Guts has the mind of a professional soldier, and Kerrigan had fallen into a fireteam with him without needing to think about it. Shame his aim is so damn bad. She herself hasn't been bothering with the flamethrower much—does she look like a firebat to you—instead taking precision shots at joints and open mouths when the things roar, which is often. Unfortunately, the Jorgmund-provided weapons are absolute garbage and it takes multiple shots to do what a single round ought to.

"Last mag, and these things are tough," Kerrigan says, loading the magazine in question and firing off a burst in a single, smooth motion. Looks like she's destined to go down to xenomorphs today, whether it's zerg or these new ones. "I can hold 'em in melee for a few while you make a run for it." Flamethrowers are better at close range, anyway.

She makes the offer instinctively, not even considering that it could go the other way. Ghosts don't live to retirement age.

Sorry, Jim.