Hey, readers! Thanks for coming back. I know I open most of my chapters like this, but I like to express my support. I don't think enough authors vocalize how much their fans mean to them. To everyone reading this – you make all my effort worthwhile.
The finished art is finally in! All credit goes to Sarichow at FurAffinity, the great artist who did my ASaF cover. Check it out on my DeviantArt account, AnInvisibleMan, for a far higher-quality version than this website offers. I really like it; Curtis and Nicole holding hands after some great battle is an image I love.
The fic also just crossed 100,000 words. It's one of only four Dead Space stories to ever do so. That's incredible to me, especially since there's so much left. I hate to sound boastful, but I'm nearly sure this'll be the longest DS story ever when everything is done. We'll cross that bridge when we get there, though. I'm not celebrating yet. This is another short chapter that again primarily establishes Curtis and Nicole's new relationship. Tell me if things are going too fast.
…there's one other thing. I don't know how many of you will care, but this is important to me, so I wanted to share it. Recently (last December), I converted to Islam after years of serious consideration and soul-searching, as you may have seen on my profile page. Yeah, I have kind of a crazy life outside this website. Maybe that makes some aspects of the story like Curtis struggling with an "alien" religion more relatable. That's it. Just wanted to put that out there.
Thanks to Crimson An'Xileel, God, AncientOfDayz, PhoenixGuy, derpysauce, PuzzleMaster1998, V-0-I-D, Mr. Beaver Buttington and Levi for reviewing.
6 Hours Post-Outbreak
Curtis still stood straight as an arrow as claws bored into his spine. The Stalker wouldn't let him move more than a foot away with its left "hand" gripping his shoulder, breathing in his ear as its lungs intermittently sputtered, bloating out of its ribcage and pressing against his back. He hallucinated a few times about it sinking jagged, irregular teeth into his jugular. Hot, sticky blood poured down his chest as he burbled in pain before the image evaporated. If the monster noticed his odd behavior, it remained silent on the matter. The Shadow Man reveled in it, of course, persistently goading him on.
He wondered how other Necromorphs would react. Would they sense he was a "prisoner of war" and let him pass unimpeded, or would primal bloodlust make them hostile despite one of their own kind holding him hostage?
That wasn't an issue yet, though, for their only force in this seemingly endless hall was an ample supply of Corruption, blooming from the vents like flowers. Might have been the undead equivalent of such, considering the Stalker stopped a few times to inspect them. Such behavior elicited a mixture of revolt, anger and terror. Yeah, a real garden in here.
A realization slowly dawned throughout this journey as the squeak of metal boots and fleshy feet resounded ever onward. There were thousands of people aboard, but the ship was honeycombed with hundreds of miles of subdecks and tunnels. The vast majority of the ship was empty.
Didn't give him much hope of finding more survivors, though, considering how ill-frequented all these locales were. In fact, it freaked him out more. Who knew what was hidden in these halls? His fractured mind wandered back to all the spacer legends he'd heard about the Ishimura over his career. Being the most famous starship in modern history, it naturally accrued tall tales: troves of gold and platinum ore hidden in a secret chamber… and less pleasant ones, like a serial killer once being among the crew and killing dozens before he was caught. The bodies were never found, according to the stories.
Curtis shook his head to rid it of these imaginary tales. Something stranger and more terrifying than any story stood behind him, digging razors into his spine. Another flash of a black obelisk made him shudder and nearly vomit. His brain felt like it was melting in his skull; blood dripped from his nose to his lips. His dark doppelganger cringed, as well.
He desperately wanted to consider the creature behind him a mere animal. It'd be far easier to betray it (which he inevitably would) if it was a stupid sack of necrotic meat rather than a sentient being with things like desires and religious beliefs. Still, the silence exacerbated the Shadow Man's words as it walked beside him. He would have had a breakdown if he was claustrophobic.
See how devoted this slave is? It happily serves the Marker. The Red one, I mean. You needn't be afraid; your death will mean more than your life. You can find peace within Convergence.
Curtis pursed his bloody lips and bit his tongue. These claims tempted despite coming from an evil shade. The Stalker seemed happy, even proud, to follow the "Red God's" commands. That was probably brainwashing the Marker did to ensure its servants' loyalty, however. He also wouldn't die completely. Part of his conscious would still exist – maybe without his memories (this thing didn't seem to have them), but he didn't have many worthwhile ones to begin with. The closest were thoughts of his friends, and they were all dead now.
His stomach dropped as he realized he seriously considered becoming a Necromorph. It'd be objectively better than remaining human. Hell, the Marker might bequeath him some important position, considering his role in wiping out humanity. Being an undead general in a necrotic army actually might actually be a better existence than his current dead-end life. All he needed to do was ask it to kill him.
Before he decided, though, he wanted to converse with his captor: see if it seemed sane and ask what being a zombie felt like. His biggest terror was how much the process would warp his mind; even if he came out of it without the Marker puppeting his every action, he might be so changed that he found blooming flesh and reanimated corpses beautiful. Would the Ishimura become a lush paradise through his new eyes? Taking a deep breath, he pretended to introduce himself to a normal human woman and not a lanky demonic velociraptor.
"So… what's your name?"
"I have none," its hoarse voice said into his ear. "I used to once, but that is past. Now I am merely a drone, a servant of the Red God like many others."
Real fucking helpful. He fought to keep both annoyance and fear out of his voice. A less stubborn man would have flipped on some music, yet he pressed the matter and hoped his insistence didn't piss it off. "I have to call you something. I can't communicate with thoughts and feelings like you."
It paused in its tracks, all remaining neurons trying to piece together a moniker. Curtis would have taken the opportunity to run, but there was nowhere to flee to. The hallway stretched infinitely on. "Call me 'Drone'."
Curtis resisted the urge to smack his head. If this thing didn't want to forge its own identity, fine. "Nice to meet you, Drone," he said, nearly gagging on the saccharine words. "My name is Curtis."
…
Curtis.
The name evoked half-dead memories that brushed the edges of her mind. It was probably nothing – the situation's strangeness or the stress that came from disobeying the Red God's orders (even if it was for its own good). A leaden curtain prevented them from breaking through.
Still, it was nice to have conversation. Her brethren weren't the most talkative sorts. Neither was she, but variety was good. She racked her brain for a while, trying to find a good or interesting question to ask him. Not something related to the Red God, though – it was clearly a touchy subject, and she tried to maintain some degree of tact.
"What is your favorite food?" She vaguely remembered the sensation of eating: organic matter sliding down her throat to bolster the mortal form. Rather disgusting. Receiving sustenance from the Red God directly was far better, freeing the entire digestive tract to be converted into muscle tissue.
The human's head slowly swiveled around. Confusion shone through despite the stolid metal mask it wore. "It's cliché, but probably pizza. Do you remember pizza?"
"Vaguely. It tasted… good, I think." Yes, she recalled the flavor and texture of cheese-covered dough, but it did nothing for her emotionally. Whoever she used to be liked it; that meant little. The human attempted to guile her into distraction, yet she didn't mind. It demonstrated cunning and craftiness… but not as much as her own. Its intelligence strengthened her resolve. It would certainly join the Red God willingly if she demonstrated the superiority of her species. That was only right for such a worthy foe.
Distraction got the better of her. She should have sensed one of her kin nearby, but she didn't until he emerged from a nearby vent, wailing – one with a large, luminous pustule on his arm. Curtis yelped and instinctively reached for the weapon on its back. She would have intervened were it not out of ammunition.
Her brother's explosive ulcer was half raised when he noticed her, which made him lower it.
Waves of confusion flowed from him to her, and his split face wilted in doubt. This was an affront to everything the Red God stood for. Why did she not share glorious Convergence?
The human is facilitating aid. Stand aside. These weren't the exact words she thought, but the effect of dozens of pheromones and sensations was roughly the same.
Sister, what madness is this? Its kind cannot be trusted. Pain, confusion and a hint of betrayal all assaulted her mind; her brother grieved. It was difficult for her not to listen between that and the Red God's orders… but they were so close to Ore Storage. It will reject Convergence; they always do.
This one will not. And if it does, I will force salvation. Her brother turned towards Curtis, appraising the human with beady eyes. It didn't dare step move. She couldn't read the emotions of the living as she could the dead, but it didn't take an empath to see the terror in its quivering form.
Our God does not look kindly upon failure. Still, I will trust your judgement, sister, he thought before leaping back into the vent.
…
Curtis was floored. Nothing exploded, but it might as well have considering his shock. Drone stared and yipped at its comrade for a moment before it dutifully skittered off. No questions asked (as far as he could tell) nor doubt. Just unwavering trust in its family. That was almost certainly artificial, a product of their hive mind, but it was nonetheless beautiful.
He'd been alone for so long. A thousand voices would whisper in his mind if he became a Necromorph, and it sounded a lot more pleasant than what the Shadow Man had to say. He would never be lonely ever again. The only kicker was that he had to die first.
"Will that work all the time?" His voice sounded distant and hollow; it quivered with new fear. This Necromorph could call off the attacks of others. But if so inclined, it could sic its "family" on him as well. He supposed they all could, but a vocal one ordering his demise seemed so much worse.
"No. They are… like humans. Some are more stubborn than others, and the Red God is adamant in its distrust. If even one lashes out at you…" He thought this was another awkward pause, but its voice petered out and didn't return. Shaking, he continued the trek. His existence hung by a thread.
They arrived before too much longer. Curtis' legs trembled and burned from all the walking; even this lighter RIG couldn't undo hours of exhaustion. However, sleep was a distant dream, save the slumber of long death.
ORE STORAGE DECK, the floor read as they stepped from an endless hall into the tram hub. He doubted the system still operated, given how close to failure it was earlier. The lights here flickered but at least weren't scarlet.
He pulled up a map from his holo-projector to double check the floor layout, though he already knew it. This was the simplest of all decks, merely a foyer followed by a massive chamber – the biggest on the ship, a mile high and a mile wide. It'd make the Z-Ball court and engine room look like quaint cottages. Nothing less could hold the mass of a planet. Yep, that looks right. He flinched as the image was momentarily replaced by flashes of symbols and screaming, making him shake his head until the madness flamed out.
It was the Black Marker. More cryptic bullshit. He wouldn't put up with it, instead turning away as it threw its madness up all over the screen. He pivoted it over to the Drone, who looked at it nonchalantly, apparently unable to detect his insanity.
"You aren't impressed?" he asked, forcing his visions back. These things didn't build or even utilize technology. Most of them were too stupid to, and this one seemed almost resentful. It stumped him… though he also saw an opportunity to boast of human supremacy. He was the closest thing to an expert on Necromorph "culture" that existed, so he might as well own the title. He just hoped his questions wouldn't earn a claw through the visor. "What has your species done that even comes close to this bauble?"
It might have rolled its eyes before growling, "We… do not need technology. We feel and sense many things. If one of my brothers dies or finds danger, the rest of us know. You have your guns and RIGs. We need… neither. You hide your frailty with metal and wire. We do not. We are strong, and you are weak. We do not need to build because we are already perfect."
Talk about a punch to the gut. The Drone snatched all his confidence and shoved it up his ass. Instead of convincing him, though, it made his face burn, irritating the dried blood on his upper lip. Its mouthparts fluttered into a toothy grin; it knew it gained the upper hand in their intellectual war. The reasonable thing would have been to shut up and formulate a witty comeback for later use. Getting upstaged by a theropod zombie was anything but normal, however.
"You steal all your success!" he exploded, poking a finger into its ribs. A saner man would have dreaded provoking this thing. He wasn't sane anymore, he realized. Even this monster, once so terrifying, was reduced to human stature as he spat. "What are you made out of?! A human! You only exist because you took someone else's life! You're a fucking parasite – everything that makes you 'superior' comes from a dead woman, and you can tell your friends that, too! 'Perfect' my ass!"
It snarled, mulling over whether to cut his face off. He wouldn't have minded, still pressing his face into its flared mandibles.
"Go ahead. Kill me. Prove me right that you're nothing but an animal." The atmosphere turned to iron during this stare down. Its four yellow eyes burned through the visor. He had no idea what would come next. If it wanted to kill him, there was nothing he could do. His heart thudded, though no adrenaline came with it. His body was all out.
"I leave you to your ignorance," it growled. "After we repair this dilemma, I will kill you. Then you shall understand." It whirled around and stormed towards the storage area, daring him to follow. Again, the smart thing would have been to bail – this was the time. He silently cursed and trudged forward. He couldn't give up. This radiation really did threaten any other humans aboard. If there was a chance of anyone else being alive, he needed to try and help them. He'd fucked up so many times over the past hours; if there was even a ghost of a chance that he could save people, he had to take it. Maybe Gabe's personality rubbed off on him.
The tables turned. He walked behind Drone, unable to keep his eyes off its spine, which bulged through its back. Each vertebra looked ready to burst out of the excoriated, translucent skin. Ugly as sin to him, but he had to admit it was a looker by Necromorph standards: no acid leaking out, and its body was roughly symmetrical. How he pondered such things when he was too tired to walk in a straight line baffled him.
Was his life really consumed so much by momentary carnal pleasures – sex, food and the like – that they confronted him in death? Apparently so. It made him ashamed… and also hungry. Then again, that went for most people who lived in this cold corporate universe. He shook his head and surveyed the area.
A good amount of Corruption grew here, but no ghouls in sight. No damage nor blood, either, though that brought him little hope. This deck was more automated than any other. Streams of gravitons and computers ferried ore back and forth instead of human beings. Whatever minimal staff members this deck used to possess were probably as dead as everyone else.
What if they aren't? He shot a glance to Drone, and his apathy turned back to terror. If it tried to maul any other humans, he'd turn on it without hesitation. The fact that it was sapient didn't change the fact that it wanted him and every other human dead… even if, again, that might have been better. What were the odds anyone would actually – he punched himself in the face. It hurt even through the mask and broke the train of thought. He screamed in his mind, as did several other voices.
I'll make it!
YOU WILL NOT.
DO NOT LISTEN TO MY BROTHER.
Another surge of red and black would have made him vomit if there was anything left in his stomach. Instead, he dry heaved, at which Drone stopped and stared. His brain was a battlefield of two eldritch entities, which made him indignant. It was like if eminent domain was declared on someone's property so a sports stadium could be built. Could the Black and Red Markers find nowhere else to fight their "war" or whatever the fuck?!
"You see the Black God, do you not?"
Drone had turned around to look at him as he bent over. "Yeah. You worship the Black Marker, too?" They must have had these religious notions inculcated in them from "birth".
It shook its head as it helped him up. "No. The Black God was… cast out. It does not believe in Convergence… at least not in this way." It gestured towards itself. The words would have made his heart race were he not so jaded.
So the Black Marker didn't like Necromorphs, either. Should have clicked earlier, considering how it seemed so keen on assisting him (even if said encouragement didn't do much). What did it matter, though? Wasn't much help to him, being lightyears away at the bottom of the ocean. He knew it helped somewhat – visions of it drove the Shadow Man and other forms of dementia away – but he was still in the shit unless it somehow started disintegrating zombies.
He also wasn't sure he'd call it benign. Even if it considered its own intentions good (did sentient hoary space menhirs have intentions?), it was an eldritch entity maybe as old as the universe. That hardly meant humanity was safe, especially given the fact it was on Earth. And maybe this wasn't actually about Necromorphs at all – this might have been the equivalent of a family squabble, and the Black Marker chose him as a go-between to fuck with its "brother". It made his head whirl.
"By all rights, I should kill you now if you are its agent," it muttered, sharpening its claws with other talons. Death. He didn't know whether to welcome or dread it anymore. "Seeing as you seem to have no choice in the matter… I will put it aside."
Dread brewed in Curtis' stomach, not helped by a radiation counter in the corner of his RIG's HUD slowly ticking up. The poison already began to seep out. At last, they reached the massive door to the storage area, which he opened with a wave of his trembling hand.
…
Drone scanned the chamber, her mandibles fluttering with awe. She scarcely comprehended all this space. Her entire existence had been one of tight corridors and small rooms; they were the environs her form was tailored to. The person she used to be barely knew the open sky – this flesh was more adapted to sedentary existence. Still, it was a privilege to step outside that bubble, if only for a moment.
A shimmering field spread out a few paces in; that was where artificial gravity ended, and the universe reasserted itself. The line between nature and technology narrowed here.
She and Curtis stepped across, and she began to float away as she did. The sensation of weightlessness disturbed her; she wasn't nearly as adept in such climes as some of her brothers and sisters. Disoriented, she gouged her four clawed toes into the metal to prevent losing to the void. Well, the vault wasn't quite empty. Car-sized mineral spheres floated within, bouncing into each other and flying away. This chamber would be packed to them brim with them if the Ishimura completed its violation of the planet below.
One leisurely floated past several feet away, which drew the unanchored top half of her body towards it. Thousands of tons of ore were compressed into each one; that was the only way to cram a planet into a single room. It also meant that each one was massive enough to have its own gravity well. Between the spheres and wide zero-gravity chamber, the situation reminded her of something… something from her past life. She couldn't quite remember and didn't want to – that was no longer reality – but Curtis standing beside her didn't help.
"What is your plan?" she asked as they stepped back through the shielded door. They didn't want to spend more time around the toxic elements than needed. Even the short seconds spent within sizzled her skin.
It put a hand under its chin, deep in thought. "Well, this RIG has shielding, but only enough for a few minutes. If I'm in there too long, it'll start burning my organs. I don't know about you, but I saw another of your kind – a really big one – survive just fine in space. The radiation's not as bad there, but it must have been out for a few hours."
After another minute of puzzling, it unveiled its plan. "The suit has an integrated Geiger counter, and your senses are good enough to pick up radiation without one. There should be a cargo door or something. We'll find the dangerous minerals and space them through it. I might be able to find some thrusters or a RIG for you to be able to move around."
Made sense enough. She was impressed by his prowess; seemed bringing him along was indeed a boon. She possessed only one revision. "I do not… require technology. A 'RIG', as you call it, would merely impede me." With that, they entered the massive chamber again and the invisible fire pricked her muscle. She couldn't "fly" like he could, yet she still wanted to help. Couldn't have the human think itself superior, could she? However, her boast had been a mere bluff – she had no idea how she'd navigate this new world.
"You take the right side of the room. I'll do the left," Curtis said as they entered zero-gravity and she anchored herself in the metal.
The human deactivated its grav-boots and whirred away, a device on the exoskeleton clicking as it floated up to a particular chunk of ore. This it captured with its graviton beam and tossed to the room's "bottom", which was studded with small airlocks for discarding chaff or surplus. Made it look so easy.
She cracked her neck and knuckles, readying herself to do the same. Her maxilla formed a smile while the coming war played out in her mind. She didn't share his fancy technology and didn't want to. This was a battle between flesh and steel, a being ashamed of its biology versus someone who embraced it. This was her best (and maybe final) chance to display the superiority of undeath. Her legs coiled, and she sprang into the void, only slightly terrified as she realized it'd take several minutes to reach a solid surface if her aim was anything less than perfect.
Curtis could run away and flee Convergence like her brother warned. Self-preservation was a powerful instinct. Still, she trusted the human for some reason. A familiarity lingered at the back of her mind. She used to know him. That truth unsettled her deeply.
Her mark was true, and she landed atop a perfectly smooth silver sphere the size of a compact car that weighed several thousand tons. This gave it such an intense yet shallow gravitational field that she stood with no issues, but her head was noticeably lighter than her feet. It was a bizarre feeling of vertigo to be able to circle a "planet" within seconds, though she didn't easily get dizzy – kind of hard to without an inner ear structure.
She pressed her nose to the mineral and sniffed, though her stinging tissue already affirmed danger. It needed to be disposed of before it set the rest of her family alight with nuclear fire. And her, for that matter. She pointed herself at another metal orb, coiled her legs, and sprang into the void again.
The radioactive sphere was propelled towards the airlocks by her acceleration. Travelled as slowly as a snail because of its great mass, but there wasn't gravity or friction to slow its arc. How do I know so much about physics and biology? she again wondered, if only to distract from the tumbling space before her. The Red God taught her much, but not this. I… this body… used to be a scientist.
This whole thing put her on edge. Was her mind that of an ascended human or an entirely new creation merely inhabiting its flesh? It shouldn't have been important; devotion to the Red God was all that mattered now. That's what she told herself. Didn't prevent memories' shadows from clawing at her "brain" (though the remains of that organ no longer housed her mind).
She landed on another perfect copper sphere and inhaled with superfluous lungs. This one lacked penetrating fire, so she angled away from the airlock and leapt again. Only several dozen more to go!
Time flowed differently in that expanse of chromatic orbs and slate sky. The collection of colored dots against a dull canvas evoked hazy visions of constellations and auroras. Silence was welcome and only interrupted by distant clinks of metal and the human buzzing around. She measured passing seconds with pain. Sizzling heat slowly built in her sinews. It began small but increased by the moment, saturating her with its corruption. Her form would be permanently damaged within minutes… as would the human's. She heard several proclamations from its exoskeleton about shields failing. Neither of them had much time.
The challenge continued. It was a dance; she would say if she knew nostalgia. Flesh versus metal. Living against dead. The burning and clinking quickened as they leapt and flew, circling the room and each other as each raced to prove themselves and their species better.
A gnawing grew in her gut, and not just from the radiation. This seemed familiar. The human… sensations of competition without gravity… they evoked another life. Her other life. How well did she used to know it?
Fatigue toxins built within her muscles as they neared the finish line. Spent and exhausted, she leapt to propel the final hunk of what might have been uranium down to the airlock. She and Curtis arrived on the opposite wall at almost the same time, looking intensely at each other. This didn't turn out how either of them wanted.
It was a tie.
Though tempted to grumble, she couldn't help but be impressed with the human's grit. He used machines to enhance his abilities, yes, but the plan was his alone. The two of them jumped one last time back to the entrance and the room's controls; it took minutes to drift the mile back, and the burning was now alarmingly intense.
"Radiation shields failing," Curtis' exoskeleton sputtered as he drifted beside her.
"I know, damn it!"
They finally landed, and it scrambled to work the controls. A rush of air was sucked from the room and into the vacuum of space through the opening portals, and the nearby metals with them. That was the true void, and these would be lesser stars within it. She collapsed backwards onto the ground, overcome with fatigue while the airlocks closed.
…
Curtis stood just shy of the zero-gravity zone, surveying the empty vastness as he panted. A job well done, if he said so himself. He looked over at the Drone, sprawled on the like a lounging cat or particularly strange modern art installation. How a zombie got tired was beyond him. The sight's ridiculousness nearly made him laugh.
This was his chance to escape. He'd assisted whatever humans, if any, still lived, taken yet another step towards atonement. The Necromorph would never catch up if he left now, though he could stasis it for good measure. It was the smart thing to do, even merciful! Meant he didn't have to "kill" a sentient being, evil though it was. That felt uncomfortably close to murder. Besides, it did help him. The radiation would have breached his RIG if he spent much longer collecting the metal. He'd be bleeding out the mouth by now without its assistance. Honestly, he was impressed with how she matched his technology with her own strength and ingenuity.
She. Her. He smacked his head a few times, trying to revert to the impersonal "it". It was a shambling corpse with slightly above-average intelligence. Any honeyed words or hints of happiness in this hellish limbo were merely machinations of the Marker designed to lull him into submission. He could let neither it nor the Shadow Man convince him death was better. Though it does sound nice…
Punching himself again, he was jarred aware by the Stalker's gravelly voice. "Why do you hurt yourself?"
Its flanged jaws were turned in genuine concern. Gave more of a shit about him than most humans ever did. "Why do you care? In fact, shouldn't you encourage it? Other members of your species are literal suicide bombers."
"But they die for a purpose," it retorted. "To hurt oneself without a plan in mind…" God, he didn't need another Gabe, getting all teary-eyed about suicide and all that. The sheer hypocrisy made him fume; it was OK for this thing to kill him, but he couldn't kill himself? Its own god encouraged people to end their lives!
Wait a second. If it disagreed with the Marker about something so enormous, perhaps it wasn't under its control as much as he thought. A seed of true sentience might survive within the weathered husk of a person… or this was another trick to make him lower his guard. No, I can't be paranoid about everything. That'll kill me, too.
Really, though, the question now was what wouldn't kill him. Even chunks of ore weren't safe from turning murderous. The point was that he might be able to keep the Necromorph on his side. Insane? Maybe, but it was willing to work with him so far, and he only had to appease it for… he checked the time. Four more hours, assuming his assumptions were correct.
His adventures with Gabe, Nathan and all the rest decisively proved survival was easier in groups. He would have preferred other humans, but he bore few illusions about locating any; the comm channels were nothing but a salmagundi of automated announcements (the first meeting of book club has started!), warnings and a couple sporadic distress signals.
If he wasn't the only human alive, the number was certainly in the single digits. A zombie was the only possible company left. He'd rather be with it than alone. Well, not quite alone – the screaming in his brain would always keep him company.
It rose, and his spirits fell. Now he needed to convince it not to kill him.
…
They were back in the hallway, awash in artificial gravity and air saturated with the scent of her brothers. She was as grateful for these facts as she was that the fire in her veins began to subside; her cells were stouter than any human's and there were far fewer bodily functions the emissions could wreck, yet her nervous system would have been scorched after a couple more minutes in that cage. She owed Curtis, though the only thing she could give him was a quick death, unfortunately.
The human drooped against the wall, his mask peeling itself away. Finally, she saw the face, and it almost made her drop to her knees. There was no doubt about it. She almost remembered him.
Him? Yes. Her foe deserved more respect than such an impersonal pronoun conveyed. His face was only the impetus which confirmed it. Sunken and sallow, it appraised her with dead eyes, only a shadow of sanity remaining. He looked almost as dead as her. Still, some force kept him shambling forward, and she nearly shrank back.
"Are you going to kill me?" he finally asked. Without the helmet to mask his voice, it sounded thin and hollow; his lips threatened to crack with each syllable.
Her mangled insides were in tumult. It shouldn't have mattered what their relationship used to be. She was now a servant of something greater. If he really did used to be a friend, didn't she owe sharing this joy?
She raised a clawed hand, which quivered in the red light. DO IT, the Red God ordered. His eyes twisted shut as he waited for a new beginning. Her talons hung in the air for a moment before her arm flopped to her side. The Red God didn't speak. Didn't need to. The only thing that coursed through her cells was disappointment. SHAMEFUL.
But she couldn't do it. She… she knew him. The name "Curtis" was the first hint – it tickled something in the back of her brain. His behavior, mannerisms and words were the next clue. His face erased any doubt, conjuring a few faint memories. Only one was lucid enough to recognize in any detail, and even that was hazy.
He lay in a bed, groggy, while she stood over him. The walls were of eggshell and chrome, studded with life support machines. The Medical Deck? It must have been. That's where she began. Was she his doctor?
"Well?! Get it over with!" he demanded. His bloodshot eyes drilled into her, daring and pleading for his suffering to end.
She couldn't articulate words through the haze of pain, both physical and emotional. The Red God agonized her body as punishment for disobedience, sending her toppling to the floor. She moaned and wailed but didn't cry. She physically couldn't – her kind had no need for tear ducts. At that moment, she envied Curtis for still being able to express sadness and loss. If he was weak for it, how much more pitiful was she?
Two hands on her throbbing shoulders drew her from the stupor. Curtis stood over her, his face twisted in a grimace. He could have stomped her to death or run away… but he didn't. Why not? The sane thing would have been to lunge at him, turn him inside out and ardently pray for forgiveness. The Black God's influence over her also grew. No matter what she said, her words were no longer her own. Now she was sucked into this psychic clash.
"I want to... learn. About me."
"Uh, do you remember where you worked when you were alive?" He was still suspicious yet at least willing to hear her out.
"The Medical Deck. I'm almost certain."
Curtis' scarlet eyes glazed over for a moment as he lapsed into deep thought. "If I help you learn about your past, will you protect me?"
It was difficult to read his intentions through this corona of new, overwhelmingly negative emotions. Sensations the Red God long kept at bay – sadness, regret, disappointment – flooded back into her as signs of its displeasure. Self-preservation was undoubtedly the main facet. Yet something in his face suggested he may have supported her search.
"I… will."
With a subtle nod, the helmet once again formed around his head, and he offered a hand. Her heart would have raced if it still existed. His short, thin fingers wrapped around her massive bony talons as he hauled her up.
She thought about telling him that he seemed familiar – didn't he deserve to know if he was indeed her friend in another life? That would have been cruel, however. If she wasn't merely grasping at straws and he really did used to be a coworker, acquaintance or… significant other? She took in his form again before dismissing it. Someone else used to fill that void in her brain. The point was, it'd be heartbreaking for someone who cared about her to see her "twisted" into a "monster".
She needed neither his sympathy nor his pity, for she actually appreciated her new form. Memories and statistics about the human body welled up in her mind; she was stronger, faster and tougher. However, she did need his help.
Without looking at each other, the two struck off into oblivion once again.