Prisoner
"And that's it. You're a free man."
Free...Isaac Clarke, apparently designated Patient #4 didn't feel free. Rather, he felt like he was going to pass out. Apparently three years of going in and out of stasis didn't make the process of thawing any more bearable. And while being spared surly nurses was a definite plus, waking up to see tall, dark and ugly standing over him didn't make the engineer feel any better.
"You alright?" the man asked, his visage shifting in and out of focus. "Need a hand?"
"Only if you've got two attached to you..."
Did the man understand his quip? Experience suggested that the answer was no. Truth be told, Isaac didn't understand it himself, why every other nurse and doctor who treated him seemed ready to pounce. As if about to grow extra limbs, to tear him apart, to...
Isaac shook it off. His train of thought wasn't doing his headache any favours. Running a hand through his shaved hair, neither was the pyrrhic motion. In fact, given how hard it was to move right now, it was making his head worse.
"Here, let me help you," the man said, helping Patient #4 to his feet. "Least I can do to help the Sprawl's saviour."
Saviour? What the...
While his headache wasn't getting any better, Isaac's vision was. As he got to his feet, it had recovered enough for him to get a good look at his apparent rescuer-dark hair, dark skin, athletic build. Regular face in the crowd, if not for some kind of trace device in one hand and a holstered pistol.
"You a police officer?" Isaac asked.
"That...and other things," the man said. He stuck out a hand. "Franco Delille, CPD."
Isaac refused the hand. It reminded him of a rotten one for some reason.
"Awfully quiet around here," the engineer murmured, gazing around the room. "Did the staff take a day off?"
"'Fraid not, mister Clarke," Delille answered. "Something's happened to the Sprawl. An outbreak. And you're the only one who can stop it."
Outbreak...the word felt familiar, and not in a good way. Then again, none of this felt good. Firstly, Isaac was almost alone in a hospital that was usually clogged with practitioners of medicine and their assistant. Secondly, the exception to this absence was Delille, who despite his apparent cheerful demeanour, seemed...off, somehow, something that the engineer couldn't put his finger on. And thirdly...well, Isaac had no idea what that was, but it was out there. Waiting in the dark. And no, that wasn't his dementia talking.
"Post-traumatic stress disorder, amnesia and dementia," Delille continued, glancing at the patient's medical chart. "Seems like a rough three years mister Clarke. I'm sorry that it came to that."
"How...how do you know my name?"
"The chamber's label."
"Oh...right."
That was an understandable explanation, but that still didn't account for the...familiarity the officer was showing. Well, there'd be time to deal with that later. Somehow, this... "outbreak" seemed to be first on the agenda.
"Ready to go mister Clarke?" Delille asked. "Freedom awaits."
Isaac snorted. Between PSTD, dementia, amnesia and his dreams...of a blonde woman...of monsters...of a planet orbiting Cygnus...of a starship above that planet...he wasn't free.
He never would be.
A/N
Obviously down to opinion, but quite franky, the only good thing about Dead Space: Ignition was its ending. Somehow it 'inspired' this.