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SCL Chapter 105: Not a Weapon Anymore
🕑 Added 2025-06-04 03:54:22 +0000 UTCSarah Kerrigan pushed herself upright with some effort, leaning on her elbow. Her tattered Ghost operative mimicry combat suit had been replaced by a loose-fitting jumpsuit with a rough texture. Several tubes were still connected to her scalp, hidden deep beneath her fiery red hair, causing persistent discomfort.
She had expected to be strapped to an electric chair, but evidently, the situation wasn’t quite that bad.
It took the surgical staff a few minutes to repair the lights. Soon, the small room—large enough to hold only two beds and a few medical instruments—was once again brightly illuminated. Kerrigan’s heightened senses, keener than that of an average person, told her that numerous ventilation ducts ran through the walls, linked to fans. That likely meant this place was underground.
She glanced at an elderly man in a white coat, his hair snowy white, standing beside her bed. Then her eyes shifted to Augustus, who stood with both hands clasped behind his back. Kerrigan could recognize his voice—it was the one that had, with only a few words, awakened her most horrific memories. His voice was like a devil’s whisper.
Yet, her first impression of Augustus hadn’t been entirely negative. He looked quite young, actually—thick gray eyebrows, sunken eyes, and a sharply curved, hawkish nose. His expression was stern and unyielding.
“You saved me,” Kerrigan said, gazing directly at him. “So what can I do for you?”
Even though she sensed only two unfamiliar but powerful psionics in the room, Kerrigan could still pick up a few thoughts lingering at the surface of Augustus’s consciousness through telepathy: kindness, calm, curiosity.
Psionics of great power often couldn’t fully suppress their mind-reading abilities. Such traits could be restrained with training and a psi inhibitor. But now, freshly freed from hers, Kerrigan clearly had no control over the immense strength of her own telepathy and psionic abilities.
“I need to know what you're good at,” Augustus said.
He was dressed in a dark gray woolen military uniform—the standard for the Revolutionary Army’s ground forces: closed-cut western-style design, straight-legged trousers, and a sheepskin belt fastened with black copper studs. His cold gray eyes were striking—sharp like an eagle’s.
“…Killing,” Kerrigan answered after a pause. Her delicate eyebrows furrowed deeply from pain. “No—I don’t want to kill anymore.”
She had never been taught anything beyond infiltration and assassination. Ghost operatives were assigned the Terran Confederacy’s most brutal, darkest tasks. They were the most elite assassins, the most efficient killing machines.
“I won’t send you to kill,” Augustus replied, tilting his head slightly to the left, as if listening to someone next to him.
“In fact, quite the opposite,” he continued calmly, without the slightest trace of fear or dread.
“I want you to save lives. To free the oppressed and their broken spirits. To defend fairness and restore order.”
Kerrigan hesitated, clearly puzzled.
“But… you’re rebels.”
“Your memories are gradually returning,” Augustus said after a brief silence, “but many of your beliefs are still flawed.”
“In the past, you served a dark government. You were forced to commit atrocities on behalf of those perched high in the Confederacy’s parliament, to preserve their cruel, absurd, and laughable rule.”
“The rulers of Tarsonis governed the Terran Confederacy through fear and suppression. The Old Families—the descendants of the original pioneers and leaders—ran their corporate empires by treating the colonies as resource extraction zones and dumping grounds for their products. Heavy taxes made it nearly impossible for laborers to survive. The Confederacy may have won the war against the Kel-Morian Combine, but it did so by sacrificing the future of its frontier worlds. And now the victims of war are being made to pay for its cost... The crimes of the Tarsonis government are too numerous to count.”
“What the Revolutionary Army must do is overthrow this decaying government and the Old Families behind it. Crush their military. Shatter the Confederacy and rebuild it from the ground up.”
“Right now, a chance to change your fate stands before you,” Augustus said, stepping closer to the attentive Kerrigan.
“All you need to do is stand with us. Fight alongside us. And you’ll come to see the darkness that hides beneath the shining veneer of the Tarsonis Dominion. You’ll understand that the path we and Korhal IV walk… is one of unmatched light.”
“I think you’re right,” Kerrigan said, her pale green eyes peeking out from beneath a few strands of fiery red hair as she looked at Augustus. “This is fine. I was beyond redemption to begin with. I’ve killed too many people—that’s a fact no one can deny. I still remember each of their faces, vividly.”
As more memories resurfaced, Kerrigan felt a growing sense of sorrow and despair. The weight of her guilt gnawed at her conscience. These feelings of remorse and self-reproach were burdens she had placed on herself—something a true villain would never even care about.
She felt increasingly lost.
Back when she lived as a Confederacy Ghost operative, her only purpose was to complete whatever mission she was assigned. The psi inhibitors could turn even the most defiant psionic into a docile sheep, a servant obedient to any command.
Now, freed from all that—something she had never even dared to hope for during her years as a Ghost—Sarah Kerrigan found herself overwhelmed by uncertainty and fear. She had no idea what to do next.
After all, she had nothing left… and was reviled by the world.
“I know that if, through this process, you can feel that your soul is redeemed and comforted, all the better,” Augustus said. “If you once killed a thousand innocents, then go save ten million others. We can never fully atone for the past versions of ourselves—but at the very least, ten million lives will be saved because of you.”
“But… aren’t you afraid of me, Commander?” Kerrigan gave Augustus a timid smile. From any angle, it was clear that she was forcing it.
Ever since the psi inhibitor was removed, the composed, fierce persona that had once defined her as a strong and formidable woman had faded. She was no longer the cold, ruthless Ghost of the Confederacy—just a sixteen-year-old girl.
And what terrified her most… was hearing Augustus say "yes."
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” Augustus replied. Then he added: “No matter what others say—whether they call you a monster, an outcast, or someone forsaken by fate—in my eyes, you are still part of humanity. You should neither exalt yourself for your psionic gifts, nor be hated for being different.”
“You are Sarah Kerrigan. And you will always be Sarah Kerrigan.”
“Stay close to me. Stand with me,” he said.
“You will no longer be a tool—but a person, truly worthy of your name.”
Right now, Sarah Kerrigan felt as though she had seized a beam of light in an endless sea of darkness. That light seemed to shine from the heavens themselves.
She had found a new purpose.
...
Ghost 24718 lost an arm and his right eye during the assassination mission targeting Angus Mengsk. Shards of granite from the explosion pierced both of his lungs, meaning he would have to rely on an oxygen pack and assisted breathing for the rest of his life.
Augustus had already learned from Kerrigan that he was one of the three Ghost agents sent to carry out the assassination. Another operative, 24506, was still hiding somewhere in the city of Styrling. His target was Augustus himself—but for reasons unknown, he had not yet acted.
No one knew where 24506 was now. Perhaps he was still preparing to take Augustus’s life. Or perhaps he had already returned to the Victor V Base, or to the Ghost Academy on Tarsonis.
“He nearly didn’t make it. He was in a coma for a full week,” said a private surgical doctor hired by the Mengsk family, speaking to Augustus inside a recovery ward at the Korhal Revolutionary Army headquarters, designated for critically wounded patients.
By the time Augustus entered the room, Ghost 24718 had already regained consciousness. His face, pale and bloodless beneath the helmet, made him look like a vampire lying in a coffin. He was wearing a respirator, and each breath he took was heavy and mechanical, like the sound of an extractor fan.
The room was equipped with four psi-shield generators. As Augustus could see for himself, the console monitoring his psionic output displayed levels safely within containment. A Umojan Shadow Guard, standing by at all times, kept a close eye on him.
“Augustus, son of Angus. You should have killed me,” Ghost 24718 said, shaking his head while looking past him at Sarah Kerrigan.
Sarah Kerrigan stood behind Augustus Mengsk with the air of a sharp and capable adjutant. Her beauty did not go unnoticed by the soldiers and administrative staff at the headquarters. Her pale green eyes and long lashes were striking, and her lips were full and sensual.
She had changed into a Korhal Revolutionary Army officer’s uniform—thick wool coat with a high collar and a row of brass buttons, and a split skirt with a long, heavy hem.
A brimless garrison cap sat atop her fiery red hair, which was gathered at the back. The cap bore an emblem: a whip grasped in a ring with a golden five-pointed star at its center. The epaulets on her shoulders displayed the golden wolf of Mengsk and an inverted V with sharp ends, marking her as a lieutenant in the Praetorian Guard.
After being captured by the rebels, this powerful psionic had come to feel gratitude for Augustus’s rescue and pledged herself to the revolutionary cause, seeking redemption for her past crimes. It all seemed inevitable. The Confederacy had shaped her into a killer, while Augustus had promised her freedom—no more forced killings.
The Umojan Shadow Guard still served the Umojan Parliament, and although Augustus entrusted them with important duties, he understood the need to cultivate his own psionic operatives.
Augustus’s decision to reuse a federal assassin—one who had tried to kill his father—raised concerns among some, including Sergeant Faraday, commander of the Praetorian Guard, as well as senior Revolutionary Army officers and former members of Heaven’s Devils loyal to Augustus. But since neither Augustus nor his father saw a problem, the rest followed suit.
