Catalyst

Chapter 16: Cloak and Dagger

Abathur had long suspected that terrans were idiots. They fought amongst themselves, never seeking to improve, to move forward, always obsessed with their personal goals. Perhaps the last one was understandable, Abathur was equally guilty of it, but the rest were weaknesses that none of them sought to correct. This was especially evident in conversation, where each participant tried to steer the conversation into a different topic, making a simple exchange of information into a verbal tug of war.

The rest of the earlier train ride had been monotonous, talking with the camouflage. Small talk was as dull as ever, most of it revolving around this or that over the summer. Abathur wasn't really able to participate in this. After all, it would not be good for his cover to say he had spent the vast majority of the summer in a cocoon modifying and improving both his body and a giant semi-sentient colony of ants, while driving the latter to conquer vast tracts of the island.

Fortunately, it was easy to stay out of the conversation, especially when it shifted to some human called Sirius Black. Apparently the best these terrans could do for damage was less than a single baneling, and that was impressive. And when said impressive terran escaped from prison, it was the only topic of discussion after it was mentioned. For 2 hours. Abathur made occasional comments for appearances sake, but it was dull.

The compartment had settled into silence after the sweets cart had come through, broken only by the gnashing of teeth, and the occasional snore of the adult human with slightly odd essence. Abathur had picked up a couple of loose hairs from him earlier, but had otherwise ignored him, and he seemed perfectly happy to return the favor. Largely because he was unconscious. Abathur was largely left to his own devices.

He took the time to make minor modifications. The terrans had changed over the years, and Abathur was no longer on the same route of growth as them. Aesthetics had to be changed, small chemical changes were required, proper hair growth was mandatory. While he was changing, he might as well increase his insulation. The small coach was quickly becoming quite cold.

Suddenly, the train came to an abrupt halt, jerking forward before falling back to a complete stop. The terrans grew alarmed, yelling out their confusion and speculation. The train rocked once more, as if something large was going onto it. Frost spread across the window as the temperature dropped yet more.

A large being appeared in front of the compartment door, clothed in a black hood. It twisted a long, bony hand, and the door moved aside. Abathur prepared for combat, starting claw growth and pumping venom to his palm. The terrans made similar actions, although those mostly consisted of flinching back. For a moment, the world seemed frozen.

Then the creature struck. Not with claws or teeth or toxins, but into his mind. It pulled visions from Abathur's head, pulled him into them, made it real.

"-watched as Kerrigan's mutalisks shot at the primal zerg, forcing their way through to the quillgor. Abathur spared a moment to glance through an overlords eyes at the corpses left behind; the primals did have some interesting sequences. A single glance turned into a long stare, which turned into rage. Even with the glaive wurm burning through much of the primals corpses, Abathur could see his own work, replicated and corrupted by the thieving, unacceptable-"

"-missiles pounded against the leviathans flesh. Abathur had designed the armor, the structure. The terran bullets were well adapted to it, to penetrate through the layers of carapace. Abathur knew exactly how long until those missiles stopped hitting armor, and started hitting him."

"-spiders chasing, mandibles snapping. However many Abathur killed, more kept coming. Eventually, they would catch him, and that would be the end. Dying on a terran's behalf. How irritating."