Kerrigan would have assumed that passionless mental voice belonged to another ghost if not for the fact that when she reaches out with an inquisitive air, the psychic equivalent of a question mark or a cocked head and a slight frown, she doesn't get the response of a powerful telepath, just the normal, unaware presence of a regular mind. Well, insofar as nonhumans count as "regular," anyway. (Can't be a protoss, he'd already be patronizing her.)
She heads for the source of the puzzling message at a jog, detouring around an outbuilding because telepathy doesn't care if there are walls in the way, and comes upon...whatever that is. A blue cat-centaur?
Regardless, it's looking rough, but so is the xenomorph. Kerrigan takes a knee and steadies the crappy Jorgmund rifle to make sure the shot actually goes where she wants it, right into the gash the blue thing opened in the nightmare creature's carapace. Something inside there's gotta be important.
Two trigger squeezes separated by just long enough to correct for recoil put a pair of three-round bursts into the already-wounded xenomorph, acid blood spattering and the thing shrieking as the bullets tear through.
no subject
She heads for the source of the puzzling message at a jog, detouring around an outbuilding because telepathy doesn't care if there are walls in the way, and comes upon...whatever that is. A blue cat-centaur?
Regardless, it's looking rough, but so is the xenomorph. Kerrigan takes a knee and steadies the crappy Jorgmund rifle to make sure the shot actually goes where she wants it, right into the gash the blue thing opened in the nightmare creature's carapace. Something inside there's gotta be important.
Two trigger squeezes separated by just long enough to correct for recoil put a pair of three-round bursts into the already-wounded xenomorph, acid blood spattering and the thing shrieking as the bullets tear through.