1) In the begining there were two Zerg player, one of which was on my team. The two players manly beat down on each other and we're disconnected at some point VERY early in the game.

2) A lot of the begining skirmishes between the Protoss player, who's tag was SHINAN by the way, and myself were just my tanks blocking off his choke with Wraiths flying about to ward off any Carrier problems.

3) There are a number of unlisted battles between patrolling Wraiths and enemy Carriers that go unmentioned in the below text. Most of the battles in queston were VERY one sided with my Wraiths annhilating any opposition using cloaked and heavily upgraded weapons.

I think that's pretty much everything. A few stray details escaped my notice, no doubt, but it's likely they were minor in nature. A note: Though I do, as implied, take a few artistic liscences, most of the fatalities I describe all really happened. The Enemy, however outlandish it may sound, DID have dozens of Carriers and the money to sustain them. Now then, enough forward. ON WITH THE STORY!

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A tall craggey man stared grimly through the tinted window of his Command Center. The large Orbital Platform stretched before him, covered in small craters and Zerg bodies. This airless metal lump was no place for any sort of Lifeform.

The torn bodies of Terran Marines gave the place a look what one would imagine hell to resemble. Bleak. Lifeless. Filled with an underlying pain of countless lives being lost. "Definetly a hell hole," he though grimmer still. "But it's my hell hole, damnit!"

He turned from the window, face still a mask, and looked at the messanger sent to him from the front lines. "What is it, son?" he growled.

The nervouse recruit snapped to attention and handed the Commander a small NotePuter. "Message from Captain Longstreet, Commander Riffon, sir!"

Riffon nodded and took the hand held computer from the young man's hand and glanced over it briefly. His eyes, though already dim, suddenly seemed to go a good deal darker. "Is this true?" he groweled once more.

"Yes sir!" the recruit barked back. "Saw the ships land myself, sir!"

Riffon clenched his fist silently and layed the Pad down on his desk. "Damnation," he said silently. "DAMNATION," he then roared as he slammed his clenched fist down upon a pile of papers on the large metal desk. "First it's the godamned Zerg then it's those doubley damned Protoss! This is my Platform, don't they understand?!? MINE!" Riffon spun on his heel and glared out the windowtowards where the Pad indicated the Protoss were now residing. "Tell Captain Longstreet to ready his troops. We're going to eject those.... Alien scum from this platform if it's the last thing we do."

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Elsewhere, though not too far away, Executar Shinan sat in his meditation chamber, eyes closed and arms folded across his chest. His powerful telepathis abilities floated across the bleak Platform searching for forms of life other than the hated Zerg. And suddenly he found it. The choatic thought pattern of the Terrans. Using a low power mind cutting technique, he attempted to gauge their motives. "Nothing...." he thought. His eyes flashed open and Shinan rose to his own full, powerful form using the strength of his legs alone. "First Zealot Tolarin?" he called out mentally.

"Aye, Executar?" floated back the reply.

"I have located a Terran outpost some Kells to the east from our base. I have been unable to gauge thier intentions from here and I would request that you go to the base and make contact with thier leader and see if he will parely for this platform."

"Of course, Executar. Soul of Tassadar guide you." The mental precense of the young Zealot floated away silently.

The elder Protoss walked silently over to his command chair and sat in it lightly. "It is," he thought, "good that we meet Terrans here instead of the Zerg." he ran a long fingered hand along the edge of his control pannel. "They are supposedly our allies now, or so I hear. We shall more than likely be greeted with open arms." His glowing eyes continued to stare into the control pannel, as though trying to diven the very future from it. "Or maybe not," he thought on. "One can never tell with Terrans."

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First Zealot Tolarin looked around excitedly, eyes shimmering with anticipation. His group of young Zealots, 12 in all, shared his enthusiasm. The gorupd of them were fresh from Homeworld and ready to prove thier worth to the Protoss race. Darkness shrouded the Platform making visual contact with the Terrans next to impossible. but his mind was open and that's all a good Protoss warrior needs, or so he had been tought.

As he advanced, his mind began to drift to finer things. He thought of what the encounter Terrans would lead to. Maybe they would react harshly and try to battle! Yes, that would be good. His first kill as an infantry men. Or better yet, they might sue for partner ship. Maybe he would be the Protoss who would be the first to join Man and Protoss is unity! Yes, that would be good. Of course, it'd only happen if he could find the foolish animals. Idly, he flicked out his Psi Blade.

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"So then I says to the lady, 'Hey, babe, what do you think this is!'"

Quiet guffaws echoed through the Siege tank as Wallace finished his story. "Yer the man, Wally." The driver called out, his twanging accent hitting hard on Wallace's name.

"My names Wallace, you backworlder low-life," he grumbled causing a few more snickers to slip out of the crew men. Wallace snorted contentedly and looked back through the sights of his Siege Tank's Shock Cannon. "What the hell are we lookin for again?"

"Some Proties, or so the Captin' says. The official order is, 'If ya see em, blow em to hell.'"

"Great. Haven't shot ol Betsy at some Proties for a coon's age." Wallace's grimey grin lit up his scarred face. "We'll show those uppity snots, eh?"

"Eh," the Driver confirmed. The thin man squited into the inky darkness of the craggy platform. "Course, they'll probably have their damned arm knifes in our mouths before we even seem em."

"That's a cheery thought." Wallace grumbled. "They must pay you..." Wallace stopped mid sentence, snapping his firing reticle up with battle honed reflexes, eyes narrowing. "Protoss Psi Blade seen, inform Tank Group to fire at designated cordinents on my mark.... MARK!" Wallace cooly depressed the firing stud, lighting up the blackness.

It was over in seconds. The Protoss sheild and armor we're overwhelmed instantly by the power of the Shock Cannon coupled with the Guasse Rifle fire of Marines hidden in Bunkers. The enraged Protoss swore that they would have Terran blood by the gallon to pay for each brave Protoss falling before the guns of the Terran defensive. Time would tell which side would be the victor.... and who would be dead.

THE END!

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Yowza. Hand't quite occured to me how much WORK it is to write a good story. I need to get into practice more, I think. Well, turns out I have things to do before I can finish this story for all you kids. I swear to you who are just wetting thier pants for my next installment that I will get around to it by tommorow. Hope y'all enjoyed!

To all you sticklers out there, I appologize for the appaling amount of grammererical and spelling errors that must litter my story, but I was lacking an editor so.... Well, I'm sure you can guess how that is. Till next time...