As the speakers above flare to life, a woman’s horrified voice resonates throughout the area. Through the Spaceship’s camera system, she watches as the beast lumbers towards me. I’m unsure if she can even hear its haunting howls and bellowing moans, yet the shakiness in her voice transmits perfectly her feelings of terror… One I can’t help but mirror as its tongue lashes out at me. “– I can’t seem to get a read on your vitals…”
One of its severed arms, earlier torn off but now grotesquely mutated, creeps along like a complete mockery of nature’s water spider, its long fingers skittering across the floor. Despite its injuries, the creature shows no sign of pain or reaction. “Is your RIG malfunctioning? I can’t seem to establish any sort connection? Raise a thumb if you’re human. I will help you navigate to a safe position–” The voice hesitates, then corrects. “Well, as safe as possible given the situation we appear to have found ourselves in.”
She continues to ramble.
Meanwhile, the monstrosity slowly drags its legs towards us, its fleshy tendrils wriggling and occasionally making wet slaps against the cold steel floor. Unlike its predecessors, who would purposefully act slow before exploding in bursts of speed in order to catch their victims off-guard, this creature’s actually slow. Not that surprising considering its clear lack of a solid and skeletal structure which appears to have been replaced by reanimated sausages. “If you are a human and can hear me, just- give me a sign!”
The urgency in the woman’s voice intensifies, demanding proofs of my Humanity like those annoyingly bothersome online verification checks. Without a moment to waste, aware that time is of the essence with both enemies in close proximity, I raise my thumb as a signal of my Humanity.
Deftly, I evade a tendril lash aimed at constricting my neck, outmaneuvering my gruesome adversaries with ease whilst the skittering arm discreetly circles to my back. Within, the nameless Klyntar rears his head at the verbal non-verbal challenges- surrendering his powers to me to teach the walking corpse a lesson, (not that it’d stick with that rotting brain of it), I decide to ignore his offer after a brief contemplation.
It is not a display of contrived pride but a measure to avoid startling the woman behind the voice with the presence of my newfound alien companion. Recognizing that the Klyntar must have heard my thoughts, I swiftly offer an apology, mindful of its intimidating appearance to human standards.
“You look freaking terrifying from the perspective of humans. No offense, buddy."
‘TeRriFyiNg…’ The alien hums, almost tasting the word with its elongated tongue. ‘CaLL mE DEiMOs.’
Ah, the Greek God of Terror, Deimos.
‘An impressive and fitting name, buddy.’
In hurried motions, we spring into action, the Klyntar strengthening and empowering me from under my outfit. Though it fails to display the full extent of our combined might, the enhanced abilities it grants me prove to be more than sufficient. What challenge do a few mere shambling corpses pose against a Super Soldier and a nearly immortal, symbiotic Alien Lifeform? ‘So, shall we demonstrate to these lifeless carcasses why they should never have crossed our path?’
"Hang on tight! I'll attempt to open that door. Do you have any kind of weapon?" I quickly maneuver under the gaunt yet towering entity- the Divider, shooting a frustrated glance toward the ceiling. I silently mouth the words, "What do you think?" Before showing her my very much empty hands. “Right. Dumb question… You’re in luck. There’s a weapon cache to your left, do you see it?”
I glance to the left, finding nothing as she corrects. “Sorry, it’s to my left which is your right. You know how to use firearms, right?” Quickly redirecting my attention and spotting the weapon cache hidden behind a stack of crates, I approach, the Dividers' tendrils lashing out in an attempt to impede my progress. With a swift and deliberate movement, I unsheathe a wickedly sharp blade from the cache and turn to face the oncoming threat, other hand holding a sleek, futuristic rifle.
“That is a Motorized Pulse Rifle. Not as effective against these creatures as people, but… Well, it’s better than nothing.”
Deimos, sensing my readiness to engage, hurriedly coils around my arm, enhancing my strength and agility.
The woman crackles over the speakers, continuously urging me to be cautious and offering guidance whenever possible. Although futuristic, it appears guns haven’t gone through much changes.
Despite the fact that the components and functions of the firearm are familiar to me, the task of actually operating it proves to be yet another obstacle. It's difficult to believe, but I have really limited experience when it comes to firearms. Most of my training with Peggy had focused on CQC, and she never insisted that I become proficient with guns either.
While picking up a firearm and pulling the trigger comes naturally, the intricacies of assembling and loading it with ammunition still elude me. The woman's voice responds with a mix of disbelief and worry, exclaiming, "You... You don't know how to use it? Oh, no."
As the Divider lunges toward me with its elongated jaws and sharp teeth, I dodge its attack with a fluid motion, the blade of my weapon finding its mark and severing one of its tendrils. Black, tar-like blood oozes from the wound, but the creature remains undeterred, its eyes burning with an unholy fire.
But I don’t need guns; have never required it for protections, and now?
Now I need them even less.
“The SWS Motorized Pulse Rifle is a military-grade, triple-barreled, rapid-fire assault rifle with large magazine ammunition capacity. The Pulse Rifle is the standard-issue service rifle of the Earth Defense Force, but you probably are not that versed in firearms… Alright, I will walk you through it. Just stay out of its reach–”
However, the Divider is not the only threat in the room. The skittering arm that had circled around me prior lunges forth, its needle-like fingers aiming for vulnerable spots on my neck. But with a combination of agility, instinct, and Deimos’ enhancement, I manage to parry and counter, impaling the arm with a swift thrust. “First, you need to make sure the power cell is fully charged. Those don’t run out often but if they do, you’re gonna be in a bit of a pickle.”
The room becomes a whirlwind of motion and chaos as I fend off the Divider’s relentless attacks and the skittering appendages that emerge from the depths. “You can see the power level on this display screen on the side, just press this button. If you have a RIG, it’ll show on your display but–”
The woman’s voice remains a constant presence, offering instructions whilst I fiddle with the weapon, her fear mingling with my own adrenaline-fueled determination. Person B: You can see the power level on this display screen here, just press this button. “Now, grip the rifle firmly and locate the safety switch. It’s this small lever on the side. Make sure it’s in the ‘on’ position before proceeding. Oh, and check the chamber too. See if it’s loaded.”
It isn’t.
“Grab some magazines from the crates.”
Doing as told, I pull the trigger only to hear a satisfying punch as pressurized bullets rain on the creeping arm. “That’s it, you got it… Don’t point the weapon at yourself and this is gonna be a piece of cake.”
A surge of power courses through my veins as the firearm hums in anticipation in hands. Simultaneously, Deimos channels his power into me, amplifying each strike I deliver.
The Divider, now heavily wounded, staggers backward at the kick, its bellowing moans echoing through the chambers. With one final, devastating blow, I pierce through its twisted maws with the nozzle. “I will give you a reason to moan, motherfucker!” Much like the arms, its legs separate and try to skittle away too, but they’re mercilessly gunned down when they make the attempt.
The cavernous room falls silent, the only sound is that of bullets ricocheting in the nozzle.
I take a moment to catch my breath, covered from head to toes in the undead’s foul ichor. Deimos, satisfied with our victory, retreats back into his dormant state, leaving me once again alone within myself.
Through the speakers, the woman’s voice breaks the silence, a mix of awe and relief evident in her tone. “You did it! Welcome to the club, kid. You’re one of the last survivors on the Ishimura.” I offer a brief nod, having regained my calm after the battle. Toying with the gun in my palms, I smile. “Your help’s duly noted and appreciated, whoever you are, stranger. Can you guide me to a–”
Something above causes the vents to creak, its huge frame colliding with the metal confines. “Safe position?”
“Sure. But you’ll need a new Resource Integration Gear and Armor.” She agrees, a little too quickly. “The nearest Bench is just three doors from where you are. If you are lucky, there should be health packs and more ammos in the lockers. Check each thoroughly. We don’t have the luxury to waste perfectly good supplies. Loot the corpses for Credit Chips. You are gonna need them.”
While I am not familiar with the exact nature of Credit Chips, I can make an educated guess based on context. It is likely that these thin yellow chips that are found in the pockets of the horrifically mutated creatures that I have encountered. Fortunately, I have managed to store a growing collection of these Credit Chips from previous encounters, a detail that I- still dressed in my US Conscript uniform- attribute to the military’s decision to include generously-sized pockets in their attire.
“Where should I–”
Suddenly, the being drops down from the vent above. Its appearance is grotesque, stripped of its skin, to reveal pulsating, exposed muscles underneath.
Although at first glance it may not appear drastically different from its counterparts, I would be lying if I said there weren’t distinct variations. Instead of a head, flesh and bones encase its vital organs, coupled with two thicker and presumably more durable spikes protruding from its back, it appears far more… Robust than anything the regular schmucks possess.
“I’m pretty sure they’re tracking your location through sound.” The voice warns urgently. “You need to get a new RIG ASAP. We can’t rely on the speakers for communication anymore.”
I nod in understanding, hauling my shiny new weapons on my back.
“But first I suggest you deal with that thing.” Taking a moment to assess the situation, my gaze focused on the creature that has just descended from the vent. It growls, its exposed muscles twitching and throbbing as it takes a slow step forward. Instinctively, I tighten my grip on the Motorized Pulse Rifle and position myself, ready to engage in another battle. “Oh, shit. Here we go again.”
…
Surrounded by broken corpses and severed limbs strewn across the floor, I click my tongue in irritation, catching a much needed breath. "There better not be more of these… Slashers where you’re sending or I swear.” Bursting their skulls open and shooting off limbs were fun the first fifty times, but now it’s becoming a hassle.
“Holy– The way you fight! How’re you– Never mind. There might be more of them lurking in the shadows. Stay alert and head to the Bench immediately. You can’t stay in one place for too long. I’ll check on a fellow crew member, in the meantime, go get your equipment then we can talk."
Nodding in agreement, I make my way towards the Bench, keeping a watchful eye on my surroundings. As I approach the designated area, the door hisses before opening to unveil a blue glow of the Bench, its shiny holographic interface blinking patiently- seeming to wait for my attention. “I’m guessing that’s the Bench?” Following the woman's guidance, I carefully put the Chips in the machine, utterly fascinated by the automatic moving parts. The holographic display shows various options and upgrades, but prior to all that, I’m gonna need a RIG and a functioning Armor.
Even the most basic ones will do. I select the desired RIG model, taking a seat and casting my glance all around as the machine hums and whirls, intricately assembling the components, fitting it securely onto my body. Immediately, a surge of relief courses through me as I realize the speakers are no longer our only means of communication.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The woman's voice comes through crystal clear, devoid of the previous static. "Your vitals, it’s insane. How’re you alive?”
“Pushups, sit-ups and plenty of juices.”
I joke, hoping to divert her attention, and succeed… For now. “Well, at least now you’ll be able to communicate and navigate the ship more effectively. But don't delay, there might be more dangers waiting for you." Acknowledging her instructions, I search the lockers to gather the necessary supplies, ensuring I will always have access to ammunition, health packs, and any other useful equipment.
I approach the fallen corpses, carefully inspecting them for Credit Chips and anything else of value. After a thorough search, I pocket the collected Credit Chips, appreciating the weight of the yellow chips in my palm. They may prove invaluable in obtaining additional resources and upgrades. Feeling prepared and equipped, with extra equipment stored in my Inventory for future endeavors, I ask the voice. "Damn…”
I whistle, staring at the brunette in the hologram. “You lookin’ good, boss lady. Any tips?”
She responds with a dry chuckle, “Glad to know you still have the heart to joke.”
“So… What now?"
“Now I’m gonna have to ask you to run an errand in exchange. It’s for the good of us both, I assure you.”
“What kind of errand?”
She responds after a moment of silence.
“The kind that will require you to waddle through a sea of those… Things.”
Letting loose a sigh, feeling the less-than-comforting weight of my newly acquired Standard Miner RIG armor, I can’t help but chuckle. With my hands resting against my waist, I ponder out loud, “Well, no point stalling. What do we have on the agenda today, boss?” Sudden statics interrupt the coms as she curses. “Goddamnit! It’s- Jamming our- FIND ISAAC CLARKE!” I wince at the frustrated scream transmitted through the line, narrowing my eyes as images of the brunette vanish.
“… Who the Hell’s Isaac Clarke?!”
As I continue my journey through the eerie hallways, I’m met with a monotonous stretch of dull walking. It's a mind-numbing experience that I’ll spare you the details of. However, what does manage to capture my attention is the absence of enemies.
Instead, my focus is drawn to the grotesque sight of fleshy, cancerous growths protruding from the walls.
These abnormal growths resemble persistent octopi, with human arms and hair follicles unnervingly sprouting from their heads. It’s a surreal and unsettling sight that adds an extra layer of unease to the surroundings. “That… Doesn’t look good–”
I mutter to myself, analyzing the strange growths with a mix of curiosity and dread. The voice crackles back to life, still filled with urgency. “Those are- were Necromorphs. They’re essentially the result of the Marker’s influence on the deceased. God. It looks like they have melted together. Be cautious, I’m not sure what those are, but they can be more dangerous than the regular corpses you’ve encountered. Isaac’s just ahead. Help him so we can get the fuck outta here.”
With her warning in mind, I proceed with caution, my grip on the Motorized Pulse Rifle tightening. As I walk past the pulsating growths, I can feel a strange energy emanating from them, like an invisible force trying to reach out and tether me to it. Waves of Cosmic radiations that seem to taint all it touches. “Boss, you seeing this?”
“Seeing what? Are you having hallucinations? You need to tell me if you are.”
“It’s- It’s disgusting.” I spit, hurriedly backing away as the waves caress my skin in way I’ll liken to that of an intimate lover… Or rather a serial sexual harasser who can’t seem to take ‘No’ for an answer. I’ve seen similar waves escape the deceased Necromorphs, but it is always in short and nigh unnoticeable bursts. The difference is like nuclear waste water that has been carefully treated, and an Uranium mine. With every pulse of its mass, more seem to escape and in turn be absorbed. “What the fuck?”
Overwhelmed by the repulsive sight before me, I instinctively recoil, covering my nose and mouth to shield myself from the putrid odor that fills the air.
The stench of decay is something I’ve grown accustomed to, but this- it’s something else entirely. It’s as if the very essence of rot and decay has intensified, assaulting my senses with an indescribable foulness. I try my best to endure, but this is an experience that pushes the boundaries of my tolerance. “Campbell, are you good?”
“I’m- I’m okay. I just, these reek.” The voice directs me towards a door on the far end of the corridor. “Then keep moving. Isaac’s not far from your location. He’ll need your help. He’s being besieged by the Necromorphs as well.” I nod, determination etched on my visage as I make my way towards the door. Just as I reach for the handle, a loud crash echoes through the hallway, causing me to jerk my hand back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of movement.
The fleshy growths on the walls suddenly writhe and twist, transforming into grotesque tendril with elongated limbs and sharp claws- on its sides are pulsating yellow sacks.
It shoots towards me, its movements cumbersome but due to its size, dodging it presents a much bigger problem.
I quickly raise my rifle, aiming for its pus sacks, as the woman’s voice advises. “Shoot the sacks! It’s the most effective way to neutralize them!”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t–” Her response’s immediate. “But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? So unless you have a better idea… Better start shooting, Campbell.”
My finger tightens on the trigger, and the rifle unleashes a series of rapid bursts. The bullets find their mark, blowing acidic pus everywhere and causing the giant growth to recoil and writhe in pain.
Yet, it keeps coming, its screeches filling the air despite its lack of mouths as it whips towards me. With each step, I manage to evade their attacks, dodging with a precision honed from previous battles.
Suddenly, a new voice cuts through the chaos. “Need a hand?” Looking over my shoulder, I spot a figure clad in a sleek, black suit. The person’s face is concealed behind a helmet, but the aura of confidence and preparedness radiates from them. They wield a high-tech sci-fi gun which makes mine look like a toy, the holographic display glowing with an electric blue.
Without waiting for my answer, he dives into the fray, smoothly blowing holes through the Necromorphs with calculated precision.
Compared to my dance of death, their movements are clumsier and way less efficient, yet somehow they manage to make it work. The fact that their gun seems to do triple the damage mine does is an added help. “Damn… Where can I get one of that?” Then, they use something even cooler- throwing out a ball of energy that freezes the giant, spiked tentacle in place. “Get me some of that shit!”
“It’s a Stasis Module. You have one installed in your suit.”
Simultaneously listening to the voice and emptying my magazine into the beast just in case, my lips twitch. “And you neglect to tell me?!”
“You didn’t know? Everybody does, even civilians.” She shrugs. “With how effortless you seem to deal with the Necromorphs, it never occurred to me. I just thought you liked doing things the hard way.” Facepalming, I hiss like a cat whose tail’s been stepped on, emphasizing. “Next time, ask.”
As the last tentacle falls, the figure turns towards me, their helmet retracting to reveal a face that looks… Surprisingly familiar. “Isaac, I presume?”
As I glance at the person standing before me, my initial reaction is surprise. This isn’t the image I had conjured in my mind based on the descriptions I had heard. He lacks the alluring charm and rugged handsomeness I had anticipated. Instead, what I see is an ordinary face, a countenance that blends seamlessly into a crowd.
There’s an air of weariness about him, etched into the lines on his forehead and the subtle shadows under his eyes. His features carry the weight of responsibility- the kind one’d expect from an… Enduring husband with a wife who hates his guts and a suffering father who just can’t seem to connect with his kids the way his wife can. To put it simply, I was expecting Brad Pitt and got Joe instead.
It’s as if he has weathered through life’s hardships and carries them as invisible scars on his face. Yet in a way, his unassuming appearance serves only to amplify the depth of his character, highlighting a strength that is not immediately apparent at first glance.
I find myself recalibrating my expectations, remembering that appearances can often be deceptive. The notion that only the Brad Pitts of the world can possess a certain magnetism or be competent is wrong to begin with.
Isaac Clarke, the engineer who had faced countless horrors on this forsaken ship, much like myself, nods. “Julius Campbell? Kendra told me about you.”
“Only good things, I hope.”
I wink, putting one last hole in the tentacle before proceeding. “Heard you are a terrific fighter.” He adds.
“Looks like I have a big role to fill then. Gotta live up to the expectations, right?”
As we near the communications array, the woman’s voice breaks through the static, determination seeping into her tone. “Enough babbling, guys. You two are almost there. We need to get the Ishimura operational.”
“Got it.”
With trepidation and hesitance in our steps, Isaac and I press forward, our weapons ready, but– “Where are you going, my sweet boy?”
A whisper interrupts the tense silence between us, causing me to freeze in my tracks. I abruptly turn around, my heart racing, only to be confronted by the sight of a woman in a flowing white dress, her silhouette shrouded in mystery. My breath hitches as I struggle to comprehend what I am seeing. It couldn’t be... “Mother?”
With hesitance and wide-eyed disbelief, I cautiously take a step towards her. It's been years since her passing, and yet there she stands, as radiant and beautiful as ever. Even in her high school years, she was renowned for her enchanting beauty, and now, in this surreal encounter, that allure still lingers.
Despite the influence of alcohol and the unknown substances she once succumbed to, traces of her inherent beauty persist, as if refusing to be diminished by time or the vices that plagued her.
For the first time in years, I find my emotions stuck in a tumultuous whirlwind, a mix of longing, confusion, and a desperate longing to reconnect yet one stands above all- hate. “Make us whole, Julius.” She used to look like that. Most days she’d be passed out drunk, but when she’s awake… She is kind and gentle and- ‘But none of it is true. It’s just a façade she put on for our neighbors. When night came she–’
Could it truly be her standing before me, or is this merely a figment of my imagination, a manifestation of my deepest desires and unspoken regrets? I inch closer, desperate to confirm the reality of the encounter when a hand shakes me loose from the- “Julius? It’s not real.” Hallucinations. I give Isaac a stare, then turns on my heel to where my mother once stood, but– “It’s. Not. Real.”
Blood seeps from her orifices.
Isaac affirms once more- voice louder, firm.
"What on Earth just happened?!" I demand, my face contorting with a cold expression, my fists clenched tightly by my sides. "What the Hell’s that apparition?!" With a calculated calmness, Isaac replies, "It's the Marker. It has the ability to induce hallucinations, distorting perception and playing tricks on our minds. You're not the only one affected, Campbell. It’s been messing with us as well."
He reassures, but that does not abate my anger. If anything, it only worsens the terrible rage practically boiling within me. The gravity of the situation sinks in as I come to terms with the fact that even my own experiences cannot be trusted in this nightmarish environment. “It dies.” My knuckles crack in anticipation. “I don’t care what it is, but it’s going to fucking die…”
Continuing on, I mutter to myself, my determination unwavering. "Nobody messes with my mind and gets away with it. No one." Just as those defiant words escape my lips, I am abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a menacing Necromorph dropping from the vents above.
Reacting swiftly, Isaac readies his Plasma Cutter behind me, prepared to defend against the horrifying creature. But before he can even make a move, my armored fist propels forward, connecting with the creature's cheek with an incredible force. The impact sends the twisted monstrosity reeling backward, crashing onto its back in a chaotic frenzy.
Driven by a surge of adrenaline, I rain blow after blow upon the Necromorph, each strike striking with a devastating force far greater than the firepower available to the Pulse Rifle strapped to my belt. I don’t bother to hide my anger. ‘If you’re watching- if you’re listening at all, what I’m doing to this thing is going to look tamed compared to what I’m gonna do to you.’
The brutal onslaught continues until the Necromorph's limbs are gruesomely ripped apart, separating from its mangled body in a grotesque display of carnage whilst I heave.
The once formidable creature now lay in disarray, its dismembered parts scattered across the floor, a testament to the raw power concealed within me. I steal a quick glance at the engineer, his face still hidden behind the impenetrable visage of his helmet and shrug nonchalantly, offering a simple explanation. "What can I say? It made this personal."
A brief moment of silence hangs in the air before Isaac finally responds, his voice laced with understanding. "Understandable."
As our steps fall into sync, our footsteps echoing in unison, Isaac breaks the silence. His voice carries curiosity and a hint of admiration. “Mr. Campbell, what was your position on the Ishimura? It must have been combat-related, given your incredible strength.”
I can’t help but marvel at Isaac’s craftiness. Even though engineers are often stereotyped as lacking emotional intelligence, he astutely questions me while simultaneously softening the blow with a genuine compliment. I must proceed with caution.
There are suspicions surrounding me, particularly from our tech support, Kendra. But Isaac seems oblivious, and I want to keep it that way, at least for now. ‘Time to construct an elaborate backstory. What do I know about the Ishimura?’ First and foremost, it is a mining ship.
Considering this, I begin to weave a narrative that aligns with my supposed role on the ship. Mentally crafting the details, I envision myself as a skilled engineer with expertise in the maintenance and repair of mining equipment, disregarding it moments after. It’s a nice story- the similarity in our profession will no doubt help cultivate a better working relationship with Clarke and will, to a certain extent, justify my physical capabilities,
Unfortunately, it’s also a very easily-disprovable profession. barely know how to operate my phone, let alone a Spaceship this size. A soldier won’t work either, not with how clueless I had seemed earlier, which leaves me with fewer choices. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity but is in truth mere seconds, I answer. “I am- was a therapist.”
Realizing that physical therapy would be deemed improbable considering the availability of health packs, I settle on the role of a mental care worker. The profession will adequately explain my apparent physical prowess and calm demeanor, as therapists are well-versed in understanding the interplay between mind and body. If questioned about my exceptional abilities or composure, I could simply attribute it to my extensive training in maintaining personal balance and self-awareness.
To further solidify my fabricated past, i on me that Isaac’s wife or lover must have been a doctor, leaving room for my role as a therapist within the crew. This connection might also explain my current presence and involvement on the spaceship.
Doctors are needed still since diseases and illnesses are still a thing, though from what I can put together from pieces of their talks, Isaac’s wife or lover must’ve been a doctor, leaving therapist as the optimal choice. With this identity, I wouldn’t be working too closely with Nicole- his other half and if Isaac asks, I’ll have plausible deniability.
The engineer hums and I quickly divert the course of the conversation. “What about you? What’re you doing on this godforsaken ship?”
“My girlfriend.”
He says curtly, as though that explains everything which I suppose it kind of does. “She’s on the ship when it all went down.”
“Oh…” I gasp apologetically. “Apology. I didn’t mean to rub salts on your wounds.”
“Don’t be.” Isaac shakes. “She’s alive, I know it.” Seems pretty implausible given all we have seen but, in all fairness, if Isaac can survive, it stands to reasons others have as well. “Then let’s get this ship up and running so we can get the Hell off the damn thing.”