction of the Academy, "And…"

"It's not what you expected. It's what you wanted, or at least you thought it was," Mann finished, his jovial voice turning somber.

Yuriko's smile simmered into a flat line, and she drank the rest of the martini in one go before flicking it back into the waiting grasp of the little mechanical hand which had given it to her.

"…yes. Normal people feared my abilities because they could not understand them. Now I am amongst those who do, and they still fear me. I'm too strong, I'm faster, have shields they can't make, I'm better."

"Lonely at the top," Mann hummed. "I know what that's like."

And then they didn't say anything at all for a few minutes as he flew her back to the capital.

"So how is your thing with Mengsk's wife?" she asked suddenly, the thought having idly entered her head.

"Juliana Pasteur?" he sounded surprised, "She's fine. Healed her up all nice and stuff, an anonymous usage of 'unknown protoss technology' is how the Council is going to phrase it to anyone who asks."

"And they're not going to try and take it from you?"

"The Council…," he made a noise that might have been a cough, "They aren't stupid. They know what I could probably bring down, probably have crazy back-up plans and emergency back-up plans about me if I go off on them. I'm bankrolling three different large pirate groups across the Sector, have shoved entire planet's worth of Tal'darim tech down their throats, some minor stuff I looted off of Aiur-,"

"The two ark-ships you showed me are a little bigger than minor, Mann," she interjected.

His response was to jiggle the shuttle in a massive version of what she supposed was a shrug.

"Eh. Everyone was dead on them anyway, and besides which I can't even use most of the regular protoss tech because it's all fucking psionics based. Maybe you can, but…I dunno."

Yuriko thought about it before dismissing the idea.

"Not until I'm done training here. But this Juliana woman, do we know how this might affect Arcturus and Valerian's relationship?"

"Honestly," Mann sighed, "I don't know...though knowing Arcturus I'm going to bet not a lot at all. Valerian, I'm less sure about. What does it say that she's alive, yet Valerian still went with Arcturus back to Korhal?"

Yuriko shrugged, knowing he could see it.

"How should I know? I'm not an expert in psychology."

"Yeah, well," Mann moved on, "I'm mostly staying out of Dominion space, as you well know. Sure, I nibble at the sides, but only here and there. I'm mostly focused on building up for whatever the fuck Amon might do, building my forces…,"

"Getting into big shootouts at Deadman's Port," she half sang, lips curling again.

"…yes, that as well. It's fine, it should be fine."

"Hmm, I suppose. But basically you're doing nothing until I'm done?"

"That's about right. You've got plenty to learn, still."

"That I do," she admitted, before snapping her fingers for another martini. "How is Dude?"

"Oh Dude is fine, I found a patch of Tarsonis away from anyone else, let her run around on a planet instead of a spaceship for a while…,"

Yuriko did her best to relax, letting Mann's chatter flow over her. Yes, she still had more to learn. But still, she welcomed the fact that she was allowed to leave the Academy when she wished. While Mann might have been off doing who knew what, she was happy to eat enough for the both of them.
 
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89 - Plate Spinning
89 - Plate Spinning​

Gehenna Station burned. Even with the Spectre Rebellion having access to some of the most powerful cloaking technology in the Korprulu Sector, even with all of the planning they'd done, they had been found. The Annihilators were here, and everything was falling apart. One of the most dangerous forces in all of the Dominion was attacking them all, and they couldn't seem to stop them. Worse, one of the biggest and most notorious pirate groups in all of the sector had decided that today was the day to actually follow through on their ridiculous mission statement. Everyone knew that the situation had completely blown its way out of anything they had thought it might be at the start of the day. Tosh knew for a fact that he hadn't thought that some of the Confederates would make their play today. Or that they would lead the Annihilators here. But none of that mattered right now, not their little rebellion or Mengsk or any of that.

"Dylanna," he growled, psionically squeezing on the woman's neck, "Where is Kath!"

"She's…she's dead, I swear," the ghost-turned-spectre gasped out, "Nova killed her!"

"Impossible!"

Gabriel roared, and squeezed harder, not caring in the slightest as her skin purpled beneath his powers.

"I…swear…Tosh…!"

"I can still feel her," he hissed, stumbling slightly as Gehenna Station rumbled from another hit. "She's not dead!"

Both of the spectres were sent flying as the walls exploded around them.

"Right you are, bucko!"

Gabriel blinked blearily, seeing vision of the loa dancing everywhere in his blurred vision, before focusing on the sight in front of him. A man who might have once been from Haji stood in front of both of them, a black tricorn hat with a red feather in it on his head, with Kath held tightly in his arms. Smoke trailed off of his body, as well as multiple impaler rounds stuck across his body, but Kath was safe and clearly breathing. That was enough to get him off of his feet, only to be forced to almost fall again as his love was tossed like a sack of potatoes into his arms.

"Right, you fucks are making me do a lot of shit of the cuff here, god damn it," the new man yelled, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Okay, here's the deal, Toshy boy. Your man Cole is actually another man named Jackson, who is the head of Nova Squadron, aka part of the Dominion. You got played. He tried to fry her brain there," he pointed at Kath.

Which was about when Tosh stopped listening, and turned on a suddenly pale-faced Dylanna, dragging her to him with his powers along the hard and now shrapnel filled ground.

"Did you know," he screamed in her face. "Did you?!"

"Holy shit you guys are unstable as fuck. Have you people not been taking jorium with the terrazine? Is that what this is?"

Even as Kath stirred by his feet, he shook Dylanna again.

"Did you know?!"

She stammered for words, but he didn't care anymore, and with a snarl on his lips began to dig into her mind. Dylanna screamed, but he didn't care, and burned through her angry jealous memories of Nova earlier, practically frying her neurons as he arrived at the most recent memories. Of Cole claiming he had no use for Kath, of Dylanna doing nothing as Cole killed her – or at least thought he had. By the time he let her go, Dylanna was half-dead, mewling in pain before him. He ignored Grandma Tosh as she appeared just out of sight again, her face twisting into the images of the loa, even though she clapped happily for what he had done.

"Yeah. I know. Big surprise, she was a bit of a jerk. Okay, now, seriously, we need to pick this up," the new man said, before there was a flash of light and Tosh blinked again at the sudden change in surroundings.

In one instant to the next, he had been on Gehenna Station. Now…it looked like a med bay of some sort.

"What the hell – who are – where am I?"

"Tosh?"

He turned, and then he knew, knew for a fact, that he was going insane. Jara and Karl stood in front of him, and even without their hazard suits on he could tell it was them. It was almost impossible to fake a psionic signature, and he felt their minds and bodies and knew it was them alive again. It was the same thing with Kath. Even though Dylanna said she was dead, he knew he could feel her presence. Except that was then, and this was now, and he knew for certain he'd watched and felt Jara and Karl die. Yet there they stood all the same. Was this it? Was this death? Had he passed over and not known it? Was the man in the hat a loa? Kath groaned, and his thoughts whirled again to only her as he helped her stand.

"I can't even imagine what you're feeling right now, and I'm not planning on figuring it out," the maybe-loa said, drawing the attention of all four of them. "But the skinny is, is that Cole aka Jack aka Nova Squadron's leader is kind of making all kinds of trouble. He wanted you to blame Nova for killing Kath, which I stopped by way of replacement of her body with a really good replica. We're lucky he's a bit frazzled at the thought of nuclear annihilation, I guess."

"Who – who are you," Kath finally said, hand going to her forehead as Tosh helped her sit down in some chairs.

"I'm the man with no plan," the stranger cried, throwing his hands up as he yelled. "Get yourselves re-acquainted. Yes, they were dead. Now they're alive again. As long as there's a brain, and it hasn't been that long, and there's enough of the body left, I can bring them back. Blame it on, I dunno, the Xel'Naga or whatever."

As light shimmered around the man, they heard a distinct 'Fuck' being shouted before he disappeared entirely.

=========================​

Jackson Hauler was not having a good day. First, the goddamn Confederates had shown up. Then the Annihilators. Then Nova Terra had escaped. Now the entire station was under attack from two sides, and falling apart, and on fire. By the time he'd tracked the damned bitch down, she'd almost found the chambers. Then as they fought they had ended up in them regardless! Fucking Terra, fucking Mengsk, fucking Kelerchian! Even as he'd revealed his plans, demanded her allegiance, he'd known she would refuse. Even if she had said yes he knew he would have had to kill her. But at least he had a knife to Kelerchian's throat.

"Get in the fucking indoctrinator, Nova! Or I cut his throat, right here, right now!"

Gehenna rocked again, but he held the knife firm against the unmoving wrangler's neck. Nova's eyes flicked to the knife and up at his eyes, but at least he had her. He had to have had her. She was one of the most powerful ghosts alive, he needed her if he was going to salvage any of this bullshit.

"FUCKING GOD DAMN IT!"

All three of them looked as a seven-foot man with chocolate colored skin kicked his way through one of the walls, tearing apart the bulkhead with his bare hands. Throughout it all, the massive hat he wore stayed firm, red feather bouncing cheerfully as he snarled forward. The massive captain's coat he wore trailed along the ground, his singed chest exposed to the open air while heavy camo colored pants smoked. Bare feet stomped over the broken metal of the wall before the man stopped, staring up at them. His lips peeled back before he raised his hand, and Jack was wholly unprepared for his knife being ripped out of his grip and flying towards the man. There had been no sign of psionic usage either – but then Kelerchian had planted his elbow in Jack's throat and dodged forward, while Nova leaped forward, smashing into him and cracking the back of his head on one of the pods.

Both began exchanging telekinetic waves, shattering more and more of the indoctrinators as their fight continued. He was barely able to take in the sight of Kelerchian being helped to his feet by the new arrival as Nova did her best to kill him. Her lips had peeled back into an animalistic snarl as she grappled with him, repeatedly trying to kill him with psionic blasts that he was barely able to redirect. In turn, as he responded in kind, she either blocked each strike or sent them flying elsewhere. All around them glass shattered as the chamber began to fall apart along with the rest of the station.

The last thing that he heard was a bellowed curse, and then he was staring at the stars themselves.

No noise escaped his lungs as he attempted to scream, the cold embrace of the void already overtaking him. Spinning slightly in space, he turned and saw as the station's stealth fully failed, a good two thirds of it completely destroyed already. The Palatine remained in orbit, though there were ten more battlecruisers present painted with the flag of the Confederacy. Desperately he whirled back and forth, trying to do something, anything, as the darkness encroached, but there was nothing close enough for him to grasp psionically, much less physically. His eyes bugged as he died, hands twisted into almost claws as he screamed silently while death claimed him. He didn't see as more Dominion ships arrived, firing upon the Confederate ships, or as the Palatine began to lift away from the station, flanked by Confederate ships, all warping out as Gehenna Station erupted from nuclear charges placed within.

============================
When Tosh awoke again, the visions were gone. Maman Therese, the God of Death from Haji, was gone. Her whispered words did not fill his ears as they had been for so long. Grandma Tosh was gone too. In fact, all of the visions were gone. Instead they were replaced with a thudding migraine that made him groan at the simple effort of sitting up. Blearily, he looked around the same med-bay they'd been in before, his eyes latching on the similarly sleeping bodies of Kath and all but one of the team that had nearly killed Mengsk. Sloan. Jara. Caleb. Karl. And not just them either. Other spectres, those he knew were also recently dead, alive again. Some were not there, like Dylanna – and he felt his fists curl with rage at the thought of that bitch even now – but most were. All of them, spectres.

Gas, terrazine gas, filtered throughout the air, but it didn't taste or feel like it had before. It was dulled somehow. Dulled like the first few inhalations had been back when all of this had started. He breathed deep, and let it flow in him regardless. Anything to help chase away the weakness that clung to his limbs and the fog in his mind. A flicker of light, and he stared once more at the man who had brought them all here. Slowly his memories started to lock into place once more, and he tried to stand and yell only to collapse the moment he left the bed.

"My name is Mann. Man, with an extra n on the end," the stranger said, hands clasped behind his back at something approaching parade rest. "The gas filtering into this chamber is heavily inundated with jorium. As it turns out, thanks to your friend Lio Travski - and Hauler's reports - I've learned the reason you dumbasses got so crazy lately."

Tosh glared up, indignant anger rising him, but stayed silent.

"Turns out, you weren't taking your jorium properly. Hence, the intense instability. Seriously, what were you thinking?" Mann sucked his teeth slightly before shrugging. "I'm no psychic, so maybe it just tastes better for the brain or whatever. Still. I didn't know all the details of this bullshittery before it almost entirely went down, so I couldn't get here in time to fix most stuff. But…eh," Mann wiggled his hand at Tosh. "Here's the skinny, big man."

Then Mann took out a hefty dataslate and tossed it to Tosh, who was barely able to get his hands in place to catch it.

"Cole Bennett wasn't who you thought you were. And your rebellion wasn't going to get what you thought it would. Sorry man."

"W-where are we," Tosh finally ground out. "Why…why am I…"

"I'd say a mixture of the tranquilizers in the air and the exhaustion is making you like that. As to where we're going…we're off to a world just outside of the Korprulu Sector."

Tosh dragged himself to his feet, trying to clear his thoughts and only just managing to do so.

"Why? You…you think you're gonna make us your tools too, is that it?"

Mann raised an eyebrow.

"I have no need for idiots who don't take their treatment schedules seriously or who hallucinate and go insane at the drop of a hat. No I'm simply taking you to a world where you can have a chat with your buddies, and think about what your next plan is without the chance of anyone from the Korprulu Sector finding you."

Tosh had no answer for that. But he did have another question.

"Is…is it true that you brought Kath back to life, from the dead?"

Mann gave him a curt nod.

"Yeah. If the conditions are right. For the most part… Maman," he spoke the God of Death's name fearlessly, "Has no hold on me."

Tosh's fingers curled tightly around the dataslate.

"What about Nova. And…Lio?"

"Lio departed into the datastream, dissipated himself entirely," Mann shrugged again. "Not quite dead, not quite alive anymore either. Nova? She and Malcom are gone. Now lie back and get some rest, let your brain reset. I didn't heal all of you jerkwads for you to ruin it."

He was gone when Tosh nearly dropped the dataslate again, it's blank surface revealing that his milky-white eyes had transformed back to how they had before Nova had blasted his brain.

==========================================​

"Holy shit this is stressful."

Nova jerked away from where she and Malcom had been talking, hands…going for no weapons at all, because she didn't have any. The glass wall between them would have been easy to break, but the five marines who watched them with guns at the ready had dissuaded her. Even if she had been able to summon up the psionic force necessary, which she for some reason was struggling with even now, she didn't know where they were or what would happen if she did. Malcom had been the one to come up with the plan – such as it was – to just wait for information. She'd tried punching the glass, but it didn't even wobble. A full half of the room had been relegated to the two of them, only for their half to be divided in the middle. In the doorway to the room, utterly nondescript except for the wall separating them and the marines, stood the man who'd somehow kicked down a full foot of steel.

"Hey there November, Mr. Kelerchian," the man bowed slightly, doffing his hat before placing it back on his head. "Sorry for the glass, but I couldn't risk you getting your head all whizzy with terrazine, my man."

Nova's eyes widened as she breathed deeply, feeling the terrazine tingling along as it made its way down into her lungs and bloodstream. Only once she'd realized what she had done she began to cough, trying to eject it somehow even though she knew it was too late.

"Hey, woah, don't freak out, you've got plenty of jorium in there. Plus, you know, tranquilizers," the stranger sighed. "Uh, anyway, I'm Mann, I rescued you, got rid of Cole slash Hauler, broke open Gehenna…lots of stuff today that I wasn't planning on. I mean, fuck, I'd found a planet that was essentially one big field for Dude and then I get wind of some idiots trying to off Mengsk IN HIS PALACE!"

The shout was inhumanly loud. It was enough to shake the glass barrier, even.

"Wait…I know that name. Mann? As in MannCo?" Malcom uncrouched from where the shout had sent him, his gaze clear despite everything. "You're with those terrorists?"

"Oh, you mean the Virginian Revenge? They're just pirates."

Malcom narrowed his eyes, making Mann sigh and roll his eyes.

"Yes, I'm 'with' them. Insomuch as that General Lee answers to me. Sometimes."

"One of the richest men in the sector, from nowhere, and you're in control of the largest group of Confederate remnants? That's no coincidence, is it."

Nova stared at Mann, struggling to think through the tranquilizers and the terrazine. Every other blink brought her purpled images of the past, a past she had done everything she could do to forget. She heard voices and distant noises but couldn't tell who was speaking or what the noises were of. At least Malcom wasn't nearly as chemically befuddled, even if he was at all. She could at least hear his mind, shining like a beacon, while the rest of this ship was as empty of psionics somehow as the stars themselves.

"What are you trying to say, sir?" Mann's amusement was palpable.

"You're from the Old Families. A survivor, somehow," Malcom declared, hands coming up against the glass blocking him off from the rest of the room. "I don't know how, but with the records destroyed on Tarsonis, you could be from any of them – especially with surgery. It's not like you'd walk around declaring it to anyone who would listen, not with the Dominion in control."

Mann laughed, a full bellied guffaw, though it was nowhere near as loud as the shout which had practically rattled her bones had been.

"Is that what I am?" Mann feigned wiping a tear from his eye. "Really now."

"The other two pirate groups…those that just appeared - the Scions and Kids. It makes sense now. The news reports them as separate groups, and you've even staged engagements between them, but they are all part of the same group, aren't they?" Malcom pointed at Mann. "You're another James Raynor, out for revenge against the Emperor."

Mann only laughed again.

"Ah…close, but no cigar, Mr. Kelerchian."

The massive man strode forth, and for a moment Nova's mind flashed with thoughts of Tosh as he loomed, but Mann was both taller and wider than the spectre had ever been. He stood in front of Malcom's cell, hands quickly folding behind his back within the oversized captain's coat.

"I own them, yes. The Virginian Revenge, Kurtz' Kids, and the Scions of Anarchy are mine. But mistake my intentions, sir. I have no desire for 'revenge' against Mengsk. He never did but nothing to me. It's the things he's done and is doing to others that bothers me."

Malcom sighed, and walked away, sitting on the small bench he'd been provided in the cell.

"Great. Another conspiracy theorist."

Mann laughed again, and once again Nova felt disquieted by the slightly artificial tinge to it.

"Nah. You're the ones blinded by propaganda. But that's okay. We've got time."

At the word 'time' a massive screen slowly lowered before them, while the glass wall separating Nova from Malcom slid away. They reunited quickly, only to realize that the glass wall between them and Mann was still present. Then the screen crackled, speakers lowering down to rest along its sides.

And then they heard the voice of the Emperor.

"You don't seem to realize my situation here. I will not be stopped. Not by you, or the Confederates, or the Protoss, or anyone. I will rule this sector or see it burnt to ashes around me!"

They both froze at the terrible wrath in that voice, and stared at Mann who walked around the side of the screen.

"Welcome to MannCo's Deprogramming Process, Yuriko Module. Or, as I like to call it, 'The Truth And Nothing But The Truth'," his tone was jovial, even if he wasn't smiling anymore, his face in fact entirely expressionless.

Then the screen flickered again, and began to play footage from some camera or another. The fact that it was of Mengsk's office on Korhal Prime was what was more horrifying than anything.

"Food will be teleported into your cells. Toilets will appear as needed, with an opaque wall separating you when necessary to relieve yourselves. But other than that…get ready for the show of your lives. We're going to take a trip through the muck that is in the very bones of the Dominion, of Mengsk's crimes, and what you've been fighting for all this time. And why it currently isn't much worth your time."

And then the footage began to play.

Within an hour Nova felt all she knew about the Dominion crumble away inside of her own brain.

=================================================​

"So it turns out I didn't know everything I thought I did."

Yuriko paused from where she was looking over her rifle to glance up at Mann's projection. He wore no giant tricorn hat, and in fact was sitting down on a chair suspiciously bereft of overt ornamentation, the usual smile he wore gone entirely. For a moment she glanced around, confirming that no one else was present, eyes dancing on the apartment's defensive systems to make sure that no bugs were present and no listening devices were currently attempting to penetrate its baffles.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…I guess I can't know everything. There was this…Ramsey guy? And a protoss preserver? I wasn't even really aware of it until it was over and done with – because I can't fucking track the protoss flitting around with all their psionic crap. Even with the additional stuff I've got from the Alterans and Wraith. And then there was Project Shadowblade."

She cocked her head at him before returning to fiddling with her gun. It wasn't even close to the weaponry that Mann had access to, she knew that, but it was the best that Umoja could offer. By now the Headmaster was taking it as a point of pride that she was as Shadowguard as a Shadowguard could be, his own natural teaching instincts not allowing him to slow or sabotage her learning despite her divergent nature. Still, it didn't take a telepath to hear to weary frustration in her friend's voice.

"I remember you telling me about that. Did something happen?"

"A book I didn't read came back to bite me in the ass. Some people died, too badly mangled for me to save. Others…well," Mann sighed again. "I saved what I could. I got there too late because I've been focusing on other stuff."

"You can't save everyone," she told him.

It wasn't anything she hadn't heard him tell himself, but sometimes she felt like he forgot. And by sometimes, a lot. It was so easy for him to fall into moping over himself. It wasn't that she was ignorant of his trauma. Even if he had kept most of it from her, she could tell there was more. A lot more. Like that glacier picture he'd showed her the one time. But still. Yuriko sighed, and faced him once more, leaving the fully reassembled gun behind.

"What's your plan, then?"

"Now?"

Mann shrugged.

"Wait, mostly. It's 2503. The bigger conflict is coming soon enough. I've tagged all of the artifacts, have watchers over each and every one. That's what I was spending my time on. Too busy watching one thing to watch the other," grunted while he rubbed at his chin. "I could have – should have had more watch stations in place."

"Absolutely not," she snapped, walking forward until she was right in front of the projection before crossing her arms. "You said that…before," she waved her hand slightly, watching as his face turned slack and ashen, "You did the whole…eyes everywhere thing. And that it went horribly, and that you never want to be like that again – trying to be like a god or something. And what did we decide?"

"There is no such thing as omniscience."

"Right," she nodded. "Besides. It sounds just…creepy, to have you looking at everyone at the same time always."

"I guess so, yeah," his voice was leaden with…something. But then he brightened slightly. "But hey, it's not all bad. There's still stuff to do."

"The Tal'darim," she ventured, only to see Mann wince. "What?"

"I don't really know what I'm supposed to do with them now. They have no space assets left, no gates either. I've basically obliterated their ability to leave Slayn entirely. I just…don't know what else to do with them. And I'm not in the genocide business."

'Anymore', she almost felt like he was going to say before he stopped himself.

"I'm sure we can figure something out," she told him confidently, even if she didn't necessarily feel it. "What else were you talking about?"

"Mostly just more prep stuff. It's probably kind of lame, but I like turtling. But enough about me. How are you doing?"

"Me?"

Yuriko paused before leaning back in the velvety cushions of her couch.

"Who knows," Yuriko sighed, "They'll probably ask about the Virginian Revenge suddenly having a lot more battlecruisers than they've stolen from the Dominion."

"Are they still needling you about that bullshit?"

"They know I know more than I say, which is very little at all. Anyway, what do you think of my apartment?"

Mann paused at her sudden change in topic, but ran with it anyway.

"I like the drapes. Nice texture. Uh…the walls are…blue. You've got leather on a bunch of stuff, marble countertop…its…nice? A bit big for one person, isn't it?"

"I guess," she lolled her head to glance around the place, "But I like it."

"Have you thought about getting a pet?"

They stopped talking about wars, or genocide, or extermination, or anything of the sort. Or massive invasion forces poised in dark space at the first hint of Amon. Or slowly building resources to be given over to specific rebellions. Instead they talked about…the drapes. And the benefits of getting a dog or cat. Or bird. It was peaceful. Just like Yuriko liked it. A welcome change indeed from the skullduggery she'd been learning in the Shadowguard Academy. It was a stopgap, sure, because she knew what was coming. A war, one spanning entire worlds.
 
90 – Dusty Roads
90 – Dust​

The TV crackled, briefly shining with static for a moment before stabilizing. Dust illuminated by thin beams of light creeping through the windows danced in the air lazily. Cheap and expensive booze tainted the air with their natural odors, uncorked or popped open too many times in the past and present to have done anything less than become a permanent stench accompaniment. No one in the bar talked, because there was no one else in the bar except for two people. Then only one, as the bartender disappeared out the back to go do whatever it was he did when not serving customers.

"Hello again everyone. I'm your host, Donny Vermillion. Our latest story: The Virginian Revenge. Who are they? Who leads them? Do they have anything to do with notorious terrorist James Raynor?"

At the bar, the last occupant of the entire building scoffed, and poured herself another drink. On the screen, the Dominion's top news anchor firmed his lips, clasped his hands together, and slowly shook his head like a disappointed parent might.

"First showing up in the year 2501, the Virginian Revenge have taken the flag of the old Confederacy, and apparently all of the darkest elements of that lost government."

A half dozen images filled most of the screen, though Donny's frowning face was left unobscured. On each of them recordings began to play of various forces of the Revenge fighting their way across the Dominion. In one recording a marine leapt upon two others from atop a building, firing at a tank. In another, two battlecruisers arrived over a Dominion arms depot and began landing troops while a swarm of wraiths poured out of their bellies. In a third image, rumbling siege tanks broke down the wall of a military base before more marines poured into the broken holes. On each of them, the flags of the Confederacy were proudly displayed.

"Thousands have been killed in the past few years, our brave soldiers who protect us from the slavish corporate monsters of the Combine and the skullduggery of the so called Umojan 'Protectorate'," and there Donny paused to put finger quotes around the word 'protectorate', "Tens of thousands of civilians lost to starvation and diseases thanks to the Revenge hijacking food and medicine shipments."

Donny gestured to the side, where a bouncing series of bars graphs appeared and wildly fluctuated with almost no chance at all of actual analyzation. The word death toll might or might not have been included, but it was impossible to tell. Immediately afterward the graphs disappeared, replaced with Donny becoming centered in the screen once more so that he could more fully frown at the viewer.

"Now, who is their leader? This…General Lee? Thus far, General Lee himself or herself has yet to show themselves, showing their truly cowardly nature. We do not even have any manifestos to be released, and based on my own investigations there seems to be no 'General Lee' on record from the Confederacy at all!"

The news anchor slammed a fist onto his desk, shaking it slightly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, be warned. The Confederacy is gone, and this…Virginian Revenge is nothing more than a group of pirates and madmen. Do not forget that they arrived on the scene alongside the Scions of Anarchy and Kurtz' Kids. They are pirates and criminals, with no regard for the Dominion's efforts to keep peace in Koprulu Sector!"

Sighing, Donny swiveled on his chair to face another camera.

"Now, I have heard the news, just like the rest of you. James Raynor was once an employed member of the Confederacy. Does this monstrous terrorist have anything to do with these unforgiving pirates? We don't know. But sources say…," the camera zoomed onto Donny's face, "That there may be truth to those rumors. We cannot put it past such a man as James Raynor to be in contact with such unscrupulous elements."

Before Donny could say anymore, the screen crackled again before winking out entirely. Yuriko lowered the remote and paused at bringing the next drink to her lips. Behind her, the doors slid open, letting in a blast of the arid landscape of Mar Sara. She felt the hesitation and confusion of the man who cautiously entered the bar, which quickly became filtered with alarm and anger as the skinsuit properly made its way past a bleary drunken gaze. Or perhaps it was the massive gun propped up against the bar next to her, various parts of it glowing an ominous red against dark purple paint. Steadily, nonetheless, Yuriko watched with her mind as much as anything else as Raynor made his way to his spot on the bar. Carefully uncorking another bottle, she poured it nearly to the rim before sliding it to him with her powers.

She waited for him to deliberate until he finally decided to drink it down – and all in one go as well.

"You aren't that hard a man to find, Marshal James Raynor," she finally said, tilting her head to finally look at what was supposed to be one of the sector's actual true heroes. "Which is a bit surprising, considering how the Dominion is pouring trillions of credits into chasing you. Congratulations on taking Backwater Station from the Dominion."

It wasn't much to look at, but looks could deceive. She knew that well enough. Especially with what else she knew about him, beyond even a cursory scan against his remarkably resilient mind. Shot through with cast-iron will, bitterness and anger caked over much of his psyche. It was…actually quite sad to see.

"It ain't a matter of people finding me," he grunted, looking at her as well, eyes flicking about her to glance at the various weapons she had on hand. From the gun against the bar, to the giant hand cannon on her hip, to the knife on her thigh. "It's a matter of them keepin' me."

"Well, lucky for you we haven't run into one another before," Yuriko chuckled, hand snapping forward to make him stop after pulling his own revolver half-way out of its holster, "Woah there, cowboy. I'm not here to take you in. I'm here to do the opposite. I've got an offer for you. It pays."

Raynor sighed, rolling his eyes, and leaned away from her to prop his arms up on the bar. After putting his gun down on it, of course.

"Not interested, lady. Sorry."

Yuriko quirked an eyebrow before shrugging and going back to her own drink. It wasn't like she could get too drunk with the nanomachines in her after all.

"Fine by me."

Then they sat, and she watched with some amusement at Raynor's confusion of her giving up so easily. Paranoia welled up in his mind, and she felt him staring at her out of the corner of her eye. Fear as well, because he knew what a hostile environmental suit meant, even if it didn't bear the same general coloration as any ghost he knew. Too bad for him. She liked purple. So did Mann. A good five minutes passed before Raynor finally sighed, and turned to her again.

"How did you get in here anyway? This place is only for locals."

Thanking her training at helping her keep herself from grinning, she withdrew a small box from along her belt and slid it along the bar to him. Drinking another whiskey helped keep her looking away from him even as she heard Raynor's paranoia become replaced with surprise and confusion as he opened it and stared at the contents.

"It's a transfer code. Upon usage, a healthy amount of credits goes to the account of one's choice," she said even as Raynor opened his mouth to ask the question. "Healthy enough to make me a 'local if you wanna be', to quote Ray himself."

"Who the hell are you, lady?"

Yuriko chuckled.

"I was going to tell you, but you refused my offer before I could make it. I'll need the box back though. That's only for people who want to work with me and mine." Before Raynor could stop her, a flick of her powers sent it floating back across to her waiting hand where it was clipped back to her belt. "I wanted to offer you a considerable sum of money to assist us in retrieving something, but…I think that will have to come later."

Raynor opened his mouth to ask what the hell she was talking about, but it snapped shut quickly when the door to the bar slid open again, letting in a blast of dust and wind. Yuriko had known he was coming, for more reasons than the fact that she could hear the churning mix of emotions running through his head, but instead stayed silent and poured herself another drink as a full set of CMC armor stomped its way in. She watched with her mind rather than her eyes as Raynor's hand twitched down to where his pistol lay on the bar, visions of a potential incoming fight rushing through him. She felt herself be regarded as a threat, noted, and accepted without pause. Yuriko could respect that. There was much less respect at the sudden aching need in him, no doubt leering extensively from within the safety of a polarized faceplate. He had been in prison for quite a while, she knew, but still.

"You know, for the most wanted man in the sector, you ain't all that hard to find," the marine drawled, coming to a halt just behind Raynor, but also keeping her within his attack radius if required. "I had to see it for myself." Only then did the faceplate rise, revealing a scarred face amidst a puff of cigar smoke. "Little Jimmy Raynor, the 'People's Hero'."

Suspicion turned to shock in Raynor's mind, but he kept it concealed well on the outside at least. A small dash of fear joined with a flash of guilt and a wellspring of happiness. Yuriko knew how Tychus Findlay had sacrificed himself to a life sentence for Raynor's benefit, true, but she also knew why he was locked in his suit. And who was responsible.

"Tychus Findlay," Raynor let loose a single dry chuckle as he took a drink, "Heh. Nice suit."

Tychus, for his part, slammed much of his bulk down against the bar, scattering several bottles to the ground. That the bar didn't collapse under the incredible weight of all that metal was incredible. Or perhaps Joey Ray really did invest his profits into his establishment, despite all appearances.

"Pays to be prepared," he said casually, though the spike of guilt-fear-anger in him rose slightly as he spoke.

"I heard they put you on ice," Raynor scoffed, pulling the cork from another bottle and pouring it, "Life sentence. What, did they give you time off for good behavior or something?"

"That's right old buddy," Tychus rose, the bar groaning as he did so, and took a short drag on his cigar, "I'm a model citizen now."

"Uh huh," Raynor gave another one of his short dry laughs, "So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The same reason I'm here, Raynor," Yuriko finally spoke, turning slightly in her seat to face both of them. "To offer you a job."

Tychus leered at her when Raynor looked at her, though it disappeared when he glanced back up at his old companion.

"She's not wrong, old buddy. I am here to offer you a little business proposition…," Tychus flicked his eyes up to her and gave her a craggy smile. "Though I don't think we've been introduced," he swept around Raynor and offered her a massive metal hand. "Tychus Findlay."

Yuriko pursed her lips at him, raising an eyebrow, before shaking the offered hand.

"Yuriko Thirteen," she said politely.

"Yuriko Thirteen," Tychus said it slow, tasting the name on his lips, before smiling again. "That's an unusual name, little lady."

"I'm an unusual woman," she shrugged. "I didn't mean to interrupt your friendly chat though, please, continue. No need to stop on my behalf."

Tychus glanced at her, a black ball of angry suspicion inside of him as he saw her suit, but he concealed it well with a placid smile and nod. He thought she might be a Dominion agent, coming to keep track of whether or not he was following orders. If only he knew. Yuriko struggled to keep her smile from blooming, instead managing to make it a sardonic smirk instead. Turning back to Raynor, she felt the spiel come back into being, if modified slightly.

"The Dominion's been here for a hot minute, Jimmy boy. You haven't wondered why?"

"Let me guess," Raynor sighed, drinking again, "You're about to tell me why anyway."

"They're digging up alien artifacts out here, Jimmy. Your boy Mengsk has gone crazy for 'em."

The eruption of magma-like fury in Raynor's mind, from nothing to almost palpably radiating off of him, wasn't too surprising. Yuriko doubted that someone who wasn't a psychic would see it, but stranger things had happened before. Mengsk was a monster, there was no doubt of that. Not anymore, at least.

"Now, I got a contact that'll pay handsome-like for every one we…acquire, from the Dominion," Tychus chuckled, tapping out a slow beat along the bar.

"That's something I can hardly pass up, huh?" Raynor huffed, "You fixing to be partners on this?"

"Yes indeed," Tychus tore the top off another drink and poured a glass near full before tapping it over to Raynor, "Like old times. 60/40 split."

"70/30," Raynor grunted, draining the glass in one go. "My way."

"Interesting," Yuriko hummed, causing both men to look at her, "That's why I came here as well."

"You wanted me to help you dig up some artifacts, Yuriko?" Raynor raised an eyebrow.

"Not from the Dominion, specifically," she shrugged a single shoulder, smiling at both of the men, "I wonder who your contacts are, Tychus Findlay."

Cloudy suspicion crept over the minds of both men, joined with paranoid anger from Tychus.

"How about this," she hopped off her stool, dismissing the shock from both men as she hefted her rifle and slid it along her back, the tight-weave musculature and gravimetric locks ensuring that its weight didn't make her tip over. "Let's go see this artifact of yours, Tychus, and tear up the Dominion at the same time. We weren't coming for the one on Mar Sara anyway. And hey, there's still pay up for offer if you do help me afterwards."

"What's your deal with the Dominion?" Raynor narrowed his eyes at her. "It's not that I don't trust a complete stranger throwing around cash like you are…"

"But you don't trust me," she finished with a smile. "I work for MannCo."

Tychus leaned against the bar again, puffing on his cigar.

"I heard of them on my way over here. That's one of the biggest PMCs in the whole sector. Since when are your boys dealing in alien artifacts?"

He was worried, obviously. About whether or not Mobius would be able to stand up to MannCo if it came down to it. But there was a healthy amount of greed there too, interest sparking high at the mention of the money she had on her.

"MannCo deals in far more than just fighting," she said primly. "Now are we going to go after the Dominion are not?

Raynor, however, still had more questions.

"Last I heard, MannCo mostly did deals with the Kel-Morians and the Protectorate, right?"

"Correct Mr. Raynor," she bowed slightly before straightening. "You could say we have a current interest in going against the Dominion at the moment."

Both men glanced at each other and back at her for a moment, before Raynor finally downed his drink and stood.

"All right, fine. We have a partnership, old pal," he nodded at Tychus before offering him one of the few bottles still on the bar, "Just like old times."

Tychus clinked his bottle against Raynor's glass before his eyes met Yuriko's gaze as she stood by the door, smiling slightly.

"Old times."

If only, Yuriko couldn't help but think.

======================================================
"Nice little command center you got here, Jimmy," Tychus remarked as the flying structure slowly made its way towards the dig site.

"This old thing ain't too fancy, Tychus. It's pretty much got only the basics," Raynor shrugged as he stepped into the cacophony in the center of the building, where over a dozen of his technicians were shouting at one another, stationed across various consoles here and there. "All right everyone, listen up!" For a brief moment, everyone was silent, with Tychus staring at Raynor's back with a pensive look. "I want the SCVs we got loaded on this thing deployed the second we hit the ground, I want them making for the minerals and vespene gas geyser we've got on scanners, yeah?"

"Yes, Commander!" They shouted as one.

Tychus chuckled.

"Look at you, Jimmy. The big bad Commander, huh?"

"Ah shut it," Raynor rolled his eyes as he walked further in. "Do we know where Yuriko went?"

"Last I heard, she was pullin' in her vulture near the ramp," Tychus splayed his hands slightly. "Don't know why, those things are death traps."

"Hey," Raynor spun around and pointed his finger up at Tychus, "Vultures are perfectly respectable rides."

Tychus screwed up his face at his old friend before scoffing and moving past, breathing out a strong cloud of cigar smoke.

"Sure thing, buddy. You tell yourself that."

Raynor stared at Tychus from behind him, hands on his hips, before sighing and walking away. It was a matter of minutes before he found Yuriko, tinkering with a purple and black beauty near the environmentally sealed entrance. He paused as he came down the hallway, staring in fascination as an entire toolbox's contents floated slowly through the air above and behind her. One wrench whipped forward into a waiting hand, her head completely obscured by the innards of her bike, and disappeared inside the machine as well. It was clearly a custom-job, beyond just the coloration.

The seat was wholly enclosed by an opaque material he couldn't be sure of, sure, but then he saw the guns. Two thick gatling cannons were slung along the nose, with a stubby laser cannon barrel sticking out between the two. Further back, closer to the turbines, were two half-ball turrets that looked like grenade launchers. How the thing stood the weight was beyond him, even if the guns were all energy-based the extra power required would surely demand more than their fair share in extra fuel cells. Then as he watched, Yuriko finished and stepped back and kicked the machine. His eyes widened at the sight of a shield visibly bubbling out over the entire vulture before fading from sight, if not from hearing. A low hum filled the air before that too quieted.

"Now that ain't normal for no vulture I've ever seen," he drawled as he leaned against the entrance. "That some kinda fancy experimental Umojan tech?"

"No, it's strictly MannCo," she gestured with a hand, sending the tools floating in the air back into the toolbox. "Mann has things…no one in this sector has ever seen." The accompanying enigmatic look on her face did nothing to salve his suspicions about her.

"Riiiight. Now, I let you on here, but I'm gonna need you to be straight with me-,"

"I'm not Dominion, Umojan, or Kel-Morian, Raynor," she interrupted him. "Yes, I'm a telepath. No, I'm not affiliated with them. I'm with MannCo. Which is, for our own reasons, opposed to the current Dominion leadership."

He gave her a gimlet glare that seemed to simply slide off of her.

"You could be UED," he offered, jerking his chin at her gun and the vulture, "They had some of the best tech I've ever seen, even compared to Umoja or the Dominion. Plus they had their own ghosts too."

Yuriko tilted her head and tapped her chin with one finger, before shrugging.

"That's more plausible, true, but also not correct," she mentally lifted the toolbox through the air before sliding it into a compartment on the vulture which automatically opened and closed, "Though the remnants of the UED in the sector are certainly more than willing to take contracts against the Dominion. Have you considered hiring some of them on as mercenaries?"

Raynor couldn't help the distasteful look on his face at the mention of them. Barreling into the sector like that, doing that madness with the zerg…none of it had sat right with him then, or now. On the other hand, he wouldn't wish the zerg on anyone, and yet that was exactly what had happened to the UED fleet. Everyone knew it, it wasn't like Sarah had made an effort to conceal her obliterating them on their way out. On the other hand, the Raiders needed all the troops they could get, and mercenaries were one of the few ways to do it.

"Yeah, maybe," he groused, "If we had the money for it, which, at the moment, we don't."

Yuriko just gave him one of those mysterious smiles again.

"We'll see."

Damn it, it was almost like dealing with Sarah for the first time again.

=============================================
The wind whistled as the entrance ramp began to lower in preparation, the command center's thrusters flaring as it descended to earth once more. In the distance Raynor could see the barracks building doing the same, his visor keeping the dust filling the room from ruining his eyes. Next to him, Tychus had shown up, hefting a rifle. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to prevent his old friend from doing what he really come here to do, which was leer at the ghost's lithe form. Or at least, he was before she started clamping on strange armor pieces which quickly obscured the skintight environmental suit. At the least, Tychus didn't make more than the quietest little noise of disappointment as her form was covered up. Once she latched the last piece on, there was a faint snap-hiss before a faint glow emanated along the edges of her new armor.

"That's some more of that fancy MannCo tech, Yuriko?" Raynor called out over the noise.

Instead of any normal ghost helmet he'd ever seen, hers was practically featureless, a smooth thing of black and purple, faintly glossy, giving no sign of visor or breathing apparatus to the naked eye. But even though that meant he couldn't see her smile, he swore he could hear it.

"Have fun, Raynor," Yuriko gave him a makeshift salute before clambering onto her vulture. "See you at the dig site."

Tychus nearly dropped the cigar out of his mouth when the shield bubbled about it, the vulture disappearing from sight. There was a faint roaring sound, the displacement of the dust of Mar Sara, and then it was gone entirely. The two men looked at one another, the command center finally landing with a great series of thumps and clamps, and raised their visors in unison. Raynor raised an eyebrow as Tychus chewed on his cigar for a moment, armored hand coming up to carefully rub at his chin.

"Now that…is some fancy tech. What a woman. How'd a guy like you find someone like that, Jimmy?"

Raynor shrugged.

"She found me, man."

"You uh, you think we can trust her?"

He snorted, and gave Tychus an incredulous look.

"Are you serious? Absolutely not."

============================================
"Well, what's the news, Mann?" Yuriko murmured as her vulture bike shrieked across the ground.

"Kerrigan's already starting preliminary assaults, I'm evacuating as best I can. I might sacrifice the Kurtz fleet just to hold her off in some cases. I'm pretty sure the fleet heading for Mar Sara is already on its way. So prep for that, I'll be coming right after, but I won't be there immediately."

Yuriko hummed to herself as she triggered the guns, a horde of impaler rounds chewing a pair of patrolling Dominion marines to pieces as she passed, the wake of her bike sending said pieces flying about. She'd already reached the dig site, but other than prepping to destroy the bunker, there wasn't much else to do but protect the rebel camp before Raynor could get there.

"Then we really get started, right?"

"Right. Fleets are mostly in place, tracking all artifacts...yeah."

For a moment, she killed the engines, letting it coast at a hundred miles an hour on pure inertia while weaving in and out of the path of various obstacles.

"Could you stop her right off the bat? Just...flood the entire Sector with ships, kill all the zerg, and so on?"

Mann was silent for a moment.

"Yeah, technically. Why, you want me to?"

For a moment, she was in command of the lives of everyone in the Sector. She thought for a moment, and then shrugged, her decision made.

"Don't sacrifice the Kurtz fleet. Fight her, push her around, and back. We'll keep Raynor towards the artifacts, and keep pushing until it's assembled. We use it, then we deal with the zerg. In the meantime, bring in as many fleets as we need to evacuate the planets ahead of time, and keep her from slaughtering the people. We can fix the planets, we can't fix all of the people."

"Technically-,"

"Not without completely breaking it all down, and ensuring that we become the main target of everyone."

"...fair, I guess."

Valerian was a good kid, but frankly, neither she nor Mann - she thought - cared that much for the Dominion's appearance of strength. They were more likely to side with the Umojans if and when it came down to it. And Umoja's planets were not where Kerrigan was heading.

"I want to see Mengsk squirm before he dies," she sneered.
 
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91 – Dust Devils
Lot of reasonable criticisms have been made about this story, especially the front half. So I edited the front of things a bit, hope that's understandable. This may not be to everyone's tastes, but I just wanted to write something...so I did. *shrug*.

91 – Dust Devils​

"Keep firing, keep firing!"

"Fuck off, Mengsk lovers!"

Corey Whitman had barely managed to scream out his own war cry before he was forced to duck beneath a blast of concentrated fire. Even the closeness of it was enough to set his salvaged suit of elderly armor to blaring. Around him, the rest of the rebels clustered as best as they could behind cover made up of parked vehicles and hastily assembled barricades. On the opposite side, he knew, there were over twenty Dominion marines in top shelf CMC firing at them, ensuring that none of them could properly pop up and fire back. But things weren't so bad until the damned hellion drove up on them. Corey had watched three of his drinking buddies scream as they were roasted alive, but every time someone tried to fire back they found the same thing nearly happening to them.

Then another of his friends slammed into the dirt next to him, blue and grey armor still smoking around the edges.

"Corey, what the hell are we gonna do! This ain't like Backwater, man! They got way more guys!" Blakely yelled over the din of too many rifles firing. "Where the hell did Raynor go! He just up and left us for the Dominion to stomp down!"

Corey, for all that he was bleeding from a shot in the arm and trapped in a holdout that would likely result in his death, rolled his eyes. Blakely always was a bit of a coward. Still, he'd picked up arms just like the rest of them, so he had that going for him.

"Okay man, I need you to listen to me," Corey reached over and clamped a metal hand onto Blakely's shoulder. "Raynor armed us up, helped us steal a whole butt load of Dominion tech outta Backwater, but he can't just up and fight every battle for us. You understand? We all knew the risks when we decided to pull this."

There was another blast of flame at one of the other barricades, another rebel screaming for someone else to put the fires out before he collapsed on the ground unmoving. Some of their medics were already moving to pull him back and see if he could be saved, but Corey wasn't feeling charitable at the moment. Blakely just huddled down, hands coming over his head, his rifle left on the ground. Corey just rolled his eyes again as he picked it up, checking its ammo. Clucking his tongue in disgust, he let the fully loaded and apparently never fired gun drop back onto Blakely's head. How the man was bending CMC into fetal position he didn't know, and if it weren't such a dire situation he might even find it impressive.

"We didn't need the Confederates out here, and we sure as hell didn't need the Dominion taking our people out of their homes and slaughtering us for fun! Now pick up your damn gun and get to firing!"

Which was, as it turned out, around when there was a high pitched whining noise that was followed by a series of explosions. The fire from the Dominion fell off almost immediately, while the sound of a hellion's blasting fire could be heard again and again. Corey blinked before rising up over cover, rifle at the ready, only to find the bloody chunked remains of those who had been in danger of overrunning the camp. The hellion had been completely overturned and crumpled at the middle, while only a few of the Dominion marines appeared to be intact at all. Corey blinked, and then prepared to fire again as some of them showed signs of trying to get to their feet. Before he could pull the trigger, however, there was another whizzing click and boom which destroyed even those few poor sons of bitches.

"What the hell is going on?" Blakely suddenly asked from next to him, making Corey jump slightly.

"Fuckin' A, Bricks," Corey snapped, "Don't do that to me."

"Don't call me Bricks," Blakely whined, "You know I hate that name."

Of course he did. Anyone who whose nickname referenced the phrase 'shitting bricks' would hate it. And yet, to Blakely's consternation, it had stuck. Mostly because the scaredy cat had really done it the first time they'd done live firing exercises. The sight of a full suit of CMC armor awkwardly shuffling away to the latrine had been hilarious.

"Hey!" a new voice called out, making Corey snap his gun up again as he watched shimmering bubble fizzle into visibility before fading.

Inside of said bubble, revealed to the world, was the biggest custom vulture he'd ever seen. Riding atop it was someone wearing something that looked half again as big as his own set of armor, but the gun on her back was plenty big itself. Corey, personally, was more focused on the slowly rotating ball turrets towards the back and the fact that he could tell the guns beneath that were only just beginning to spin down. But before he could say anything, Blakely beat him to it.

"Who the hell are you?!" His compatriot screeched in a shrill tone, his rifle wobbling at her.

Instincts ingrained in many of the rebels activated, causing several others to raise their weapons as well.

"Well," she shrugged, seemingly completely unaffected by the threat of twelve Mar Saran rifles pointed at her. "I'm Yuriko. For the moment, I'm with Raynor's Raiders. Came to make sure you all were okay."

"Oh thank god," Blakely sighed as he sagged against the barricade. "Oh sweet baby Jesus, thank you."

Amongst the rest of the rebels, the information obviously had a ripple effect of reactions similar to the one Blakely had. Corey, for his part, remained skeptical.

"Raynor sent you out here to help us?" Corey asked, his head tilting slightly. "We ain't heard him on the radio or nothin'."

Of course, fate chose that moment to make an ass out of him. As it often did.

"Hey! Corey, you still alive out there?" The radio crackled in his ear with the familiar voice of Big Ben, the leader of their little rebellion.

Corey sighed.

"Yeah Ben, I'm here," he responded, his tone a bit surlier than he intended.

Going by the way she cocked her head, he'd bet that that Yuriko woman could tell something was up. Damn it, that'd just be his luck. Two women making fun of him.

"Don't you take that tone with me, mister," Big Ben said, her familiar twang coming through amidst the crackles of the radio, "I came all the way over to this here radio, to give you this here good news, after making sure that this here Smokestack would live after getting his fool ass run over by that there Dominion hellion, and-,"

"BB, c'mon," Corey interrupted, "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. It's been a day."

He heard her suck air through her teeth before responding. At the same time, Corey felt a bead of sweat make its way down his face. The rest of the boys and girls were busy patting themselves on the back, sure as all hell that the Marshal was going to come save 'em all, but there was just something other about that Yuriko woman…

"It's been a day for all of us, Corey, shit, you think I enjoy being a medic and having to patch up your fool asses? Anyway, get this shit. Remember Marshal Raynor?"

"Damn it," Corey spat under his breath. "Now I look like an asshole."

"Language, buster. The fuckin' Marshal himself is coming over to help us, has a shit ton of his boys with 'em. This rebellion just got goddamn mule kicked into fucking overdrive! Fuck yeah!"

The radio snapped off with a hissing click, leaving Corey to stare at the same woman who'd come rumbling out of nowhere to save them.

"Uh. Sorry about that," he reached up to tip the hat he couldn't wear while within the suit, pausing as he realized his mistake from force of habit. "Just…tryna be sure, you know?"

He couldn't see her face, but he did hear her chuckle.

"Don't worry about it. If anything, I applaud your caution. It'll serve you well in the future, I think. Anyway, Raynor is on his way here. I'd get prepped, if I were you."

The bubble reappeared around the vulture before it flickered out of visibility, the noise disappearing as it presumably drove off. Corey squinted, trying to see anything at all if possible before he got thumped in the side by Blakely's elbow.

"Didya hear that, Corey? Raynor's Raiders! They're coming to save us! Ain't that cool as shit?!"

Corey just sighed as he let the back of his head thump against the inside of his armor's helm.

========================================​

Burning wreckage was strewn about the small canyon, a mixture made from multiple hellions thrown about by titanic forces, Dominion marines, and the base that had once been there. A barracks and a small factory had once been here, but there was little remaining of them either. The supply depots were left untouched, thankfully, and would hopefully provide some good materials once looted. Tychus, for his part, simply puffed happily on his cigar as he sat his keister atop one of said destroyed hellions. His rifle had been jammed into the dirt, though it had seen its fair share of action on the way forward. Jimmy, for his part, simply leaned against the wreck, watching as the Mar Saran rebels shouted and cheered. Someone, somewhere, had brought a few cases of beer up. Others simply shot into the bodies or into the air.

"Well, I'll give her this, old buddy," Tychus whistled, "She sure can tear it up."

"Yep," Jimmy nodded as he pulled a drag from his cigarette.

As for the ghost herself, she was busy speaking with some of the Mar Sarans, including the apparent rebel leader of this rag tag group. The rebel leader known as Big Ben was a massive woman, her dark skin turned even darker by soot and dust from long periods of mining under the Dominion's whip, her frame the result of harsh fringe living and a few bouts of steroid abuse in her youth. Apparently, according to what he'd been able to learn on the way over to the dig site, she'd killed her first Dominion oppressor with one of the giant two-handed drills at Backwater station, only she'd used it as a bludgeon. A tool that she kept close even after putting on CMC armor. The reasoning behind the name, on the other hand, was a mystery to him.

"Adjutant," he glanced over at the crane, "How is the decryption coming?"

"Complete, Commander," was the surprising reply.

"Well hell, payday came even earlier than I thought," Tychus chuckled as he hopped up and began ambling over towards the massive pit in the ground. "Sure was nice of the Dominion to do all the digging for us."

Already, the giant crane and pulley system was cranking upwards, robotic drones apparently shifting the payload upwards.

"They didn't," came a gruff voice from behind them. "They broke our backs to get that damn fool hole dug."

Both men turned to find Big Ben, or BB for short according to the rebels, with Yuriko at her side. The former had her faceplate down, revealing her scowling and scarred face, while Yuriko's completely concealing helmet remained. The miner turned rebel hefted her drill over her shoulder, the white armor of her stolen Dominion medic suit already beginning to be turned brown and red by the blowing winds of Mar Sara. Her hard gaze stayed on Tychus for a moment before she turned to look at Jimmy, her expression softening significantly in the transition.

"Marshal Raynor," she offered a hand for him to shake. "Thanks for coming by. I don't know how long we would have lasted without you."

"I'm sure you would have had it," he chuckled as he shook her hand, "Mar Sara breeds tough folk. I should know, after all."

Tychus just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, sure enough. But uh…hey, I gotta question for you," BB looked almost embarrassed, a look that sat uncomfortably on her face. "You take recruits, right? You ain't some all exclusive club? The Raiders I mean."

Jimmy blinked and look at her, then over to Yuriko, who he couldn't read a damn thing off of.

"Well, yeah. But…," Jimmy shook his head, his face pinched with old pain. "Ya'll got homes to get back to. When we're taking the fight to Mengsk, it's gonna take us to some far off places, and some good folk'll be dead before this is done."

In response, BB just spat to the side.

"Homes to get back to? The hell we do. Half of us are dead already from the mines, or getting shot while protesting," she sighed, voice growing quieter with aching grief and rage. "Ain't no living in a ghost town, Marshal. Dominion's been bleeding us for years, barely recovered after the Protoss," she growled before pointing at the hole that the crane was still pulling up from. "You know how many of us died digging that fuckin' hole? Too many. Yuriko here says you're gonna put the screws to Mengsk. And we want in."

Jimmy whirled on Yuriko, but she simply shrugged at his accusing expression.

"Now…miss, I know the exact feeling you're talking about, but you gotta think about this."

BB's eyes grew cold.

"I got done thinking when I saw one of my boys get shot up for cracking a joke about Mengsk, about my husband dying next to me in those fuckin' mines. You gonna let us join up or not, Marshal?"

It was never easy. How was he supposed to say no? He needed the bodies, god knew he did. But how was he supposed to say yes? Most of those here would most likely die on some foreign world. The fight against Mengsk had never been without cost. And to be honest, at this point in his life, he was getting real tired of seeing younger folk full of fire and fury bleeding out in his arms. But they were asking…and hell if they hadn't already been in a fight and lost some of their own against the Dominion. Not to mention what he'd seen on the way to Backwater Station. Jimmy glanced down at the coffin nail in his hand before tossing it with a hard flick, instead raising his hand to shake hers.

"Welcome to the Raiders, BB."

The rebel miner turned medic slammed her hand into his, their armors clanking from the force of it.

"Hell yeah," she grunted.

Tychus whistling caught both of their attentions.

"Well I'll be," Jimmy murmured.

The artifact was…strange. Glowing blue and black stone that seemed to vibrate somehow even as it sat on its platform innocuously. For a second, Jimmy felt like there was an odd buzzing in his head when he glanced at it. But the Tychus spoke up again, and the strange buzzing was replaced with a far more familiar one.

"See? Look at that, Jimmy. You, me, some gunning and running…and now?" Tychus jerked his thumb at it. "Payday. Like old times."
 
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