Hello, everyone. This is a story I've wanted to write for a long time, as the Dead Space games are some of my favorite ever, not just for the horror, but the sci-fi elements as well. It's a great blend of both, which I think is very difficult to do well.

While I've done a good amount of research on the canon and lore, I'm not an expert. There's also several things that are never explained or are left to the imagination that take place on the Ishimura. Who launched the escape shuttles prematurely? Why did the colony go dark? Did Kyne accidentally or deliberately kill Mathius? I don't know if I'll even address these questions, but if I do, I'll probably give my own interpretation.

This probably won't be updated all that often. I'm also writing a Five Nights at Freddy's fanfiction, which is more important to me, as it's almost 100,000 words at the time this is published. I also don't own Dead Space. There, now EA can't sue me, I guess.

DEAD SPACE: ORDINATION

Chapter 1: Year 2508

Death. Death was everywhere. From the stench of blood to increasingly rare shrieks of distant victims to sinister bumping in the vents, annihilation approached.

The man experienced everything, too terrified to move. While he possessed hope in the plague's earlier stages, it had since dissolved as salt in the rain. Sooner or later he would die with all the rest, either by prowling monsters or starvation's slow grip. His friends, co-workers…at least he wouldn't be alone anymore.

Exhaustion was getting to him; he'd been up for an eternity. As quietly as possible, he reclined on the cold metal floor, hoping to go peacefully in his sleep.

6 Days Pre-Outbreak

"Ladies and gentlemen, please brace yourselves," a perky synthetic voice spoke over the intercoms, "We are shocking out in a few moments. Thank you for your cooperation!"

How rough could it be?

Curtis Mahoney had never entered Shockspace before; he'd never travelled farther from Earth than Saturn. Therefore, while everyone around him hunkered down or gripped a wall, he continued to stare at his RIG's holo-projector, unconcerned about whatever happened next.

"Excuse me?" a large man said from his place on the ground, "You should grab something."

"Why?"

"Because in a second – "

At that moment, the ship jolted forward, slamming Curtis face-first into a locker.

"The USG Ishimura has exited Sol. Estimated time until arrival in Aegis: 13 hours and 20 minutes. Have a pleasant trip!"

Writhing on the ground, he felt two massive hands on his shoulders. Opening his eyes, he saw the man through a blurry filter. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Curtis rebuffed his assistance, staggering to his feet and bracing himself on a table. Maybe I should have done that earlier.

"You're bleeding, you know." Sure enough, a stream of blood began to trickle down his left temple and onto the ground. Moaning a little, he managed to ask where Medical was.

"It's four stops away on the tram system. Do you need help getting there?" Curtis would have been impressed by his generosity but was in too much pain to fully appreciated it.

"I'm fine," he muttered, spotting a sign with a train car on it. Almost immediately, he took off, not bothering with so much as a "thank you". A small pang of guilt shot through him, but there was no time for that.

Pushing his way down the Flight Deck's crowded corridors, he brushed off the concerned looks from other crewmembers. He didn't know them and wasn't their problem.

But as he went deeper, the people thinned. That made things a bit easier. Unless there aren't any doctors there. Shit. Whatever, it was worth a try. Even if he hadn't busted his head open two seconds into the mission, he still would have done this; there would be little time later to appreciate the technological wonders around him.

Speaking of which, he began to slow from his brisk walk, scanning small cracks and dents in the walls, catching cold vented air on his skin, and simply appreciating the sound of footsteps on echoing metal. In other words, admiring the Ishimura's incredible craftsmanship, which was even more meticulous than he imagined. It was every miner's dream to work on a Planet-Cracker at least once in his or her career. And I get to serve on the most famous of all.

A sudden surge of discomfort shot him back to reality. He could surely snag a few minutes by himself while not hemorrhaging out the head.

Running his hand across the rough metal panels, he continued until reaching what he assumed was the tram station. It had a massive, spooky tunnel running off into dark infinity and some plush benches. Seemed about right. Once again, having never entered such a behemoth ship, his knowledge of such things was restricted to their Earth-based counterparts.

Finally getting the bright idea to restrict his bleeding, Curtis fished a tissue out of his pocket and pressed it against the wound. He didn't think it was serious or life-threatening, but wasn't a medical expert. He was just there to dig up ore, the one thing he was good at.

Minutes passed in near-total silence, occasionally broken by strange sounds far above or below. Being alone didn't usually bother him, but something about that tram station had a certain… "aura", like events that happened there could still be felt. Maybe a lot of the Ishimura was similar. He couldn't explain it, even to himself, yet it put him on edge all the same.

A howling echo pulsed through the room as a tram pulled up, making him jump out of his seat. He'd have to get used to all the endemic loud noises as well. Standing up, the miner stared suspiciously for a second at the shadowed car before stepping aboard.

Given the lack of people away from the Flight Deck's central area, it came as no surprise the car was completely empty. At least it wasn't as off-putting as the station. Wincing at another surge of head pain, he sat down as the tram departed into a twisting labyrinth of dark tunnels.

…

The large man said it was four stops down. Three had already gone by. Curtis might not have passed university algebra, but liked to believe he grasped simple addition. Afterwards, he would loiter around the ship, getting the feel of things before heading off to the Crew Deck for some much-needed sleep.

Finally, the tram came to another screeching halt at station number four. It looked just as ominous as the others, but the words MEDICAL DECK printed on the floor didn't leave much to the imagination. Stepping out, the car blasted off to the next destination on its eternal journey.

"Hello?" he said, walking down the hallway to a large waiting room. Damn, where do I go from here? If he had to wait a little while before seeing someone, he wouldn't have cared too much; Planet-Crackers had some of the best curative technology in the entire galaxy, so short of major accidents, deaths were rare. Right as he thought that, a small blurb about the morgue being renovated popped up on a holo-screen, and a chill passed through him.

"May I help you, sir?"

Caught unaware, Curtis whirled around to see a woman in a white medical uniform standing in one of the doorways, looking at him with concern. "That's a serious cut. Come with me," she said, beckoning to him.

Traveling down a short corridor speckled with images of smiling physicians, they entered the completely deserted ER. At least this room's well lit. It was a strange thought; thousands of people aboard, and the two of them were possibly the only ones on an entire floor.

She rummaged through a cabinet before popping out a small gray cylinder, very familiar in his line of work. "Rub that around on your forehead. Should heal in a few hours." Doing as she commanded, Curtis dipped two fingers in the gel and lathered it around, relaxed by the gentle cooling sensation. Meanwhile, the doctor had already begun booting up some complicated-looking medical devices.

She seemed to be in a real hurry – understandable, given that she was the only person around – but he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. "Thanks for helping me. I was worried no one would be here."

To his surprise, she frowned. "So was I." Glancing around the abandoned ER, she shook her head. "I'm clueless; most people aboard know the Ishimura like the backs of their hands, but I've never served on something of this scale. And the nurses are stuck on the Flight Deck until their equipment arrives, so that leaves me alone for a while."

"If it makes you feel better, I've never even left Sol before. This is new territory for me, too."

A little intrigued, she asked, "Really? Huh. Everybody I know has been out at least once or twice. Trips are a lot more affordable than they used to be."

Curtis leaned against one of the room's support columns, the throbbing in his head slowly subsiding. If the doctor wanted to talk for a while, that was fine with him. "Never found the time. But I've wanted to for a while, so here I am."

"And you get paid for it," she said, smirking.

Should have seen that coming. "Fine, you got me." He shifted slightly. "But only because the Ishimura's the most famous spaceship in history. I wouldn't be a real miner if I don't try this at least once."

"Miner, eh? What's your specialty? Processing? Ore extraction? Working the gravity tethers?"

Before even thinking about it, he launched into a detailed essay; his profession was one of the few topics he felt knowledgeable enough to discuss in depth. "Extraction. Mostly deal in light metals, but I've worked with other stuff in the past."

He spent the next few minutes prattling on, waiting for the good doctor to stop him. Surprisingly, though, she didn't – must have enjoyed the company. This also gave him an excuse not to head for the now surely-packed Crew Deck, so he wasn't complaining.

Curtis was eventually cut off by the waiting room door sliding open and a rotund man stepping in, donning the same type of uniform the doctor wore.

"Am I interrupting anything?" he asked, looking shocked to see someone injured already.

"No," the doctor answered. "Are you here to see someone?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. You wouldn't happen to know the whereabouts of Dr. Nicole Brennan, would you."

"You're looking at her."

"Splendid!" He walked over and they shook hands. "I'm C.S.O Terrence Kyne. I wanted to introduce myself; the Chief Science and Senior Medical officers tend to work in tandem, so I felt I should drop by."

Curtis took that opportunity to step out – surely Dr. Brennan had business more important than listening to his longwinded speech about rocks, especially now that others were arriving. As he walked toward the door, she called out to him. "Could I get your name and rank? I'll have to file a report about this."

"Curtis Mahoney, Class Five Miner."

With that, he made his way back to the tram station, feeling much better than when he arrived. Even the still-deserted hallway seemed more shiny and cheerful as he ventured back. Maybe the mission would be better than he thought.

…

As he feared, the Crew Deck was absolutely packed; hundreds of restless people jostled through room after room, trying to reach their designated living areas. To the Ishimura's credit, though, everyone's assignments seemed accurate. It couldn't have been easy to send a thousand different bunk numbers to a thousand different RIGs.

Therefore, in a reasonable amount of time, Curtis reached Sleep Block A, bed 127 B, his home for the next six months. Without too many people, either. Most had already been processed by that point, so it was him and a few others hanging around. Probably all playing Z-Ball. He might join a few games later to help readjust to a Zero-G workspace. Checking his holo-projector, he saw only ten hours remained until the ship shocked into Aegis.

Needing to rest for a moment, he sat on his bunk and thought about everything. Earth was literally light-years behind him, and a whole universe lay ahead. As much as he wanted to remain reasonable, the whole thing thrilled him. Maybe it was old hat to these spacers, hopping from one system to the next, but for him, it held promise. Of what was tougher to pin down. He'd like to find an answer over the coming months.

We might meet some aliens, he thought, lying down. That'd be the day.

After daydreaming for a few minutes, he felt his stomach growl. Normally, he would have stuck it out until the assigned meal time, but those didn't begin until after they reached their destination. Same thing with sleeping hours.

He spotted a bar on the way in; maybe they were open. Getting up, he headed back the way he came, even pausing for a moment to admire the wonder of Shockspace through some windows. It almost looked like they were underwater, with the ship completely engulfed by pulsating rays of murky light. He'd seen vid-logs before, but being a part of it was beautiful. Plenty of others seemed to agree, having set up a little viewing area to watch the lightshow from.

Finally snapping out of his trance, Curtis finally made it, snagging the last free stool. Fortunately, the windows were still visible, so he stared into the void while munching on locally grown peanuts; he'd seen a few posters for "Ishimura Farms" around. The advertisements, with farmhands wearing old-timey spacesuits, seemed funnier to him than anything else, but people from the colonies might not have understood the irony.

Speaking of posters, he looked at the wall. There were dozens, from digital concerts to snack products. They're showing Rancid Moon?! He had plans for at least one night. Then something else caught his eye, far less garish than the other displays.

Unitologist Opening Prayer – 1 Hour Prior to De-Shock

Begin or Continue your Relationship with the Marker

Featuring a Special Announcement from Captain Benjamin Mathius

I should check that out. The expeditions he'd been on previously always had accommodations for Unitologists like him, but with such a large crew, it was sure to be something spectacular. However, that was still several hours away. It might get him back into church. Curtis hadn't been too observant over the past few months. All the excitement and nervousness about the mission, he supposed.

Finishing up the complementary peanuts, he threw out his trash and went back to the windows, still glowing like an aurora. He had time to kill, so why not pull up a chair? Between the gentle vibrations of the ship, warm colors and comfy seat, weariness was beginning to affect him, but he couldn't have cared less. Yeah, he'd made a great choice by coming.

...

Curtis's eyes flew open; something was close. Yes, a quick scratching noise came from the other side of the door. Resisting the urge to scream, he forced himself down. There was no other way out of the cramped closet, so might as well remain still. Besides, these things can't open doors! At least he hadn't seen them do so. That thought hardly calmed his pounding heart, rapid breathing and shivering body.

After what felt like forever, the sound faded away, either giving up or simply not knowing he was there to begin with. Still shaking like it was thirty below, he checked his holo-projector again. He'd been asleep about an hour, though he felt no better, and couldn't pick up any active RIG signals. They were all –

No! Comms are down! They must be! There was no way he could be the only one left. It was impossible! Literally thousands of people were aboard – some others must have survived. And there's safety in numbers. Though a large part of him wanted to stay in the storage closet's safety, he knew that would only end up killing him. If he was going to die, he preferred being stabbed by claws of bone to dehydration or wasting away.

But before anything else, Curtis needed a plan. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused. Unitologists believed in being at peace in any situation. Even life-or-death ones. OK. He was currently on the Flight Deck, in one of the many nondescript alcoves used to store miscellaneous supplies. The entire floor swarmed with those things, those aliens. He remembered how only a week ago, he'd balked at the possibility. Extraterrestrials existed, it seemed. And they were evil as fuck.

Focus! Yes, a plan. That's what he needed. Drumming his fingers on the wall, he decided getting to another deck was his best chance. One with lots of survivors. The Crew Deck. That seemed reasonable. After all, people would want to defend where they lived.

So that was the plan; reach the Crew Deck and go from there. His RIG contained all the necessary navigational data. Simple.

Why, then, was it so difficult to even stand? He could barely make it to his feet without collapsing again. "Know God, no fear. Know God, no fear," he whispered, reciting one of his favorite mantras.

Pulling himself up, Curtis placed his palm on the blue hologram in the door's center. I can do this. It slid open, leading to a dim hallway. Splotches of blood painted the floor, and faint roaring reached his ears from very far away. The station was close, he just needed to be fast. Taking that advice to heart, he took one last breath before sprinting down the hall.