Sarah Kerrigan - The Early Years

by SuperMudz

Chapter One

SARAH KERRIGAN

She had learned to use the katana by age fourteen. She had surpassed her instructors within a year.

There were many missions of which were never recorded, some of which are not recorded here, but some few, which were enough to give her a fierce reputation, and dark.

She did not speak of them, and they had learned not to question, but if they had learned to look, they would have noticed that sometimes her eyes were wet. Not even their finest psychics could penetrate that layer of shielding she had created around her mind.

Not even under hours of interrogation would she yield anything, until, out of frustration, they simply gave her a pass – an agent that would not break if the enemy captured her. It was not the result they wanted, but they gave it a positive appearance, despite Sarah Kerrigan now being impervious to their scans, which ordinarily they would never have tolerated.

There are many stories about the one called Sarah Kerrigan, but this is this one.

Not long after she had gotten her first pass with the rifle, something she had handled since eight years old if that, she killed two men. Her instructors, nodded approvingly. She was ready.

She remembered her first instructors. Standing in that cold place – like a warehouse, but nothing was ever stored there. Just levels upon levels of environment training, engagement practises, and other things besides.

They did not know his name, they were never told. The instructors seemed to change from day to day, and even the most sensitive psi probing couldn't keep track of them. But she remembered.

"Omnipotence is based on the understanding of instinct before action. Or the understanding of action before encounter. A man who picks up a rifle and instinctively understands how to use it without training, knows the power of God. And that is what we are going to try and teach you."

And so they did. Hours, days, weeks, years of gruelling training. Picking up rifles, assembling and disassembling – field-made bombs, physical decryption techniques, endless subjects were covered on those cold floors – not even the extent of their training facilities. Sometimes they only got a few hours of sleep at a time – and they were forced to use various system stimulants. They learned to regulate themselves like machines, even if the instructors were the ones to force them.

One of them snapped a few months in, and had to be carted off for rehabilitation. Rehabilitation meant very little. If a Ghost was broken, that was it. If not, the agent would be falling behind, and it was hard to say what that meant, other than they would probably never see her again.

The only person they did recognise on a daily basis was their corps liaison, although his identity was no less opaque than the rest. He arranged their missions, and many other things. He did often instruct them.

He looked up with a wry expression. "It's a partial and imperfect art, but here in the academy, we work and add to it every day. Rest assured you'll be going into the field with the very finest training." He seemed slightly wryly bitter about it for some reason – not obviously, and for no apparent reason.

"The next step in evolution," he said. "That's why they hated us. Shot us out here to scavenge a living, do their dirty work for them. Pioneer these worlds. But we'll be ready for them if they ever show up. These are our worlds now. This is our home."

And later, in her cell, the child who was never allowed to speak her name, Sarah Kerrigan, brooded.