Death's Face

Chapter 1:

Sporadic gunfire intermittently chased inhuman screams through the flaming night sky, an effect produced by infernos raging from once pristine emplacements. Concussions peppered the battered terrain, occasionally giving way to larger explosions that lit up the cloud and smoke cover like lightning.

And through it all, Sargent John Adams of a secret intelligence group, went unnoticed. He was a watcher, an observer if you will, sent to follow the actions of the Confederacy’s death throws, by an organization so secret, so cloaked in mystery, so utterly unknown that his superiors never even told him where he was going.

For only the past week- in SET- had he been out of a cold sleep, and only once awaking from his dreamless and ageless slumber had he been told where he was. Only then had he been told what he was doing here. Only then had he been told why he was here. Only then had he been told where he was going. Most importantly, only then had he been told when- or if- he was coming to a home well missed.

But that didn’t matter now. He had learned of his mission given to him, surprisingly enough, by a very mystery enshrouded Council: to witness the events that were currently transpiring in a distant world, unaware of its distant relative-intruders. For a long time, the Council had been sending scouts to the space-borne colonies of the Terran Confederacy, and now the bitterly corrupt and inhumane dark spot of that Confederacy, was growing lighter, lighter to the point of non-existence and eradication. The dark spot was a rapidly brightening period of rule, becoming indistinguishable amongst the violently churning sea of fake light, hiding true colors within mock sincerity, lying in wait to snag a public interest like a fisher’s net snagged on rocky reeves of fire coral.

His mission was supposedly simply relieving the position of the one gone before him. Though an uncomplicated task on the outside, Sargent Adams was well aware of the risks associated with his current position. Due to the fact that any word of Earthlings making observations of the colonies -be they under the rule of the declining Confederacy or whatever other government might spring from its still smoldering ashes- could be fatal to whatever the Council may or may not be planning, the ship was rigged to go if its limited AI detected what even looked remotely like a move to capture it.

But supposing is a long way to being, and upon arrival at the rendezvous where he would relieve the one gone before, a Sergeant Aaron Phillips, he had found nothing. So, assuming –hoping, for the sake of the Council’s plans- his predecessor dead, he had reported his assumptions to his superiors on Earth, and went about his job.

Now he was here, sitting in low orbit, in a heavily modified dropship, equipped with an extra capacity cloaking/jamming hardware suite and engines so powerful that the techs had had to significantly modify the construct of the dropship frame, just so full power engines wouldn’t rip the ship apart. These modifications had made life-support seem like an afterthought, as only the traditional cockpit compartment was for use as his quarters. It was all he needed though. He was trained to live with the rare necessities and few comforts so that he may be –for lack of a better word- well suited to his current living conditions.

And the reason that he had been willing to undergo such training and survive such living conditions was the rare, almost honored chance to study the wars, history, and culture of the colonies. And here, he was doing just that.

The battle splayed before him was much more than testament to that. This battle, however, wasn’t only a simple shiver of a dying corpse. It was much more than that. It was his first realization that the seemingly interesting uprisings were petty. He was witnessing a new -or by the knowledge of the Confederacy, perhaps not so new- force. A destructive alien force called the Zerg. From the looks of things, the Zerg were being maneuvered by another hand.

He had read a description of these Zerg while he was on the last seven days of his trip, but nothing could have prepared him for this. When he had first arrived at this battle, there had been no Zerg, just the remains of the Confederacy of Man and an as of now prominent rebel faction- the Sons of Korhal. dropships had landed, leaving behind objects of great interest: teams of SCV operators, a covert operations Ghost, and a strange device, not larger than one of the smaller batteries that powered this ship's cloaking drive. Then, the bulk of the forces of importance for the Korhal sympathizers had simply up and left. He had caught a lot of transmissions, mostly just marines -Confederate and renegade alike- screaming, pleading for help, but he had also intercepted the tail end of an interesting conversation.

He caught the deep voice of a young man, deep in surprise. "Emitters? Psi emitters?" came the voice.

Then, a battle-weary female voice, "Who authorized the use of psi emitters."

Then came an unshaken voice, filled with resolve, "I did, Lieutenant."

Then the female voice again "You going to bring the Zerg here? Siccing them on the Confederates on Antiga was bad enough. This is insane!"

Then another deep male voice spoke. "She's right, man. Think this through."

The voice came again, with the same unshakable resolve, along with an frustrated sigh. "I have thought it through, believe me." At this point, Sergeant Adams desperately wished his little shuttle had visual communications. The conversation was hot, but the menacing faces could have come in handy for his next report.

"You all have your orders, carry them out.'

And with that, the heated debate came to a close. He knew that this had been a major item, and immediately ran through the automatically recording database to find the tape that had just recorded what had transpired on the com channel. He had to analyze it, prepare it until it was fit to file in what would be the most interesting report he had filed since entering the sector.