Alien: Isolation has me obsessed with xenomorphs and robots and deep space horror, and this is completely necessary. The alien is absolutely terrifying and mesmerizing, stalking around the space station like a damn king.
I do not own Ridley Scott's Alien, or the video game!
Christia walked though the nearly pitch-dark dining hall, each footstep thoroughly planned and purposefully placed.
One misstep, one sound and she'd be known. Known to the berserk synthetics, known to the looters.
Known to it.
She shivered, her trembling hand hovering over the flashlight attached to her belt. The urge to flick it on was nearly impossible to ignore, but it simply wasn't the time to adopt a child-like fear of the dark. At the very least, it helped her stay unnoticed.
The skylights did offer some illumination; enough to see the horrid things crudely painted on the corridors, and the sporadic smears of blood on the floor. Christia spotted an unopened bottle of water sitting on a nearby table. She grabbed it and took a small sip before pulling the cap tight and tossing it into her backpack.
Food and water were now rare, precious luxuries. Christia had seen people kill over half-eaten canisters of cereal and warm soda.
Less than a week ago, Sevastopol was safe. Sure, there'd been rumors; whispers of the most horrifying and absurd nature, completely unbelievable. Instead of indulging in the growing hysteria, she focused on her studies and stayed close to her parents. Then people began to disappear.
In less than a week, Sevastopol had fallen.
Christia was now alone, in a sense. Her mother and father had left their family unit six days ago, intent on rescuing a band of survivors that had contacted them, apparently trapped somewhere in the Lorenz Systech Spire and surrounded by malfunctioning androids.
They hadn't returned, and probably never would.
She would have been happy to hide in her closet-sized bedroom and cry until someone came to help, but they'd been low on food even before things fell apart; staying put wasn't an option. After a thorough search of her father's things, Christia had at least been able to venture out with a gun, as well as a lanyard full of key cards that could be useful.
Unfortunately, there was simply no preparing for what Sevastopol had become. Christia had spent the better part of the last 72 hours hiding in lockers and vents and under beds, dashing for cover at the slightest disturbance. She'd been shot at and nearly mugged more than once; she'd seen what people were capable of during a devastating loss of law and order.
But she couldn't, wouldn't allow herself to believe what she'd heard from others aboard Sevastopol, before man had turned against man.
A creature of unequaled strength and stealth, killing indifferently. Undefeatable.
Christia couldn't spend any more time or reflection on it, had to stick to what she knew for certain and could see with her own eyes, not that she hadn't heard something massive moving through the ceiling back at the transit station.
But it didn't matter. Who knew how long it would take for the company to send help; would there be anyone left by then? Could she hope for rescue, knowing that she was anything but essential personnel?
By rights, Christia shouldn't have survived as long as she had. Nineteen years old, short and slight, the daughter of an engineer and a nurse; no military training, no access to half of the terminals on Sevastopol. She had yet to even apply for flight training. Even if she were to come across survivors who hadn't been stripped of their humanity, Christia had nothing to offer in return for protection. Aside from her gun and the key cards, she was just another mouth to feed.
At least she could move around quietly enough. Her petite build favored her.
Finally, she reached the far entrance of the dining hall and crouched next to the door. The motion sensor beeped twice. Christia felt her stomach knot.
Locked, and none of the keycards would work.
Which meant she would have to double back, through long corridors and dangerously empty spaces that were hard enough to traverse once.
Christia sunk down to the floor, facing the sacked cafeteria with a critical eye, debating the pros and cons of settling down for the night. Small rooms were certainly more preferably and much safer, but there were plenty of tables and collapsed machinery to hide behind; the food stores were probably dry, but it wouldn't hurt to check.
Only one of the two doors were accessible, and the stairway's shutters could only be opened from the inside with a maintenance jack.
Even she could guard a single entrance. It would be safe, for the time being.
Christia slipped off her backpack and removed her jacket, then zipped her nylon suit down a bit. Nearly half of Sevastopol was without proper air filtration, conditioning and heat. As a result, each breath she took was stale and uncomfortably warm.
She stood up, hand resting on her father's leather holster, and headed towards the unlocked entrance. Christia wasn't strong, but she'd do her best to barricade the fortress gates.