Dead Space 2
Chapter 3: Isaac Clark
Chief Engineer Isaac Clark
They are everywhere, pressing rotting….Dead hands against the glass, trying to…claw their way in. Milky, dead eyes stared in, filled with, hate and malice. Rotting flesh slapped against the metal hull with a wet, disgusting thump, thump, thump…trying to get in.
I scrambled away, trying to escape them…trying to escape. Too weak to escape.
Major Helen Bryant
"Get me a battle RIG." I ordered, turning away from the orderly, to face the engineer. "How long until the shuttle reaches the station?"
"We have at least an hour." He replied. Plenty of time to get ready.
"Get a team ready. Four heavily armed-guards, two medics and an engineer. We've have no idea what's in there."
"Yes, ma'am. If you'll please follow me, I will get you a RIG." I motioned for him to lead the way.
Twenty minutes later, my team was assembled. Four guards in black, armed with pulse rifles, the medics in grey protective gear and of course, the engineer I'd sent earlier. He'd volunteered for the job.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the metal strips of the basic engineering RIG settle against my form. I'd dismissed the flashy officer's RIG- this one was more practical. I looked over at my team- they were tense, fidgety. Ready to roll like thunder.
"Alright, let's go." Giving them what they wanted.
The small gunship coasted out of the air-dock, the engines purring. Working like a champ. If only the whole operation went this smoothly.
"Sir," the engineer called, "the boogey is now in radar range and is closing fast."
"So, what do you recommend?" I asked or, well, snapped.
"When it's close enough, I can active the gravity tethers and latch onto it. It might not be enough to stop it, but it will significantly slow it down." Not good enough.
"Anything else?"
"Ma'am, not really. This is not a transport vessel." I leaned back in the chair- the gravity tethers wasn't the perfect solution I had in mind, but it had to do. So I gave the okay.
The tethers arched across the vacuum, attaching to the hull of the hurtling shuttle. They instantly locked on, and the tethers snapped taunt. The gunship jerked and the tether-anchors groaned, but they held and the shuttle eased to a halt.
The engineer eased the gunship around, reeling in the shuttle. As it drew closer, I could see the decrepit condition it was in. The hull was spotted with holes and dents and entire sheets of metal were gone.
Behind her, she heard the men donning their helmets. They were going to need them. I pulled on mine as well and clicked the seal, pressurizing the inside of the helmet.
"Getting the shuttle in position. Almost ready to board." The engineer's voice crackled over the radio.
"Roger that. Move out." I answered.
The inside of the shuttle reflected the condition on the outside. Except, in here, it was a lot worse. In the gunship, you could see the light of the Sprawl, took comfort in it, knowing it was there. But in here was different. What light there was weak, pulsing yellow light from the few remaining overhead lamps. The rest was pitch black. Wires and tubes poked from holes in the rusted sheet metal, like tentacles. Like fingers. And in a way that thought was way more creepy.
And it was far from quiet. The ship was groaning, like a wounded animal and unexplained thumps and crashes sounded in the narrow halls. The sounds echoed, making it impossible to determine its origin.
On the radio, I heard nervous whispering. I shook my head, trying to dispel the creepy feeling and for the most part, succeeded. "What the fuck, guys? You think da big bad shippy is haunted, don't ya? Isn't that right?"
That got them going. The four guards took up a protective square around me, the medics and the engineer. Within the points of the square, the medics were flanked by me and the engineer.
I raised my weapon, leveling the laser-guides into the darkness of the hallway. It cut through the velvet darkness, yet it threw in more shadows than it dispelled. Shadows danced like mocking demons, keeping step with the light as we moved down the hall.
Up ahead was a corner, sharp. Couldn't see anything. Completely black. My heart starts to race, I can feel the tension in my team. We instinctively draw closer together. You don't fear the darkness- you fear what dwells in it.
And I was about to find the true inhabitants of the dark.
The darkness smothered me, heavy, claustrophobic in the small place. All alone in this place. What I could see was about a foot and a half of pale blue light.
Other than that- black shadows.
Suddenly someone stood at the edge of the light. Tall. Lanky. Bloody.
Elsewhere, in a different world, voices crackled, "Oh, shit, did you see that?" Light arched toward the figure. Cut through it. Gone.
What the fuck?
A voice whispered, "Did you see that?" Frightened, close to panic. My voice.
"Yes, Sarge. What the fuck was it?" Someone croaked.
No one answered. No one knew.
Shuffling as we moved toward where it had been. A space opened up- it was a ventilation duct. Too small for anything human. Blood dripped from the edges.
Fresh, still wet.
Yet black and thick with decomp.
Our unasked question were answered as a shriek rang through the ship. As if it gave us all the answers.
The shriek was met with the crash of breaking glass.
No one said a word; no one had to, and as one, we swept in that direction, guns leveled.
The thin hall opened up into a emergency dock, with escape pods. Pieces of broken glass coated the floor. The glittering shards reminded me of discarded shark's teeth.
Standing over on of the pods was a monstrosity. When we entered it turned to look at us, its mouth falling open in another ear-piercing screech, then a gurgling and more of the decomposing blood sloshed out of its slack jaw.
It stared stupidly with its milky eyes, arms slack. Where hands were supposed to be were boney protrusions, like the hands had been snapped clean off and the bone of the fore-arm had grown to a deadly spikes. Its chest and belly was a mass of torn flesh, the black-green intestines falling out of its belly and beneath the thing's ribs were two sacks. Lungs.
I watched as those sacks constricted, as it screeched again, more goop falling out of its mouth, flowing over rotting, pointed teeth. It stumbled forward, its feet making wet noises, like boots filled with mud. From its belly, wet, sloshing sounds.
I was disgusted, terrified, angered.
Someone fired a shot, and one it legs buckled. Then the air was filled with bullets, tearing its flesh. Yet still it came, dragging its body on the floor with its spikes, one leg less.
Screaming. My screams. Theirs. Its.
Yet somehow, I heard someone else's voice through the screams. I lowered my aim inched right and fired. It arm was cut clean off. It howled in pain, and I answered, cutting off its other arm.
Then it was dead, body collapsing.
I was shaking and my eyes were filled with tears. Sobbing. My grip on the gun was so tight my hands were aching.
"Sarge." the engineer spoke- his voice barely containing his own fears and panic. "Look." The lasers flashed, probing the space between the escape pod and the wall. There was a bundle of rags there.
A bundle of rags with arms and legs. A bundle of rags that was very much alive.