Railguns fire, one shot impacting the blast door right where my head was a second earlier. The drum of a plasma pistol beats in a deeply flawed tune against the sharp cracks of railguns alternating until the final shot of both overlap and the corridor outside falls silent.

  A dueling duet I hear none of.

  Within the lab I see the truth of what Kerrigan is. Tubes, vertical and glass in appearance, stand along the walls, stacked horizontally to maximize space. Robots in sealed white suits move back and forth, cycling the tubes, liquid sloshes inside, with one solid object floating at their center. Some bob low in green fluids, others float high above rich purples, and a few are crystal clear displaying their contents with the clarity of a magnifying glass. One occupant floats within each tube -never more than one- sometimes feline, sometimes humanoid, sometimes arachnoid, always unpleasant. For they bear a terrifying resemblance to the Umojan labs the Queen of Blades once lay waste to.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “Red took me from here,” Kerrigan says, walking across the room to a tube of clear fluid, now housing a human in the early stages of development, possibly fetal, maybe a newborn, I’m no doctor so it's impossible to guess.

  “I was awake the entire time.” She whispers.

  There is an edge to her voice I’ve never heard before. Something that thunders to

  STOP!

  Go no farther.

  Or there will be consequences you will never recover from.

  “You were awake the whole time? Uhm, how old are you?” I blurt out, like an idiot.

  “The lights never shut off. Not in here. You see, they’re trying to make more like me,” her voice changes, perfectly mimicking a voice I’ve never heard before. A man’s voice, but one who has had his throat cut out and replaced with some sort of electronic synthesizer. “Yes yes. In due time. First we must perfect the genome, only then can we install logical hardware to iron out the inconsistencies of flesh. Ahhhh if only we could scan and categorize each psychic empirically and predict likely outcomes.” She rasps.

  A shudder runs down my spine. Her mimickry once again more than my inflexible mind can bear, stacking tokens of information like a Jenga tower.

  The Novan Technomancy is ruled by computers, humans are subservient to their decrees and any who disagree with that have their ‘wetware’ surgically replaced with cybernetics until compliance is achieved. What they planned to do with my Kerrigan strikes a chord deep within me. A chord that resonates a bloody red.

  “Kerrigan, we can shut down this lab, leave this to me. There are memories here you do not want to resurrect, so let me erase them for you. No need to dig up- the past.” I finish.

  Narrowly avoiding saying, ‘dig up your parents’. How she has memories of a life before this lab and being trapped inside it for god knows how long is something I’ll never ask.

  She doesn’t seem to hear me. Her tail flicks, swishing angrily as robots move tubes. One steps an inch too close and the stinger slams into its eyehole, shattering the plastic face and plunging into an empty sphere of a skull. Nonplussed, the simple bot continues on with its task. Unawares there was any danger at all.

  ‘Boss, we took out the sled but more are on their way. Gotta bug out.’ Whispers Helen over the swarmmind.

  ‘Stay safe first. Then do what you can to support me. Cloak if necessary and warn me if anything make it through that keypadded door.’ I reply.

  ‘Yes sir.’

  How she and a zerg kitten took out six Technomancy combat specialists is a film I’m itching to see, but that’ll have to wait. My hand finds Kerrigan’s shoulder, tingling as if she is vibrating. I’ve felt this before, when Kerrigan unleashed her latent psychic ability and more recently when Trinity broke our brains.

  My hand trembles, not yet recovered from the mental feedback. But Kerrigan needs me now more than ever. I swallow the fear, finding my words.

  “Hey friend. I’m right here. You are not alone.”

  My offer breezes through her fugue, dispelling the fog over her eyes.

  “Pfina, I want this to end. They shouldn’t be here. They never should have been made.” Kerrigan hoists her rifle gesturing to the pods with its muzzle.

  Yet she does not pull the trigger. I can sense the reason why. Some part of this little girl, or scorpion cat, whatever the hell she is, knows that the floating shapes are part of her. So similar, likely made from her very own cells, twins or clones.

  “Not like that. Lets find a control panel and save them gently.” I say.

  It occurs to me that we should probably just recycle the lot of them and use the biomass to make more Barkers but this is the closest thing Kerrigan will ever have to a family. Blasting them in their conscious sleep feels appallingly wrong. Like shooting your quadriplegic grandma in the face instead of unplugging her life support. The end result might be the same, but one leaves fewer scars. And I want to use the wheelchair later. For science.

  Whatever experiments occurred in this lab, I want to understand. Whatever manipulations altered Kerrigan from her basal form into the bioweapon she is now fascinates me. Enthralling my mind with questions, and possibilities. What could Hygieia make with the secrets of this lab?

  Kerrigan points towards a doorway as a robot steers an antigrav sled through it.

  “Recycler is through there.” She says, already walking away.

  I glance at Barker, mentally saying ‘Keep an eye on her. Keep her safe.’

  ‘Yes sir!” Answers Barker and the two elder lings, already riding her shadow to another well lit room.

  On a whim I contact Hygieia, sending her mental snapshots of this laboratory.

  >Terran Thena: I could use some reinforcements.

  >Matriarch Hygieia: hmmmmm

  >Matriarch Hygieia: do not break those tubes

  >Matriarch Hygieia: I recognize this process for evolution

  >Matriarch Hygieia: you take a base creature then improve it

  >Matriarch Hygieia: and subjuect it to external pressures. I see acid baths nerve gases and a healing serum

  Four juvenile lings, shitzu sized, with monkey tails, lon and prehensile, warp around us. White clad robots move hither and thither against white flooring and walls, dodging the lings. Better to have them here with us, gaining experience and maturing with their exemplary elders to show them the way.

  My pulser set to semi auto for precision coils within whine to life preparing to give all that they have. I’m the last to enter the next room.

  White lights banish all shadows, lining the ceiling in a preposterously gaudy array of LED strips. Packed so densely the ceiling could be mistaken for a skylight at noon. Where some earlier segments of the tunnel had only been equipped with a single strip. Visor polarizes, rapidly dialing past outside illumination and into shielding only appropriate for space operations, where we would be unprotected by an atmosphere or magnetic field.

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  A colossal figure stands at the far end of the room, surrounded by cyborgs who are more machine than man, all sealed within sleek black armor. Similar to a HALO spartan but bulkier, as if Master Chief retired, became Master Chef and cooked himself into obesity then got recalled to active duty and was stuffed into a suit with a direct drip feed of Human Growth Hormone and Testosterone. A month of working out later, and you behold the result of that dirty bulk in the four ballooned cyborgs.

  Robots present the tubes to various cyborgs, who accept the tubes or reject them in a constant stream of activity, directed by the maestro in red. The Director, a Technomancer in the flesh, one of the rare humans who has risen to the AI’s attention and deemed to be irreplaceable. A moniker that grants them the red robes.

  Red robes.

  -Red-

  “Oh shit.” I whisper

  Kerrigan’s faceplate whooshes back, revealing her face for all to see. None of the black cyborgs respond, carrying on as usual, simply going about their business. One empties a tube into a chute, flushing away a living clone of Kerrigan. Her keen eyes flick open just in time for the fluid to carry her away. An industrial recycler will break up her component molecules into universally necessary compounds, but all I see is a much younger, wide eyed and clear skinned Kerrigan asking if I’m her friend, extending her hand towards me in the last gesture she will ever make.

  Then she disappears down the recycling chute.

  It’s too late to save her.

  Anger makes you do funny things at times, scream, flail, howl, and shout.

  Often you act rashly.

  But rarely, only in particularly extreme moments of fury, my anger flies through insanity and arrives at cold logic, hastened by adrenaline.

  My aim has never been so true, the first shot hits the distant cyborg. Followed by a second shot that leaves my barrel while the first one is still aloft, in transit to the cyborg’s skull.

  I’m not taking any chances with these combat models and turn to double tap the next heavy trooper when Ling1 and Lingling2 collide with him, tackling the man and savaging with coordinated rakes of claws and teeth. Barker blasts the third, taking six shots to melt the faceplate and skull within. Driven by my fury.

  Six shots. My rifle tracks back to the first guard and I find him leveling a rifle at the nearest ling. He fires as I do, projectiles crossing in air. We both fire a second shot before the first lands, me heightened by adrenaline and him by logic cores. Two railgun projectiles blow through the newborn lings like they're popped balloons. Blood explodes into pink mist and I fire a third shot killing the guard fully. As there is no head remaining.

  I swing, wondering who the last cyborg will slay when I find him wresting with Barker, the two power armors tumbling across the floor. Barker’s tech suit is modified to be heavier, despite that, he looks like a dwarf wrestling an Ogre. I aim carefully and fire, my shot is true, I'll hit directly atop the crown of cyborg’s head. Green shielding flares. My shot disintegrating against the peerless protection.

  Thank god I’m not waiting for a reaction. My second and third shots impact before I realize the futility, and my fifth, sixth, seventh shots all connect, dropping his shields. His armor shifts, the loss of his shields dropping him a few inches. Just enough for Barker to savage abdomen. Metal claws tear into armor, slipping between plates and slashing deeply into the soldier’s gut, disembowling the larger fighter. He gives no reaction of pain, shifting into the blow and rolling to Launch Barker out of his grasp. A smart move, Barker is a melee specialist and this cyborg’s best weapon is the rifle strapped to his back.

  I never stop firing. Not even when Barker flies through the air crashing through two occupied tubes. Two beings die, at least they aren’t Kerrigan. Who hasn’t moved at all during the fight. She’s the fastest of all of us, yet she hasn’t moved an inch. Eyes locked on-

  “-Red.” Kerrigan says, her voice faint, as if sleeptalking.

  “Troublesome experiment.” Says red, mechanical eyes blinking faster than I can process.

  Some kind of message or neurological algorithm.

  >Executrix Alaea: Kerrigan’s acid capsules just popped. Didn’t realize the crystal vials doubled as explosives.

  Focused as I am, the puzzle clicks immediately. Red just executed Kerrigan. Or would have.

  “Troublesome indeed.” Grumbles Red, glancing around at his fallen guards. “No matter. Project 0003, kill the intruders.”

  “These are my friends.” Says Kerrigan, cocking her head to the side.

  Yet her tail coils, winding for a strike.

  >Terran Thena: Red is here. Get ready.

  >Executrix Alaea: I know you care about her, but…

  >Terran Thena: Get ready!

  “They are liars, tricksters! They absconded with you! Don’t you see that Red is your only friend? Kill them, kill them and you may return to my family. I’ve got your parents too, I saved them from these filthy animals.” Says red, sweeping back robes to reveal more steel tentacles than all the octopi in the Pacific ocean.

  Kerrigan’s eyes begin to glow a lethal purple.

  I need to act.

  Targeting reticules center on Red’s face, and I squeeze the trigger. My shot of yellow plasma zips out of existence. Not just deflected, but perfectly countered by whatever shielding tech protects the Technomancer. For the first time I’m not surprised by enemy shields. Full auto engages on my rifle, emptying the reactor in a single beam of golden energy so bright it almost conceals Kerrigan’s betrayal.

  Her tail severs Ling1’s head and in a second she’s tossed his corpse into my plasma stream. Proving everything I’ve feared concerning her origins. She is a bioweapon, no longer in control of her own actions. Rage crushes all other emotions, pushing my mind forward onto solutions. In my endless fury the problem is solved the only way I can.

  >Terran Thena: Warp Kerrigan into status. NOW.

  Kerrigan’s outline halts midair body locked into place as the teleportation begins. We’ve known Kerrigan could have suffered Novan programming, and this was our final failsafe to keep her alive. A stopgap until flashtraining could be cleared.

  “Please forgive me for sending you away.” I whisper, side stepping her outline and retrieving one of the elite guard’s railguns.

  It’ll be minutes before my own pulser will be ready to go and Red needs killing right this second. My own suit tentacles grasp the marine’s shoulder mounted grenade launcher, manually actuating it and firing twice. Yellow smoke begins to fill the room, some kind of chemical warfare.

  “Uh… shit.” I hiss, praying my gas mask will prove effective.

  “Hmmrrm. Surrounded by incompetents. Bah, no matter.” Says Red, his tentacles pushing against the floor to act as hundreds of legs.

  “Man, never thought I'd wish for Hygieia’s centipede instead.” I mutter.

  My technician suit is familiar with the railgun, targeting systems adjust automatically connecting it to my reactors only to find I’m underpowered for its thirst. Two quick shots are all I get before it begins a recharge cycle, five seconds before the gun will be effective again. An eternity.

  Red ignores the slugs, his shielding stalwart as tentacles undulate an object forward. I ready myself to face some fifth soldier and instead find a tube emerging from Red’s inguinal region. I blink. Wondering who has more limbs and innuendo, Red, or the Japanese hentai industry. If what I'm seeing is any indication, the balance might be in this Technomancer’s favor.

  “You… Serious right now? Dick artillery? How- Why?” I stammer, not finding the words.

  Not that I can, the artillery piece glows a royal purple, so dark it distorts light around the muzzle. Some kind of gravity altering cannon, in his crotch.

  Red cackles with laughter, already assuming he has won.

  “God, what an ego, replacing your cock with a gravity cannon? I shout, taking two steps forward and spear throwing my stolen railgun right up his cannon hole.

  Which also happens to be what I want to do to Bazzhole and Whorely, but we can save them for another day. Becoming queen of Earth is higher on the list than petty revenge. Metal clinks against metal, and Red, still howling with glee, sees the railgun get sucked into his barrel, pulled into the anomaly by the same gravitational forces that he meant to extirpate us.

  Unlike an autocannon, railguns, coilguns, and all sorts of energy rifles have sensitive electronics contained within their barrels. Often including wires that connect to super capacitors capable of incredible electrical discharges.

  Railgun capacitors charge instantly -suddenly overjuiced by rifle shorting their circuits together- and empty its mag into the emitter. As a railgun requires no chemical propellant or brass case to hold propellant the railgun slugs are usually a highly dense magnetic penetrator formed into a rod, which stacks into magazines at incredible capacities. This magazine is only the size of a human Pmag, but it holds nearly two hundred slugs. Well, held.

  All of those rip through Red’s internals shredding all pretense of gravitas in his inguinal region.

  “Boss, catch!” Shouts Barker, tossing me his pulse rifle and switching to solarium axe. Gold light halos a second before the cannon explodes.

  Light, space, and time itself suddenly vanish into a sphere ten feet wide only to collapse in on itself, crushed under forces I can’t imagine. The heat and pressure creates a spherical black emerald that drops beneath Red’s- uhm… Hard to say exactly what is left of Red, there’s a cape, a whole spaghetti of tentacles, though it looks like a dozen lings ate through the center of those, and his human torso. All chrome and steel.

  Lightened by the loss of mass, Red scuttles like a hundred disgustingly conjoined spiders, tentacles grasping floor, walls, pods, on their way to me. I backpedal, trying to fight off the grasping steel limbs. I punch, tear, kick, and rip a dozen tentacles as Red’s shielding warps into the gravity distortion.

  It is not enough. Scores of Red’s graspers claw at my armor, catching one arm and slithering around it to bind me. The borrowed pulser is knocked aside, skidding across the floor. I hear Barker howling and hacking, but that does nothing to reassure me as more tendrils encircle me, constricting until I’m pinned to the floor, arms immobilized and spread eagle, legs held open by fifty steel tentacles.

  Two slam against the HELP system, keeping my faceplate vulnerable as two more suction against it, starting to peel off my armor. Which is when I realize how super-completely-extremely-fucked I am. Bad hentai always end one way, and it’s not good for the woman.

  For me.

  What do you want to happen to Athena? (3 votes)