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Phantoms of the Present ch2"Damn, Jimmy. You've been holding out on me."
- Tychus Findlay remarking on Raynor's flagship, the Hyperion.
Phantoms of the Present
Storm over Shili
The Yamato cannon; the single most advanced weapon in the Terran arsenal, and it likely always would be.
It was a weapon of unimaginable power, a sphere that contained enough energy to tear a pie slice out of a star. The science behind it was just barely understood by even the brightest US scientists. Even in the old days of the original Behemoth-class battlecruiser, when you requested air support, everyone knew what you really wanted; the Yamato cannons.
Terran armor has always been known to be extremely hard to pierce, even to their own weapons. The Yamato was designed to combat that. Even with a weapon of this magnitude, however, a lucky battlecruiser could withstand three shots from these. Titan-class battlecruisers were even more resilient, courtesy of regenerative bio-steel. Protoss vessels were found to be w
SC- Too Late For ApologiesThe sands of Korhal felt uncomfortable beneath her bare feet; she had never liked coming to this place, even when she was still human. And while she had always hated hearing Arcturus say that they were stopping off at his blasted ruin of a home world, he was her leader, and Sarah Kerrigan the soldier had never disobeyed orders. But now she was simply Kerrigan, Queen of the Zerg, most despised being in the galaxy and loving every minute of it, and one would think being the ruler of a race of conquering insectiods meant you didnt have to go or do anything you didnt want to.
But here is where reality, she had to remind herself, departed from theory, especially when an invading fleet enslaves the majority of your subjects. It had certainly been a dire situation; the fleet sent by the United Earth Directorate had left her with barely enough minions to maintain the defenses of her hive clusters, forcing her to seek help from outside sources. For anyone else, this wouldve me
IowaIf you visit Iowa,
you'll call her fields empty,
but she wasn't born that way.
A part of her was carved out
when she was ripped between Virginia
and the purple mountains of New Mexico.
Her gold hair, she tore it out when she realized
it didn't make her a princess.
She laid her locks strung along every road
leading somewhere else.
White hairs on her cheeks
are scars from winter.
Her hair darkens with the dampness
of summer rains.
The storms are never silent,
but neither is life when there's a tear
in your childhood where
a parent ought to be.
I've been flooded by Iowa's sorrow.
The only way I can distract her from her own voided landscape
is if I hate myself harder than she cries.
She just wants to fly
and I want to bus or train,
not because I fear death, but because
I want to take living slow.
It's the only way I ever feel.
From the air it's hard to watch Earth's hips move.
But Earth can't compare to the country.
That's my girl.
Full grown even when harvesting season's j
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