Here's a little story for you all, written by Pr0... with a bit of a surprise at the end.
Decade of Terror
Dawn.
And at dawn, a new day.
A new reign.
The thought of such an undertaking, the magnitude of even conceiving such an effort, drew a reluctantly curious mind to front. A low, rumbling, awakening resounded mentally throughout the enormous den before the tired creature could direct his thoughts at that which had addressed him.
When he did think, however, the thought was short and clear. "What is it, Torzul?"
Torzul's response was not the cogent layout of meaningful speech that the Cerebrate normally passed on. In lieu of that, a sea of images, mixed with an anxious excitement and zeal for the possibilities that could be found within, filled the other Cerebrate's consciousness. Dead Protoss littered city grounds. Once-glorious monuments to the alien race's architectural skills lay in ruins, burning or disintegrating under lances of plasma fire from Scout and Corsair fighters. Once again on the ground, the images flashing by faster now, Protoss fought against one another in a vicious, primal battle. Curiosity peaked. With no major difference in visual appearance and no visible battle insignias, it was impossible to discern the larger belligerents in the conflict. That aside, something about the environmental backdrop of the bloody war that was taking place between Protoss resounded in the Cerebrate's mind.
"I believe I have seen this planet before. Not with my own consciousness, but through that of another. Fidulees, perhaps." The Cerebrate mused, remembering his use of the Templar as a 'sleeper agent' of sorts within the ranks of their ilk. "But again, not directly. Something in his memory..."
Cerebrate Torzul responded with an image of the Templar in a close quarters battle with a tall Protoss, the latter of which was wielding psi blades that marked him as a Zealot. As Fidulees darted to the side and shot forward a psionic blast, simultaneously avoiding the Zealot's strike and enacting one of his own, the viewpoint shifted to a more isometric standard just in time to see a medium-sized Protoss vehicle burst through a collapsed wall - one of the ruined cityscape's many obstacles. The light tank was twice the size of the average Protoss warrior, and appeared quite menacing and well-armed, its main cannon crackling with electrical charges. As the Zealot fell, the Templar shielded his form with psi energy, bracing for an attack from the unknown vehicle before the image dissipated into nothingness.
The Cerebrate sent Torzul an acknowledgment - a mental nod, as it were - and posed the query that he already knew the answer to. "Why have you shaken me from my slumber for this? Surely, you must have some plot or another related to such an event." As the Cerebrate projected his thoughts, he delved into the memories of both him and the Protoss minds he'd consumed over the decades, perusing an endless sea of information for a possible match on the vehicle he'd seen in the memory of Fidulees.
Torzul's rebuttal was both eager and revealing; the older Cerebrate was indeed excited with the opportunities he'd uncovered. "This, Cerebrate, is the event known as the Taltamör Insurgency - a small battle in a galactic civil war between Protoss, and the death site of the 'noble' warrior Klensis, who expunged all the Zerg from Mel'kor those many years ago."
The addressed Cerebrate stopped searching for the mystery vehicle and sent a confused sentiment back. "We all know this, Torzul. Why is this important now? What has the Taltamör Insurgency shown you?" A foreboding sense shot across the Cerebrate's mind, as he felt certain he already knew the answer to his question... But Torzul couldn't be implicating the impossible. There was no possibility that-
The Cerebrate's thoughts were interrupted by Torzul's own.
"We must return to Mel'kor."
---
"Oooh, and, life is a highway! I'm gonna ride it, all night long!
If you're goin' my way. I wanna ride it, all night long!"
Captain Miles Grant chuckled to himself. For once in military history, it seemed, nobody in the squadron was complaining at the choice of music.
Maybe it'd be a good patrol day.
"Elegy-1 to Elegy. Sound off, over!" The captain's squad lights were all green, just like they were every morning. "Elegy-2, sounding off. Over." Maxwell Duggs was the mechanic of the group, seeing to the Wraiths' well-being if they'd miraculously gotten damaged during the generally easy-going patrols. While the significance of his role was often downplayed jokingly, Max had saved their asses more than a few times through repairs, and they all owed him big time.
The next one to check in was Taylor Golds, with his signature "Elegy-3, ready to whoop some invisible Dominion ass!" Golds was an ideal soldier and pilot when it came right down to it, but since the last time the planet Rastar had been attacked by an external force was older than any of them had been alive, the man rarely got to show this. It was a damn shame, too, considering how fast he was with a set of good wings.
Any thoughts of the other two in his squad were temporarily washed away, however, when a louder voice hit the comms. "Oh, you KNOW I'm ready for summa THIS, bay-bee!" Dark-skinned by creed and loud-mouthed by nature, Elegy-4 - better known as Coleson Gale - didn't have to announce himself to his colleagues; the behemoth of a man was a staggering combination of six-foot-nine-inches and three-hundred pounds, almost all of it a hardened muscle. All his equipment, Wraiths included, had had to come in plus sizes for the man. Truly, calling Coleson "big guy" was like calling military food sub-par - it was a gross understatement.
After the chuckles had subsided, Grant himself chimed back in, a smirk more than evident on his face. "Glad to hear that everyone's still with us! We all know how dangerous it is out here in Rastarian space! Keep your eyes peeled, boys!" His wisecracks earned him and his team a few more chuckles before the formation tightened slightly and the crafts exited the radar range of their dispatch location, space station
Rukia. This was when the pilots were normally instructed to activate their cloaking field, but the countless years of patrol experience told them otherwise. Save the ship's energy and use it only if there's an actual conflict.
But, bloody hell; there was never an actual conflict. Ever. Why should today be any different? Today was Miles'
good patrol day.
Or so he thought.
---
And now, I present to you, the complete version of The Major!
DOWNLOAD - 81.78MB
Enjoy, and please send any feedback! Everything you need to know is in the included readme, Jam Mastered Hero.pdf
Thanks for all your support!
Huge thanks to HelpMe, Laconius, and Pr0nogo for beta testing.
