Shadows from the Badlands

Michael woke to the astoundingly unpleasant feeling of having his injured shoulder rammed into a solid metal bulkhead as he was half dragged, half carried onto a medical transport. He groggily looked around at his surrounding, and outside he could see the battle was still ongoing. The influx of zerg from the badlands had bought the struggling humans time to evacuate, but the lines were still crumbling.

The faceless medic that had dragged him onto the ship dumped him onto a cot, causing another scream of agony to work it's way past the painkillers that were supposed to be keeping him unconscious.

"Hold still a second," came the feminine voice above him. He managed to hold still for only a moment before another medic had pressed him down securely against the cot. The claw that had dug into his shoulder was ripped from his flesh, the serrated edges lacerating the surrounding tissue. His jaw clamped shut, and he tasted blood leaking from his tongue and cheek from where he had bit through them.

"Get me a nanite injection or I'm gonna loose this one,"was shouted above him. Michael gazed up through the pain induced delirium at the woman above him, and tried to remember what had happened. As a large needle was jabbed into his shoulder near the gaping wound, he gave up on caring, and lapsed back into blissful unconsciousness.

When he next woke, the pain in his shoulder had been reduced to a dull throb. Someone had returned him to his quarters in the bowels of the Hyperion. In the dim light of the overhead he could see his armor, now riddled with holes on the shoulder and chest plate, stacked haphazardly on the floor in the corner, and a rifle, either his or replacement, leaning on the wall.

He got out of bed, slowly testing his shoulder as he rolled and stretched the newly repaired tendons and muscles. It felt sore, and the pain spiked slightly when lifted to high, but other wise, he was good as new. He made his way to the door, intent on getting some information about what was going on, but paused when he saw a note pinned to the door.

He didn't recognize the handwriting, but it was signed by Raynor, he thought, the chicken scratch was barely readable, "Sickbay was overloaded, your quarters seemed as good a place as any, your Protoss pall has been hanging around, figure you'll be seeing him soon, we got the relic, couldn't have done it without you. Jim"

Figuring that Dash'r could find him easily enough wherever he went, he left, the rumble in his stomach guiding him to where he thought one of the mess halls were. From the inside, the ship looked battered. Before the fight over Haven, the ship had rust spots, burnt out lights, and the occasional access panel half disassembled. Now he passed entire wrecked walls, torn open by explosions or melted away by acid. Very seldom he'd pass by a work crew, cutting away damaged sections, but this section of the ship seemed deserted.

When he finally reached the Cantina, as a cheesy signed proclaimed the mess hall, he found it unnaturally silent for the crowd within. The jukebox that had been playing western music on his last visit had been torn from it's mountings during the battle and had just been shoved off to the side.

The cause of the silence became apparent soon, all he had to do was follow the nervous stares that most of the crew was sending towards a secluded corner. Michael could easily pick out the muscled form of Sergeant Foxworth, now twisted into something not human.

He made his way over to the infested human.

"So why aren't you dead, Foxworth? I distinctly remember shooting you a few times."

The man looked up and smirked at Michael. He lifted the tattered piece of cloth that still had dried blood on it, exposing his side, where Michael had shot him. "You didn't aim for the important parts, just got a larva," he said. The exposed skin was covered in a hardened carapace, similar to the carapace that protected all zerg. "I'm better now, not quite so mindless as I was for the last few days, thanks to you fellas, and my queen."

"Hows she doing anyways? And Ty, I can't really talk to her this far away."

Foxworth grinned, and the effect of his pale, deathlike skin made Michael's spine shiver. "They're both doin just fine, Carson, the feelin of bein raised from a mindless beast, by those two, is exquisite."

Foxworth was practically leering into the distance, thinking of the two telepaths, and Michael's shivering became almost a spasm, "That's really creepy Foxworth, I'm going away now."

"Later Mikey."

Michael walked away, resisting the urge to quicken his pace. If the former marine had been as creepy in talking to Michael as he had been to others, then the silence that filled the room was fully understandable. He grabbed one of the packaged meals that were being served in place of real food until the kitchen repairs were complete, and left, intent on returning to his quarters. Every so often a crewman would nod there head in his direction, evidence that his reputation was improving, and that he was no longer 'Directorate' in many of their minds.

He had been back in his quarters for only minutes, and had already set aside the rather unappetizing food, when his door chimed. Outside, stood Raynor, Dash'r, and an Protoss he had never met.

Raynor was the first to speak, "Michael, just wanted to check in on you."

"I'm fine, the shoulder is still a little off, but the nanites are still workin on the details," he replied, before looking questioningly at the other Protoss, wondering at his presence.

Raynor got the hint, "Ah, yeah, Michael, meet Zeratul, he's helping getting the weapon working."

Michael nodded his head at the other Protoss. His robes and armor were tattered in comparison to Dash'rs, and he looked older, and weary. "Hows that going, any progress?" he asked, wondering how son they would be heading back into battle.

Zeratul's voice echoed through his mind, "It goes well, and it will be working within days."

Raynor and Zeratul left shortly after, leaving Dash'r behind. He got a knowing smirk from Raynor as they walked away, and he flushed, before turning his attention to Dash'r.

"Your using the door, that's a first," he said, chuckling and eager for time alone with his lover.

He got the impression of a laugh from the Protoss, and he stepped back and vanished into the damaged and shadowed corridor. Michael was only partly startled when a pair of arms wrapped around him moments later, and pulled him backwards into his quarters. Inside the lights had once again been extinguished, and he turned around in the strong arms that held him, and stared into the glowing eyes.

The voice that sounded in his mind was full of laughter, "In that case, I would not want break with tradition."

"Hah, funny. So what's the news from the outside world. Haven't felt like getting out for long."

"It is as we feared, reports have come in from across Terran space of hybrid attacks, entire worlds are being threatened. We will arrive at our first target in 4 hours."

Michael sighed, and regretted asking. "Great, one near death experience over, on the the next."

He felt the Protoss arms tighten around him, almost painfully tight, and he felt the flood of emotion come through their link, protectiveness, trust, and love. "I will be at your side throughout, Michael."

"I love you, Dash'r," he said, letting his own answering love flood through to the Protoss