Chapter 4: Letting Go

There, down the hall with a back turned toward her. Samantha couldn't believe her eyes.

"Mom?" she called, and the figure spun, revealing familiar blond curls and a lightly wrinkled, kind face. The woman smiled and waved, clearly excited to see her daughter.

"Hello, dear. How have you been?"

"There's no time, mom," Samantha hurriedly interjected, running toward the figure. "We need to get out of here. Challus is here too. I'm just looking for a way off of the ship, and then we'll take you with us." Part of realized that her mother was not present, for it was impossible, and why, if this was real, was the older woman wearing her painting smock? The smile was one of ignorance, as if the blood and gore didn't exist, and that more than anything made Samantha uneasily delay her steps as she saw a necromorph appear behind her mother.

"Mom!" she screamed, raising her gun, conflicted over using precious ammo to defend a figment of her imagination.

"Love, I'm perfectly real," her mother chided. "Now hurry and..." Samantha fired several rounds and killed the necromorph, watching it collapse with a few twitches as her mother stared at the fallen creature. "When did you become so violent?" The woman shook her head and beckoned Samantha to follow her. "Come along, and don't be slow. You can make us whole again if you listen closely."

"Whole again?" Samantha pointed her gun at her mother while a strange urge to comply washed over her. Yes, unification was the right course of action, and after being alone for so long, caving would feel so wonderful. There were no escape pods left, so why fight it? "No!" Samantha yelled, leaning against the wall and being reminded of Mercer. "You're not real. You're not my mother."

"That's a very ungrateful thing to say, and after I've come all this way to see you."

"It's not real," Samantha breathed, and in an impulsive spurt of determination, she lifted her gun and fired a single shot at her mother. With a gasp, the figure's eyes widened before its middle was torn apart by the blast, crimson spreading across clothing as it stumbled backward and into the wall.

"What the hell?!" her mother demanded in a decidedly masculine voice that confused Samantha. The vision wavered, paint-splattered smock shifting into a gray personnel uniform, and suddenly her mother was gone—replaced by a young man whose body was only just losing its warmth. His eyes were wide, begging an explanation as he slid against the wall, joining the dead necromorph on the floor.

"Oh my god," Samantha breathed, horrified by what she'd done as she rushed over to the fresh corpse. She touched the flesh to find that the body was real, but while it wasn't her mother, it most certainly was a poor man in a mining suit, and she'd killed him. It wasn't my fault. I didn't know. Samantha opened her lungs and yelled a desperate, tormented cry as she slammed fists into the floor, her knuckles cracking under the force and wetting her gloves with blood. She had finally found someone else—someone who had likely been as desperate as herself and overjoyed to find another person—and she'd murdered him.

I'm losing it.

With dawning realization, Samantha wondered if she appeared as crazy as Mercer did to others. Maybe her mind was already gone but she couldn't admit it yet, and in such a state, was escaping even a wise idea? She might kill others, or never recover, meaning that she'd spend the rest of her life wasting away in an institution and being monitored. Maybe she'd even been turned into a lab subject because of her exposure to the necromorph virus. Perhaps she was infected after all, and that made her no better than a walking corpse waiting for her number to be called.

"What difference does it make?" she asked herself. She'd looked everywhere imaginable, but no escape pods remained, and all mining vehicles had been destroyed. At this point, maybe she was too far gone to save herself anyway, and if she couldn't trust her own sanity, she doubted that she could help Mercer. Considering how quickly she was going downhill, it would be a wonder if he could even hold a coherent conversation by now.

"Forgive me," she begged the corpse, staring at its slack jaw, and growing angry when she realized that the necromorph was twitching against the man's leg. She viciously kicked the monster away, disgusted that it should touch the unfortunate soul that she'd destroyed, and only then did she realize that she was crying. There was no light in this place, none at all, and she could feel the call for unity penetrating her thoughts.

Reach for a memory, she instructed herself. Even if she couldn't escape this place, she was determined not to die as a raving lunatic. She would meet death with some shred of dignity, and maybe even a touch of bravery if she could manage it, meaning that she needed to hold the pieces of her mind together. At least then she could properly look after Mercer until they ran out of stamina to fight. Yes, she needed to think of him as well as herself, for without her, he would completely succumb. She needed to focus on a strong memory to get her out of this room and back to him, and then she could...have company until death? Dieing alone did not appeal to her.

"Samantha, I don't know if you've been told, but there's a function coming up this weekend." Yes, this was the perfect memory to grasp, and she almost smiled as she recalled how her heart had fluttered when Mercer had broached the subject of a formal evening out. "I'm expected to take someone, and I was wondering if you're free."

"I'd love to go. What's the dress code?" she spoke aloud.

"Black and white, formal. I'll pick you up around six on Saturday. Does that work for you?" He looked confident, but she could tell that he was a bit nervous by the way that he kept fidgeting with his favorite blue pen.

"I can't wait to see what you look like out of a lab coat," she joked, trying to lighten his mood. "Six is fine, and I expect there to be no shop talk in the car." He smiled at her, and she decided then and there that perhaps he wasn't as stingy as she sometimes thought. He could be kind and considerate when he wanted, and sometimes, as of late, she'd catch him staring at her while she worked. Perhaps her efforts at getting his attention were working, and nothing had ever made her happier. Six o'clock. She couldn't wait.

**************

His child was gone, but how could that be? Mercer paced his office and turned the matter over and over, his mind baffled by the ability of one human to defy the whirlwind of biological power that engulfed the Ishimura. Humans were weaker, so a mere man should not have been capable of outwitting and destroying such a creation as the one that Mercer had fathered. Yet the tables had turned, and in an unforeseen victory, Isaac Clark had frozen a masterpiece of bio-engineering. Now his child was trapped, and Mercer was left to wonder how and why fate had played a trick on him.

Perhaps I underestimated my own race.

He paused and fumbled for the ID card in his pocket, his ego deflated by recent events. The voices still called him, and there was nothing else left now that his work had been undone. If humans were worthy of survival, and if there was hope that they could overcome these circumstances, did that mean that he'd been misguided this entire time? Mercer recalled a moment where he'd thought of escaping with the others and advising the government to blast the entire ship into dust, but that seemed so long ago. He'd been hopeful that the human race could win at that point, but after seeing how brutality powerful and efficient the necromorph virus was, he'd...

Mercer frowned and swiped his card to enter the hallway beyond. What if he'd been wrong? What if Samantha was right and the voices were a device to disarm them? No, it couldn't be! He'd simply been too weak to accomplish his goals—too arrogant to understand that the virus needed no aid in developing. It was self-sufficient, and he, in his human pride, had wanted to best the hive and prove that he was a master of intellect and science if not a biological wonder. He had wanted to prove that there was some worth to himself, even as he'd accepted his own inevitable replacement in the universe. That made him no better than the others, and so there was only one more thing to do: die and become one with his betters.

Or wait for Samantha to come back, a small part of him whispered. You could leave together.

"I can't," Mercer said, voice echoing in an empty corridor of rust-colored metal. "She won't come back. I spurned her, and if she's smart, she'll stay away." Oh, how he hoped that she'd escaped this place. He loathed the idea of being the cause of her destruction, especially since she'd seen through the lies and understood that humanity should not just surrender. This man who roamed the halls in pursuit of salvation—Isaac—he too fought, and Mercer admired that strength. Hope was such a fleeting entity, but he grasped for it, trying to find a reason to live, even though he wasn't quite sure why he should care.

"I don't care," he violently affirmed. "I was the failure, not my creation!" With renewed fervor, he went to seek his death, accepting that he deserved it as he strode forward. He would reach for death and become one with the others, never to be alone or troubled again. He would join the collective will, and then there would be no questions or pain or confusion. He wouldn't need to worry about Samantha, who he would soon see again as allies to be together forever, and so her fate wouldn't haunt him.

"I'll make you whole," he promised the unseen force around him. "I won't question you again. I'm on my way."

**************

Make us whole again.

"Shut up!" Samantha screamed, using the cutter on the front of her gun to bash a necromorph across the head. Something warm flecked across her face, but she barely felt it as she ran down the walkway, hellbent on reaching the medical facilities as she checked her rounds. For a moment, she saw her brother out of the corner of her eye, waving and telling her to stop and help him, but she tore her gaze away, losing sight of him amid a whirl of metal and energy blasts. She wanted to curse the hive and pray at the same time, and perhaps she did a little of both as she sealed a heavy metal door behind her, locking out the few necromorphs that had been hunting her.

"Samantha, for god's sake, open the door!" a voice called from the other side. It sounded like her brother, but how could she be sure? If someone was dying...

Her hand strayed toward the control panel before she jerked it away and continued walked, steps rigid and painful as she blocked out the sounds of death. She'd never felt so detached and hopeless in her life, and yet Mercer's office was near, and if her addled mind knew anything, it was that reaching him would make things better. Yes, if she could only be reunited with him, she could push onward, but was that her thought or one imposed by the forces working against her?

Her face screwed up in confusion as she stumbled onto a rickety walkway that hung above a series of large tanks. The hum of machinery crowded her ears, and the smell of chemicals hung heavy in the air. It wouldn't surprise her if something had been spilled or broken in this chaos, and she tried to identify the chemical as a scratching sound ignited her panic. Scratching only ever meant one thing, but which air vent? Which broken window?

"I'm ready," a voice whispered so softly that at first Samantha questioned whether or not she had actually heard anything. "Come for me!" She ran to the walkway's railing and leaned over the edge, gazing downward to find Mercer standing alone on a white tiled floor smeared with red. His arms were raised and his eyes closed, as if he were some prophet calling down fire from the heavens, but Samantha would have none of it. She saw the necromorphs climb out of the vents below and begin scrambling toward him with their jerky movements, and her gun was firing within seconds.

"Challus!" she yelled. "Run!"

"Samantha?"

One. Two. Three necromorphs fell, but there was one left, and Samantha aimed for its legs as she pulled the trigger.

Click.

Time seemed to freeze as she glanced down at her gun, the little blue zero on its screen making her heart leap to her throat. Her mind screamed as she continued to futilely pull the trigger, Mercer staring at her instead of the necromorph. His eyes were glazed over, unseeing as the demon shambled around overturned tables and dead bodies.

"Samantha, why are you here?" Mercer asked, stunned.

"Run!" she repeated, throwing her gun aside as she ran to the elevator at the end of the walkway and punched buttons. There was a fallen gun below, on the first floor. She could see it, and if she could only get there in time, all would be right again. She didn't even wait for the elevator to reach the floor when she jumped from it, injuring her ankle, but not caring as she retrieved the abandoned gun and raised it.

"Bastard!" she screamed, firing madly, but it was too late. One of the necromorph's clawed limbs was already jutting out of Mercer's chest when she blew off its head. Her mind seemed to stop functioning completely as she walked forward, firing round after round into the creature until it fell and writhed, but she would have no mercy. She fired until her gun was empty, and then she threw the weapon aside, a gasping sob choking her words as she dropped to her knees next to Mercer. He was sitting on the floor, propped against a table as her hands found his wound, pressing against the hole as if she could will it to close.

"No, not you," her voice wavered, his blood slick on her hands, and tears slick on her face as she slid closer.

"Samantha? Why are you still here?" he asked, face pained and eyes overflowing with sadness as he stared at her. "I thought that you wouldn't come back after...after you last left." She could tell that talking was difficult for him, so she bid him be quiet by gently brushing his once perfectly smoother hair back over his head while her body leaned against his.

"I could never just leave you," she softly promised, planting a kiss on his cheek. It felt so good to show affection, and genuine affection at that. "I can't leave. We can't leave. The hive has too strong of a hold over us." Her hands found his, grasping his eager fingers as he several tears escaped his eyes to mingle with the blood that began running from a corner of his mouth.

"Don't leave me," he breathed, barely audible. "I know that this is my fault, but please don't leave me. I've been alone for so long."

"I won't," Samantha promised, wrapping arms around his middle.

"You were so much stronger than me in the end..." Mercer mused, head tilting to rest against hers. He's back again, she realized, smiling despite his weakening body. "Are you real, Samantha, or is this a hallucination? My insanity is being merciful if you're a dream."

"I'm real, and I'm not leaving." He planted a bloody kiss on her forehead, and she sighed, suddenly aware of a warm sensation creeping over her mind.

Make us whole.

"Do you hear them?" she asked with a smile, pushing her face into the crook of his neck. A screech and scraping was growing closer behind her, but she didn't pay it any attention as one of Mercer's arms wrapped around her.

"They're calling us," he choked, words slurred and distorted by the liquid in his throat.

Make us whole again.

"Yes," Samantha agreed, giving into the madness, even embracing it. "I won't leave this time. We'll end here together, just like we started." She found Mercer's lip and pressed hers against his, content as a sharp pain erupted in her back. It hurt like nothing she'd ever experienced before, but it didn't matter, because a voice told her that everything would be better soon. Soon this madness would be gone, and what did a little pain matter when her Challus was holding her? He looked so handsome as her arms persistently clung to him, and she was sure that she heard him calling to her as she closed her eyes.

"We're a great team, aren't we?" she asked him, looking across the lab bench with a smile.

"I knew that we would be the day we met," Mercer asserted with a slight smile.

"Challus," Samantha whispered, and then the pain was gone.

***************

Isaac Clark leveled his pulse rifle at the necromorph and fired, quickly destroying it as he ranged through the mostly empty labs. He stepped off of an elevator and paused, stunned by the curious scene that met him as he stared down at two bodies. One was Challus Mercer, and the other a woman who he'd never before seen, and both lay in a crimson pool with arms around one another. It was not the grotesque wounds to their bodies that made him stare so much as the expression on Mercer's face, for the man looked relaxed, as did the woman. They could have been lovers sleeping in each other's arms, and the scene made Isaac lower his rifle with a sigh.

He did not know whether to be moved or heartbroken by the scene, but he knew that he would never forget seeing this. Of all the death he'd witnessed, this was different. This was human.

"Damn," Hammond softly cursed over the transmission. "This is why this place messes with your head." Isaac had forgotten that his had opened communication and video with his superior, and the man's voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

"No, sir," he lowly commented. "This is why we can't stop—why we can't lose." He left the dead behind, but they never left his mind. They were at peace while he had to fight, and for that, he envied them.