Dead Space: Zealot

by PyroFox117

AU. Sequel to "Dead Space: Ascetic". Titan Station has been overrun by the same force that consumed the Ishimura. Curtis and Nicole may be the only people who stand between the Necromorphs and the annihilation of humanity. They'll slice and dice their way through the Sprawl, helping friends, meeting a man thought dead, and being pursued by something... alien. OC X Stalker!Nicole

3. Underground

Happy 2023, everybody! I wish you all the best in the new year, hope you can stick with any resolutions you made, and so on. This marks my eighth year as a writer (I started in 2016), which is unbelievable to me. I feel ancient… speaking of which, I just turned 25, so hopefully that means my brain has finished developing. With that out of the way, I've been thinking a lot about different kinds of Necromorphs and how I am planning to utilize them.

As you all probably remember from Ordination, I've made Twitchers significantly more formidable. They're basically just regular enemies in the games, but I've made them more akin to mini-bosses like Brutes in terms of the threat they pose. That's partially from the fact that super-speed should be very difficult to counter and, more importantly, to show the uniqueness of them being fused with technology.

The Necromorphs are all about evolution, and the Golden Marker existing around more technology than its "father" has sparked some new ideas about what Necromorphs it can produce. That's why I introduce a certain enemy from Dead Space 3 in this chapter; even some standard Necromorphs are beginning to use the things humans make to their advantage instead of destroying them. Still need to introduce the Necromorph that uses guns from 3 – that'll be funny. I'm not sure how important this plot is going to be, since Nicole has mostly gotten over it, but it's something I've enjoyed crafting that is not addressed in the Dead Space series, so hopefully I can continue to explore it in interesting ways.

Thanks to CelfwrDderwydd and Dasgun for reviewing since the last update. I really appreciate you guys taking the time to write anything. I've also included the link to my Discord server, and this will be the last time I promote it in this story, since everybody who wants to join probably already has after the first couple chapters. Just remove the spaces and asterisks:

www*.discord*.gg / HPcMTpxVsH

45 Minutes Post-Sprawl Outbreak

Curtis raced as swiftly as the wind down the tunnel. Well, not that fast, but it sure felt like he moved with supernatural speed. More than the average person was able to pull off in such a RIG. Karrie kept pace, and their only reservation was making sure they didn't trip on anything unlit by the passage's dingy lights, which would only become dimmer as the Necromorphs wrecked machinery. His time on the Ishimura showed they were smart enough to perform rudimentary sabotage, for they did not require frivolities such as life support systems.

But that was something to worry about later. His current concerns waited just ahead of him. And they had teeth.

The two emerged into a tall chamber illuminated by portable floor lamps and the glow of holographic monitors as well as standard lights, which led to a rare instance where he had to squint down here before his RIG's visor darkened accordingly. Looked like this place had been active until a few minutes ago, with workers excavating a particularly valuable vein from this hollow.

Now, someone fought against what they became. The rattle of gunfire from an elevated platform in the middle of the room mixed with roars told Curtis all he needed to know. Well, maybe not all, but enough to convey the most important things as he and Karrie scrambled up a set of stairs hewn from rock, already gasping for air.

For example, a Pulse Rifle was being discharged rather than any mining device; he'd heard them enough to be certain, despite the room distorting the acoustics. That meant the survivor was a soldier instead of a prospector. And soldiers moved in groups. Either this one got separated from theirs, or, more likely, all the others met their ends impaled on bony blades. If EarthGov improved their tactics, then the Marker adapted accordingly.

They got to the "balcony" overlooking the rest of the cage, and Curtis would've bashed his shoulder on the wall before him if not for using his grav-boots to halt his momentum. Whipped out his Plasma Cutter, and Karrie raised her fists. Hopefully they'd be able to scrounge up a substitute after dealing with this immediate threat.

Speaking of which, they finally saw what they dealt with. A person in a military RIG pressed their back against a closed door with their rifle raised. A few dismembered Necromorphs splayed before them, but even more "live" ones raced up the flight of steps opposite the ones Curtis and Karrie ascended. They probably ran low on ammo. The presence of another weapon (much as he disliked thinking of his tools as such) would balance the odds.

That's what Curtis thought until he saw the brown blur shoot across a catwalk behind the rest of the pack. His stomach dropped into his boots.

As he learned from the Valor, all soldiers had stasis units installed in their RIGs to slow enemy combatants. The Marker used unknown science to reverse the effects, fusing the machines into dead flesh and creating Necromorphs that moved faster than time. They didn't possess "conventional" super-speed the way some superheroes did, just able to move fast – instead, five seconds for them was one second for the rest of the universe, or whatever the rate of time dilation was.

Made Curtis' head spin to think about. Better screw it back on before this thing lopped it clean off, since the blur spasmed erratically while the other monsters blocked its path. The important fact that popped into his head was, again, several other soldiers must have been around. That now meant several more bodies.

A flash of movement from the other side of the terrace ringing the room caught his eye. Sickly yellow darted between the gaps in the guardrails, and then the thwack of a proboscis piercing a skull. That meant only one thing.

"Karrie!" he shouted, getting the attention of both the Necromorphs and the unknown soldier halfway across the chamber. "Kill the bat monster before it sticks its tongue into more bodies!" Pointed to the scene of the crime, and she sprinted across a catwalk parallel to intercept the Infector, her own stasis recharged and at the ready. It took a few seconds for the creature to pump its instant-reanimator bile into a cadaver, which meant a one-on-one fight. Wished he could see it, but he had problems on this end.

The Necromorphs had been distracted by his surprise entrance, buying the soldier a precious second to reload his or her gun. They weren't disturbed by his appearance (in fact, they must have welcomed a new "brother" to bring into the fold), it just took them a moment to decide between two equidistant targets.

The hive mind settled on Curtis, though. A wet bellow from a Puker was their clarion call to battle, and the meat on their twisted bones became their war flag. They were soldiers in a squadron all their own. Despite all the differences between them, he got the feeling that they understood war and waged it in their own way. Something to ponder later.

In the meantime, he used kinesis to grab a piece of metal fencing that had been uprooted and tossed it at the closest Necromorph, a Divider, to slow down it and the rest of the pack! About 30 feet away, he had no time to waste as he unloaded the Plasma Cutter into a Slasher's arm, charring it black. Kept being distracted by the Twitcher, though, which zigged and zagged at the back, trying to find a way through its companions, much like Curtis probing through a crowd at the tram station.

Unlike then, the pack actually parted – he knew through Nicole that the different phenotypes of Necromorphs held different ranks in their caste system, so it made sense that the Twitcher was their superior. Even the Marker couldn't individually dictate thousands or millions of beings simultaneously, so it parceled out responsibilities as human leaders did. And now this "field officer" would try to slice him in half.

Curtis hoped he'd be able to take them down by himself, yet he hadn't done this for a while, and this many Necromorphs against one human rarely ended well. Fortunately, he wasn't along; the unknown soldier aimed their rifle at the Twitcher before it charged.

Just because it moved fast didn't mean its senses were any better than the average Necromorph's (which were nothing to scoff at). In fact, they may have been a little worse, since the rest of the universe moving slower must have distorted the sights, sounds, etc. coming its way. The creature's nimbleness didn't enable it to dodge attacks it was unaware of. And despite their frightening speed, Twitchers couldn't outrun slugs; it was helpless when a brief burst of bullets cleaved the right leg from the frame. Dropped to the ground, yet that hardly meant it was out of the fight.

It dragged itself forward with its blade-arms, not as fast, but perhaps a little more frightening. Scuttled like a crab, staring at him with a glassy, dead eye through a crack in what used to be a helmet identical to what the living soldier donned. His stomach turned – even without the Marker, such sights would give him nightmares for the rest of his life… which hopefully didn't end here.

Another shot from the Plasma Cutter lopped the Slasher's arm off, and it went down. Perhaps he should have focused on more immediate threats, though. For instance, the ball of corrosive vomit the Puker hacked up and spat at him. His brain only registered it a moment before impact, and he swore as he pulled a muscle while twisting out of the way. Missed his torso by inches, instead splatting on the rock behind him, which now dripped green slime. The long-range projectile vomit didn't pack the same punch as the kind they shot when close, but it would've clogged the joints in his armor enough for him to be a sitting duck for the Twitcher.

Speak of the devil, for the devil appeared… or at least a demon. A demon that slashed his thigh, sending searing pain up his spine and blood trickling down his leg. Didn't hit a major artery (pretty sure it didn't, anyway, for the volume felt more like that of a stream than a river). Instead of a roar, it emitted something might almost be called a laugh, though it sounded like a high-pitched giggle with how quickly the remnants of its vocal cords vibrated. Curtis also appreciated the irony through his agony.

A leg for a leg.

Might've gotten that wish if not for the Puker, which hobbled up to him, its Divider "friend" close behind. It'd melt him first. Fuck fuck fuck! Wanted to scream, but he wouldn't give these things or their master the satisfaction. Still, in a space between seconds, he knew he was screwed. Flanked on two sides by three different Necromorphs with only the mining equivalent of a pistol, kinesis and a single shot of stasis. They'd go to town on him, and then he'd be dead. Should've stayed by the stairs.

There was one way out, though: down. He stood next to a guardrail that prevented miners from falling off the balcony. About a 20-foot fall, but it was that or be turned into a puddle by the Puker, which readied another volley from its face, which had all its flesh melted off. It'd be all over him in less than a second.

Screw it. Curtis didn't dare think anything more as he shot his stasis at the Puker, slowing the upchuck to a crawl. Then he charged through the metal railing and hoped he didn't break anything that couldn't be fixed with Somatic Gel!

Falling presented a single second of respite; weightless, he had no responsibilities, for there was nothing he could do except wait to hit the ground. Vaguely heard the wrestling match between Karrie and the Infector. Pretty sure she had the upper hand, but he hoped the soldier tipped the odds even more in her favor with some bullets, if he didn't have anything else to –

The crack that echoed in his helmet let him know that he'd fractured his left shoulder when he landed on it if the misery in his arm wasn't enough of a clue. He yelped before biting his tongue; no, they wouldn't get the satisfaction of that! He was righthanded, so at least he'd still be able to shoot straight! Scrambled back with his legs, and the Twitcher stuck its top half over the edge to peer at him and offer another "laugh". Right before the stasis bubble around the Puker popped.

Unable to stop itself, it blew its load at the space Curtis used to occupy… where the Twitcher now was, instead. If the Necromorphs were an army, then this was friendly fire.

Despite his agony, Curtis smiled as the Twitcher spun around like a top, fruitlessly attempting to quench this chemical fire. In seconds, it was only a puddle that leaked over the cliff's edge. The Puker looked as distraught as a Necromorph with its face melted off possibly could after accidentally killing its superior. Only wished Nicole were present so he knew what it thought. Regardless, he couldn't let this opportunity be wasted.

Aligned the Cutter's three azure laser sights with the Puker's hollow eye sockets. Then he pulled the trigger. Off with its head. A couple barrages of gunfire from the soldier presumably finished it off, but Curtis couldn't see the rest of the creature from his perspective. No more followed, though – the Divider and another Slasher or two were still up there, so they must have run out of ammo! Curtis wobbled to his feet and climbed the flight of stairs again, left arm hanging limply by his side to not hurt it more.

Curtis heaved a heavy sigh when he reached the top, both from relief and being short of breath. The soldier took out the other Slasher by using kinesis to impale it about a dozen times with pieces of rebar and the severed blades of its fellows. Now he or she slumped over against the still-closed door to rest. Not the most efficient way to kill them, but probably better in a pinch than using one's hands and feet.

Karrie begged to differ, for she still pounded the tar out of the Infector. Couldn't see exactly what happened, yet the fact she made much more noise than it indicated she was close to wringing the thing's neck. All in all, it looked like the humans…

Wait. What happened to the Divider? His Plasma Cutter again stood at the ready. No sign of it, either as a single colony or the tiny organisms that composed it. He was about to ask the soldier if they saw it slip away, but the gangly, flayed hand wrapping around his visor answered that question. The other knocked his weapon away before grabbing his neck.

He couldn't help screaming, and he felt himself pee a little. Well, it might've been the blood that continued to seep down his leg. His nerves were already shot between the fractured scapula, his burgeoning insanity and the terror inherent to the world ending. Being grappled by an eight-foot gestalt zombie was the final straw; he shrieked like a child. Its impossibly thin frame squeezed into a crevasse in the wall, and now it tried to pull him in with it. The image of artificial meat being cut at the deli flashed before his eyes – he'd end up as thin as a slice of ham.

"Help! Somebody h-help me!" he screamed, only able to brace the wall with his right arm. His face was pressed against the fissure, and his helmet began to groan from the stress inflicted on it. Hard to believe flesh could be so strong, but he knew from Nicole that, with most of their tissue converted into muscle and supercharged by the Marker's energies, the undead were a match for the power a RIG provided.

Two dead, glassy eyes stared unblinkingly from the abyss, and a few tentacles waggled at him from the mouth, where its tongue used to be. The gray apparition was enough to make him scream again, especially when Curtis swore he glimpsed a mangled Nicole and the Shadow Man deeper in the crack. "Please!"

Hands clutched his torso, fighting the force that tried to pull him to his doom. His prayers had been answered. In his terror, he forgot he wasn't alone.

"A… little help," Karrie grunted to the soldier, who was already on the case. Tossed the empty Pulse Rifle aside and picked up the dropped Plasma Cutter. A few doses of superheated ions were enough to burn the Divider's taut arms off. The rest of its body bellowed from within the rock. However, Curtis still possessed enough lucidity to join the other two stomping these animate pieces to "death" before they got their bearings.

The soldier stuck the tool into the gap and shot it a couple more times to drive the armless Divider back; it moaned as it crept into the heart of Titan, and he hoped it got stuck where it couldn't hurt anyone else.

Curtis had time to consider his pain with the terror finally subsided. He peeked at the health readout in the corner of his HUD, which dipped about 20 percent from the blood loss and broken bones. His body long ago flushed out the Somatic Gel he inundated it with on the Ishimura, which meant he was able to utilize more without the risk of something awful happening. The substance was miraculous, but too much of being applied, consumed, or injected overwhelmed the body and made cells repair in gruesome ways. Once worked with a guy who drank a gallon of it on a bet (no idea how he'd gotten ahold of that much), and he was dead the next day on account of his intestines rearranging themselves into a giant tumor.

With that pleasant thought at the front of his mind, he issued a voice command for the RIG to inject him with the gel from the pre-loaded Med Pack. Hopefully he'd be able to find more later, for the things suddenly became more valuable than gold or platinum. The sting of an internal needle piecing a vein quickly dulled, supplanted by a calming coolness in his shoulder. Didn't want to move it right away, yet it'd be good as new in a couple minutes. With that all attended to, his attention turned toward the other two, making sure they were OK. Had to take care of his friend. No, friends, for he realized there was only one person this unknown warrior could have been. No nascent Necromorph killer could survive that many at once.

Plus, his military RIG had his name on it. I'm such a detective, he thought, rolling his eyes.

"Gabe," Curtis declared, removing his helmet again for good measure. Maybe a tad dangerous, since there was always a chance that a Necromorph would appear from nowhere and maul his face, yet he wanted the man to know it was really him. This wasn't a hallucination (which Gabe hopefully would not deal with for a while longer) or a trick. "It's… really good to see you."

Karrie didn't need an explanation, since he already told her about the guy and that he worked security in the mines during his exposition dump. Still, good fortune finding him in the massive quarry. Then again, he thought, turning to the carnage around him, people are dying faster than I thought. Having experience helped them last this long.

Gabe followed suit with retracting his mask. The rings around his brown eyes already returned, and he looked very, very concerned. It'd get much worse before the day was through. Still, they were both alive, and that fact gave him a hint of a smile. "Figured you were still around," he replied, clapping Curtis on the shoulder. The man was never one for hugs, but this was just as heartfelt. "The Marker can't kill you that easily." Then he glanced at Karrie, who joined the "people with faces" party. "Who's your friend?"

"My name's Karrie. Glad we could help." She shook off the gore on her palm and went in for a handshake. Curtis only now recognized that the two had never met. Kept these friends separate for the safety of both, though Karrie had encountered Lexine just a couple days ago when he called an engineer to fix his Force Gun. Then she cut to the chase. "Curtis and I are going to patch up the fusion reactor. Long story."

He shrugged. "Always is. But great. The more the merrier, and all that." Clasped his hands before turning back to glare at the gate; the hologram at the center continued to spin like a computer's loading icon. "Just need to wait for that door to unlock and cycle open. EarthGov sealed this part of the mines to prevent these fuckers from spreading, for all the good that did." Maybe it slowed them for a few minutes. Maybe.

Gabe handed him back the Plasma Cutter and picked up his empty Pulse Rifle. Hoped he found some more bullets on the way. "All my people are dead. Webb, Johnson, Price… they never stood a chance. Thought I was prepared for this, but they blindsided me." Like him, Gabe wanted to save everyone. Unlike Curtis, it was also his duty as a superior officer. That made the losses even worse. "Didn't know the Necromorphs came back until they poured out of the walls maybe 15 minutes ago." Coughed a few times; Curtis saw blood in the spittle. "I'm surprised my override codes still functioned. Door's taking its sweet-ass time opening, though." He pounded on it for good measure, and Curtis supposed they could attempt to break it down. Being in GovSec meant it was made of stern stuff, but the three of them might be able to make a dent.

"Why wouldn't they work?" Karrie asked.

"The comm frequencies that Titan Station Security uses are different from civilian ones." That made sense. Tiedemann wouldn't pull the plug on his own soldiers, since they'd otherwise be as helpless as everyone else. No way to convey orders unless the government secretly developed spacefaring messenger pigeons. "Tried to use that to my advantage with the rest of the Transnet down by calling Lexine."

"How is she?" Curtis asked. Thought he heard something shuffling within the rocks, making his muscles tense again. Another painful flash of golden runes in his vision meant it may have been illusory, though. "Nicole" whispered to him and told him there was no point, that he and his friends, old and new, would perish and be absorbed into the Marker's warm embrace. Got it out of his head in time to hear Gabe's reply.

"I don't know. My authorization got blocked within seconds, though, before I could tell her to get out of there. And that makes me very, very worried." Curtis bit his tongue; he didn't like the implications. "The only way someone could've been that quick to block me is if they already knew who I am."

And anyone who knew the truth about Gabe and Lexine would also be aware of him and Nicole. The notion almost made pass out. The fear of monsters like the ones they'd just defeated paled compared to the horror now gripping him. Perhaps the government discovered who they were and where they lived long ago. That was impossible, though! They'd been careful all these years, gotten new identities and lives. If EarthGov did find out, why weren't they arrested or assassinated before? It made him queasy, and he wished now more than ever that he could talk to Nicole.

"But I'll worry about that later." The refrain was a commonality between them all. Some might have thought of it as ignoring real problems, but he perceived it as picking one's battles. "For now, I need to get Lexine." Gabe pointed over his shoulder at the door. "There's an EarthGov gunship hangar built into the Shard a couple miles up this route. I'm going to take one and fly it to Titan Memorial, since they have a hangar for emergency transports."

That assumed any were left; they might've all be stolen, or perhaps Tiedemann tripped some quarantine measure to blow them up. Still, that was a better plan than any Curtis and Karrie came up with. That just left the matter of finding Lexine in a crowded, potentially panicking hospital. And how long until the Necromorphs got across?

"You can come with us, if you want. We could use the help," Curtis offered, even as he knew Gabe would refuse. Lexine mattered more to him than fixing a problem that'd only be an issue several hours down the road – if any of them made it that far. Time was of the essence with the Necromorphs surely probing for access to the Sprawl.

"I know. But finding my wife is most important to me." He paused. "If I can, I'll swing by your place and get Nicole." A kind offer, and one Curtis readily accepted. Nicole could handle herself, but she'd feel a lot better if she didn't have to traverse the collapsing society by herself.

"What are you going to do after that?" That was the most important question. Would Gabe and Lexine stay and fight the Marker like he and Nicole? Or would they flee? Curtis didn't judge them if it was the latter… at least he'd really try not to. It was easy and natural to hesitate in the face of death, and the Necromorphs didn't play chicken. They were never going to blink.

"I want to help, but it depends on how Lex feels. She'll probably be up for it, but…" The uncertainty in his friend's voice sounded palpable enough to be plucked like a string. Then he looked straight at Curtis. "Well, she's felt a little strange these few days. One reason she scheduled that fertility testing, plus her wanting to get a second opinion from somebody with actual medical equipment. No offense to Nicole."

Took a moment for what Gabe said to dawn on Curtis. When it did, though, he felt his jaw drop.

"You think – "

"I don't know," he replied, the helmet again forming around his head. The conversation ended. Not out of terseness, but from necessity – the damn door finally opened, and Gabe had no time to lose. "But if she is, that changes everything."

Curtis didn't quite understand. Then again, how could he? The concept of having a child was alien to him. He'd never wanted to be a father, and the dual facts that the world ended and that his wife was no longer human made it completely out of the question. Still, he possessed enough empathy to be happy, if scared, for the man. Lexine might've learned something that'd alter both their lives during the gynecologic examination. Whether they fought or fled, it'd be one more motivation for Curtis to rip the Golden Marker apart with his bare hands, if need be.

"Good luck, Curtis. Karrie," he spoke while walking to the open threshold. Nothing special about the rocky tunnel behind it, though he definitely heard screams from somewhere in the distance. Curtis wondered if, like that Divider, the other Necromorphs used clefts in the stone to get around. No crazier than them using vents. Shuddered as he imagined them literally crawling out of the dirt like buried corpses. "You're gonna need it."

"Same to you, Gabe. I hope Lexine is safe." If there was a higher power in the universe – one that wasn't malevolent – he hoped it looked out for them.

"Yeah." He aimed his Pulse Rifle down the hall, only for the holographic ammo display to remind him the well dried up. "Damn, I really am out," he muttered, patting all his pockets to make sure none hid somewhere. Curtis was going to offer him the Plasma Cutter on the assumption he'd find another suitable tool somewhere in this room, but Karrie spoke up before he could.

"Take these; they're useless to us." She held out several clips… where did she get them? The CEC didn't offer bullets as part of their engineers' normal equipment. "Uh, I checked the bodies of those soldiers I stopped the bat-thing from reanimating," she explained. Oh. That should have been obvious. Perhaps also a bit sensitive for the soldier. Curtis didn't know whether the carcasses included the names Gabe said earlier, but it didn't really matter. They were his coworkers, so he must have known them. "I know it's morbid, but better us have it than them."

"Oh, I'm not judging you." As Karrie said, the dead wanted for nothing, and it's not like they stole credits from RIGs like muggers. Curtis occasionally looted the dead on the Ishimura. Not a lot – real life wasn't a video game where enemies became pinatas of helpful items upon expiration – but the ones with full pockets, both human and Necromorph. Found some Med Packs and power cells that way, though he mostly came up empty. It made sense that Twitchers would have more resources on them than other Necromorphs or regular dead people; of course soldiers would pack ammo for their weapons. Because the Marker melded the armor-mounted stasis units into the biology, their RIGs remained more intact than those of other Necromorphs, which usually had their clothes shredded off by the metamorphosis.

In short, it was a great idea to raid their bodies in particular.

"Uh, thanks," Gabe said, grabbing the cartridges with only a hint of remorse. Looked over again at the open door, which beckoned him stronger than before. Something kept his feet rooted in place, however.

"There might be another way I can help, if you have a minute." They'd already lingered here, so why not add another 60 seconds? Gabe was the one who really needed to hurry, and if he thought it was worth their time, Curtis and Karrie agreed to wait. Gabe took a cord from one of his pouches, plugging one end into a port on his RIG's helmet and another into a similar outlet on Curtis'. Felt like a relic, for he'd never used wired comms in his entire life! This was a vestigial feature, something included in the very first RIG technology hundreds of years ago that persisted unnoticed, like the appendix or wisdom teeth.

Here, though, Curtis couldn't have been happier with the way it worked. Wireless communications may have been killed across the station, but the government couldn't stop fiber-optic cables! He repeated the process on Karrie for good measure before explaining what exactly he did.

"Just spun you the orders I received prior to being cut out of the system. As a sergeant, I got more info than the average private." Curtis nodded. He'd be sure to read them on the way to the generator. Though he long ago learned that walking while looking at a holo-screen led to accidents (such as cutting one's forehead open), he was desperate enough to not worry about that. "I'd give you my access codes, but like I said, those are junk now." The reactor would presumably be open to them, since Tiedemann didn't say otherwise. "That's all I can do."

"It's more than enough," Curtis replied, his mouth suddenly parched. This might have been the last time he saw Gabe, or vice versa. Sort of wanted to say, "Kick some ass for me," or another cliché line from an action vid, but he held his tongue. This was no time for one-liners.

Tension lingered in the sulfurous air (RIG atmospheric scrubbers activated when the air became toxic or unbreathable, not for bad odors) while Gabe limped out the door. Didn't dare glance back; he looked only to the future while the aperture slammed shut behind him.

That didn't mean Curtis and Karrie could leave yet. He wanted to press on, and she surely did, too, yet Curtis saw two outstanding requirements before they graduated. Still, couldn't dawdle with the pace the Necromorphs consumed the mines.

"Come on, Karrie," he mirthlessly muttered. "I have another thing to teach you."

He led her across the steel bridge to where she killed the Infector. Craned his head just to make sure it didn't play possum. Though he'd only observed that behavior a couple times on the Ishimura, there was no need to take chances.

Thankfully, the Infector was dead. Karrie handled it more cleanly than he would have; the body was whole except for the haustellum, which had been ripped out of its head. Personally, Curtis would've stomped the wings off, but that was just him. Couldn't argue with results, even if it took a minute of wrestling the abomination to achieve them.

"Can they fly?" she asked as they looked at the mutated thing. Of all the Necromorphs Curtis yet encountered, this kind was the most difficult to imagine had ever been human.

"I… don't know. Never seen them do that, but maybe." Why else would they have wings? The environments of the Ishimura offered Infectors room to do little more than glide, which he recalled witnessing. Titan Station had many more atriums, so he suspected he'd learn before too long. The last thing they needed was to be dive-bombed by mutant zombies – startled him enough when birds in the Hubs swooped down to eat crumbs by his feet.

He took a deep breath and pushed such thoughts aside, for the Infector was not the reason he brought her over.

Instead, he looked at the other bodies. Five of them, all sporting enough limbs to be remade in the Marker's image. Two, splayed face-down in a shallow puddle created by dripping stalactites above, grasped each other's hands. Curtis had no idea whether they were lovers or if their lives ending in a lonely place made them want someone to hold. Regardless, both of those hands – along with the rest of their appendages – needed to be excised. Whether they'd transform into Twitchers or Guardians or fused into a Brute didn't matter. Less biomass meant less of a chance they'd reanimate as something particularly dangerous, though some risk persisted.

He explained all this to his companion as he walked over and prepared to use his grav-boots to shear flesh: another perversion of technology that should have been used for peace. With five bodies and four limbs per corpse, it'd take 20 stomps to mostly remove the threat. Less if Karrie wanted to help. Which she did not, as he expected.

"I'm not doing that," she flatly declared, so Curtis started the grisly work before she spoke her next sentence. "I get why you are, but I never will. It's against my religion. I'll chop up Necromorphs, since they aren't people, though."

He nodded, completely understanding as he pounded away. The sanctity of the human body in both life and death was one of Unitology's most important doctrines. The Church sponsored rehab groups for alcoholics, drug addicts and similar people who harmed their flesh. They opposed excessive genetic and cosmetic modification of humans. And like the ancient Egyptians, they preserved their dead in stasis or cryogenic crypts, and even, according to urban legend "mausoleum ships", waiting for Convergence to resurrect them.

There was some contention, from what he'd read, but most Unitologists did not believe those whose bodies had been destroyed (the vast majority of people to ever live) were damned to oblivion. However, they'd have to wait an interminable amount of time for the Markers to create new bodies for them. So he completely respected Karrie's moral convictions as he finished, wiping his feet on the floor.

Besides, she probably wouldn't consider herself a Unitologist soon enough. Curtis cringed at thinking that, but it was true. She'd already been betrayed by the Church after she put years into it. It'd become clear to her how right they were about everything… just not in the ways anyone wanted them to be. Maybe then she'd change her mind. Karrie didn't have to partake, she just needed to know this kind of thing in case they got separated… or if he died. Hopefully she'd honor Curtis' wishes by blowing him apart. Even if his soul was claimed by the Golden Marker, he didn't want his body to be used for violence.

He felt the eyes of the dead on him from behind their helmets. The quadruple amputees stared at him. Their gazes burrowed into his spirit, and they asked him why he defiled them. Then the screaming started, loud and real enough to ring in his ears.

Curtis knew it was a fleeting phantasm. The Marker had more insidious tricks, like making him perceive his friends as Necromorphs so he shot at them. The illusion still startled him, though. Always made him jump. Then it ended as quickly as it began, and he was left with many dead people and Karrie cocking her head at him.

"It's nothing," he said while the two began their second task: finding Karrie a weapon. It'd be nice if he could pick one up for himself that packed more of a punch than the Plasma Cutter, but obtaining her one was more important. This was a big room that many people worked in, so they were bound to have options. His hopes dimmed as they cased the area and absorbed the mechanical carnage, which they ignored during the desperate flight in. Everything with wiring had its guts torn out; not as much care was taken to make sure all their parts stayed attached.

He and Karrie split up to cover more ground, but it didn't take long for Curtis to recognize this as a boondoggle.

Figures, he thought, flipping over a 711-MarkCL Rivet Gun that'd been clawed to Hell. The Necromorphs were smart enough to destroy power junctions and the like, so it made sense that they'd also target tools. Wasn't sure if they knew to do that on the Ishimura, but they sure as Hell did it now. The closest he found were circuit boards and a few disparate parts that Karrie might've been able to jury-rig into functionality if she had time.

Time was among the many things they lacked, however, and enough of it had been wasted. At least he foraged a few power cells compatible with the –

"I found something!" Karrie shouted from the level below, and Curtis allowed himself to be relieved for a second. He jogged down, finding a cabinet that the Necromorphs missed leaning against a boulder. The door must have been locked, for she tore it off its hinges, revealing two mechanisms within.

One was an IM-822 Handheld Ore Cutter, produced by Schofield Tools… better known as a Line Gun! His heart leapt for joy at seeing his favorite tool/zombie-slayer again. This was just what he looked for.

The other tool took a moment for him to recognize because of its rarity; he'd only worked with these a few times in his career. Recalled the contraption after racking his brain, though, which sported four barrels positioned at 90-degree angles of each other, creating a diamond or square around a central tube: the V-101 Core Extractor. Weyland-Yutani's most recent attempt to break into the mining industry, it was designed to cut to the center of exceptionally dense ore deposits.

Curtis was not impressed by the concept, since Timson's (the same company that pioneered the technology that became incorporated in most high-end RIGs these last couple of years) Javelin Gun accomplished that task perfectly. Needed to start somewhere, though, and he supposed this was as good a niche as any.

There hadn't been any on the Ishimura, since the CEC was not going to finance its biggest rival. That was fine, for Curtis never enjoyed working with heavier gadgets. Like the C99 Supercollider Contact Beam, it could turn a person into paste if safety protocols were not observed. While risk came with any mining apparatus, this one was particularly dangerous. He didn't like worrying about such issues on the job, so he didn't pick them up unless necessary. The CEC had a reputation for workplace accidents that he didn't need to contribute to.

Suspected it'd fit Karrie more, since she proved herself as a brawler. She'd probably appreciate this… and even if she didn't, they had no other options. Well, he could give her the Plasma Cutter, but he thought it best to keep that as a backup option for him in case his new primary weapon broke – both took the same "ammunition", and it was small enough to fit on his magnetic holster along with the Line Gun.

"I'll take this one," he said as he gingerly stepped past her and took his tool of choice. That seemed to suit her just fine, since the Core Extractor was bigger and more impressive. Necromorphs weren't fazed by shock and awe tactics, but it might make her feel more powerful. He also gave a brief explanation of her new weapon and how to use it; she fixed mining tools for a living, so she'd catch on quickly. A small cache of power cells for the thing was also in the locker, but these were not compatible with the Line Gun, and vice versa. More strength required a different, rarer gauge of ammo.

With that, they exited the room via a tunnel on the bottom floor opposite the one they entered from. Only 15 more minutes to the reactor if they didn't run into trouble, which they almost certainly would. Still, he needed to be optimistic, especially with Nicole's whispering. He felt himself grimace as he hoped the Black Marker pulled some strings to keep him sane a while longer. Just needed something to distract him…

Right, I have that missive that Gabe spun me, he thought. Karrie led the way because she was more familiar with this deep pit (might've worked on the generator before, in fact), so Curtis pulled up his holo-screen and opened the most recent download.

TOP SECRET: PRIORITY BLACK

FROM: HANS TIEDEMANN, TITAN STATION DIRECTOR OF OPERATIONS

TO: ALL TITAN STATION SECURITY ENFORCEMENT GUARD NON-COMMISSIONED OFFICERS

OPERATION GLAGWA

Recombinant Marker-animated organisms ("Necromorphs") detected in the Titan Mines at 14:26 Hours Local Standard Time. If not contained, infection predicted to reach the Sprawl within three hours.

Designated squads in the Public Sector will proceed to the nearest Crossover Tube, which have had their trams deactivated and recalled to the Public Sector. Seal the parallel footpaths and deploy M56 Smartguns at the exit of each.

Designated squads in the Government Sector will immediately begin search and destroy missions, the specifics of which have been delivered to each of you. The remainder will continue to fortify entrenchments so the Necromorphs cannot breach any compounds or corporate laboratories.

Display extreme caution when confronting these creatures. At least two fireteams should concentrate fire on each, aiming for limbs whenever possible. Dismemberment is one of the few reliable ways to dispatch them, as their neural processes are distributed throughout their bodies. Other suitable techniques include immolation and exposure to corrosive substances. If the Necromorphs are not stopped here, there's no telling how far they will spread. It is a possibility, however remote, that Earth itself is at risk.

We are carrying out crucial work for our species here. May we handle this crisis calmly and return to our research with enhanced safety precautions.

- Tiedemann

Déjà vu. This wasn't Curtis' first rodeo poring over a classified government document, and it didn't have the same punch the second time around. He realized how jaded he was to barely blink at scenes out of fiction. Instead, he pondered what he learned as he put a hand to his aching head.

The government adopted the word "Necromorph". He supposed that made sense; EarthGov obtained much of its intel on the creatures through the report Kendra managed to send them before her death. She probably called them "Necromorphs" in that because that was the word Curtis introduced them to, and it stuck. Wished he could take credit for that, but Terrence Kyne coined the neologism. At least they had a standardized terminology – wondered if the words he invented for different Necromorph phenotypes also made their way into their parlance.

More importantly, Tiedemann's containment plan looked solid. Curtis wasn't a master tactician, but it seemed reasonable. Saw no obvious way for them to get across the gap besides the Crossover Tubes, and they were covered by Smartguns. He mostly knew about them from video games, but he understood they were automatic turrets programmed to fire on heat signatures or moving targets. The former wouldn't be useful against dead things that cooled to the surrounding temperature, but the latter was helpful.

AI never missed, as proven by the Ishimura's ADS, and the tunnels were straight lines with no cover. If the guns had enough ammo – and Curtis saw no reason they wouldn't bring belt upon belt – the Necromorphs wouldn't get within a mile of PubSec! The same may have been true if only regular troops were stationed there, but the Marker could always set its baleful ire on them and goad them into killing themselves. Not so with AI. So, yeah, Curtis was pleasantly surprised by the government's competence.

Would've been nice if EarthGov developed a Marker-destroying ray and placed it in the containment chamber for easy access, yet that was a pipe dream. The menhirs could survive continents being dropped on them from orbit, at least partially – and a little piece was still as potent as the entire obelisk. Any explosive powerful enough to completely annihilate it would blow up the entire station, which kind of defeated the point. Especially because the "send teams to hunt the Necromorphs" plan did not seem to go well, if what happened to Gabe's squad was any indication.

We are smarter than you give us credit for, "Nicole" said, her teeth pressing against his ear. Is it too hard to believe we might simply be better than you? That our way is the natural order? Curtis clenched his fist and did his best to ignore her – no, it. Needed to remember this thing was just a manifestation of the Marker's hatred. And it had nothing to offer him but pain and lies. We are the Rock and the Chain and the Lightning. You fight against the inevitable, and you know it. Take it from a doctor, Curtis: everything dies.

Then it vanished into the void, leaving him shivering in his suit. Everything dies… Its words stayed in his ear. Yeah, everything did pass away. That didn't give the Markers or whatever force lurked behind them an excuse to expedite the process. Evil aliens bent on humanity's destruction in sci-fi at least offered pretentions of committing genocide for "noble" reasons, like clearing the way for new life or restoring order to the cosmos. The Necromorphs lacked even that; they only wanted to eat and be "made whole" by metastasizing.

He'd call them cancer, but that understated their malevolence. Diseases had no agency; the Markers did. They were now an invading army. Curtis shuddered.

On the Ishimura, the Necromorphs mostly hunted independently, only banding together in special cases like Stalker clans or the Wild Hunt that eventually formed to chase him across the vessel. Nicole said they also operated little enclaves or hubs to attend to "personal needs", but he'd never been in one while that was happening, since they'd obviously try to kill him whenever he approached. Here, they became more tactical, staging ambushes and bringing plenty of Infectors along to bolster their ranks even more quickly.

Wondered whether the Red Marker would have employed such tactics if it were on the Sprawl (Hell, maybe it did on the Valor when Curtis wasn't there) or if the approach was a product of its spawn's unique sensibilities. You have any insight, Black Marker? he asked, the first time he'd addressed his patron since all this started. Really, he appreciated it being so hands-off.

I BELIEVE IT HAS OBSERVED AND PLOTTED THIS FOR MONTHS. AS I HAVE SAID, MY KIND IS INFLEXIBLE, SO IT MUST HAVE TAKEN A SIGNIFICANT TIME TO DEVELOP.

Sure, he could see that. The Golden Marker was in GovSec, probably not far from whatever department created these plans. If the Marker's influence leaked out, then nearby radio signals and wireless communications could breach whatever contained it. Even if everyone on the project intellectually knew how dangerous the thing was, it outwardly just looked like a pointy rock. Security was going to slip up at some point.

"Hey, Curtis," Karrie hissed, pulling him from his dreary thoughts. She'd stopped and now crouched behind a stony outcropping at the edge of another chamber. "Look at this."

He shuffled over and poked his head around. It took a moment for his eyes to find what she talked about in the gloam. However, he quickly spotted a person standing by the far wall, facing away from them. Each hand grasped a primitive pickaxe that limply hung by their sides. They must not have been able to find better weapons. He told Karrie that he was going to try and establish contact so he didn't scare them too much, and she agreed it was worth a try.

"Hey," Curtis declared, stepping around the corner.

He expected a reaction. Joy or fear or, at worst, aggression. Instead, he got nothing. The person continued to stand stiff as a statue, to the point Curtis almost wondered if it was a weird art piece. Couldn't give up that easily, though. What if this person was deaf? No, he would investigate more closely.

"Are you OK?" he started a little louder as he continued to walk forward. The clothing the figure donned – a light RIG, more of a duster than a metal exoskeleton – was genuine, so this couldn't have been some creepy sculpture… though he now noticed the spine-mounted health display was empty and black. Maybe it had been broken? A creeping dread draped over him. Only the human shape and posture kept him from pulling out the Line Gun. "Are you OK?!" he repeated, ready to throw up his hands and give up if he was not acknowledged.

The figure whirled around, and it immediately became clear that, no, they were not all right. In fact, they were a Necromorph. Not a kind of Necromorph Curtis had seen before, though. This was a Titan Station original.

It almost looked human. Even from the front, the only indicators of its true nature were a hole in the head where the Infector did its work and its eyes glinting an otherworldly yellow. Probably possessed the same tapetum lucidum that allowed most Necromorphs to see in the dark. The fact it wielded human tools boosted the uncanniness, for he'd only ever seen one Necromorph do that. Two, if he counted Elizabeth, though she didn't have hands.

Curtis recalled once thinking that the Marker would be even more successful if the Necromorphs were attractive (to most individuals, as opposed to him, the man who believed Nicole to be the most beautiful person in the universe). Succubae and incubae would get people to lower their guards in ways they never would around things that were inhuman. This thing didn't go that far, yet the principle was the same; lull people into a sense of safety, then strike.

And strike it did. Before he could retreat, it plunged its picks into his sternum, making Curtis yelp. They'd have gone straight through his heart if not for his RIG's armor plating. Even then, it was strong enough to make a dent; another hit like that before the self-repair systems patched it up would be the end of him.

Fortunately, Curtis was able to defend himself in ways not everyone could. Tore the Line Gun from his back and blasted it in the torso while backpedaling. Aiming for the limbs would've been more efficient, but he didn't want it getting any closer! To his surprise, the top half of its body sloughed away like reptiles shed their skin. Shoddy construction for it to fall apart after a single shot. He'd only seen Hunters survive bisection, so he assumed his task was done.

But he didn't look away. New types of Necromorph always surprised him, and he suspected this one wouldn't go down so easily. Unless this Marker doesn't have the same knack for bioengineering as its "dad". He gritted his teeth when his apprehension was confirmed; despite the top half of its body falling off, axes and all, the legs dutifully marched forward – and now three tentacles of sinew and bone projecting up from the waist cracked at him like multiple cat o' nine tails (cats o' nine tails?).

Unlike the Divider, which incorporated multiple entities into a single colony, it seemed that the being was a single consciousness that only controlled the part of its body with the most biomass remaining. Its top half crawling toward him along with the legs might've been too much for him to handle.

Curtis was about to fire again, but a square array of plasma soared past his shoulder before he got the chance. Two bolts hit the whips while the other two lopped off the legs. The thing had not been dismembered so much as drawn and quartered. His head shot around to find Karrie holding the literal smoking gun – more of a smoldering bazooka, given its size. Curtis couldn't see her face, yet he knew from her tense posture that she was almost surprised to have pulled the trigger. The monster used to be human.

"Thank you," he rasped, kicking the broken corpse for good measure. His imagination ran wild, conjuring nightmares of what abominations the Marker would create with orders of magnitude more flesh available than last time. If any good news was to be had, it was that he and Karrie would not fall for that trick again. Of course, most people weren't fortunate enough for second chances against the Necromorphs. The deception would work for too many.

"Let's keep going," Karrie said, and Curtis nodded. Fell back into his own world, "Nicole" taunting him all the while. Should have been glad he didn't see the creature as her, something that happened with Necromorphs before.

What do I call them? Had to continue naming these things so they lost just a little bit of their mystique. Whipper? No, they might be able to do other things. He conjectured the top half of its body would have remained animate if it had been the more massive. Divider? Taken, and something similar would have been confusing. Holder? Because they hold things? Lame. A couple more ideas sprang into his head, but they were just fodder.

Fodder. Rough material. Like the Necromorphs were cannon fodder. Hopefully this new one would be, too. Curtis shrugged. I guess 'Fodder' is as good a name as any. Man, he was running out of ideas.

…

The journey took several minutes and a couple wrong turns, but Nicole eventually scrunched next to the portal connecting the ventilation system to the Wellers' apartment. No indication of whom it belonged to through sight; she saw only a tiled bathroom floor.

It was the sound of muffled cursing and the screeching of a dresser being pushed across faux wood that led her there. Smelling the dregs of Gabe's soap and Lexine's hair products (hey, both of their jobs made them sweat, so they tried to stay clean) confirmed that this was the place. Therefore, she settled in and tried to get comfortable. The situation perversely reminded her of camping. She'd only ever done it in her yard a few times as a child, since she didn't live near any national parks, among the last vestiges of Earth's moribund biosphere. It was all she could think of while wrapped in warmth and listening to ambient noises, though.

Unfortunately, she didn't learn much. These Oracles spoke as quietly as the ones that stormed into her flat, leaving her to fill in the blanks. Pressing her ear to the grate barely helped, and she didn't dare stick her head out. Up to her to improvise as she went along.

She managed to glean a few pieces of information, though. Not as much as she would have liked, but enough to call her eavesdropping a victory. Knew a couple things now that she did not before, and that gave her an advantage.

For instance, she heard a third voice as unintelligible as the others, yet she only smelled two people within. That meant whatever comms system they used was unimpeded by whatever killed the rest. She also gleaned that the Oracles had a particular desire to locate Lexine, for she heard her name spoken much more than Gabe's. That remained consistent with the organization seeking her above all else on the Ishimura. Further cemented her status as unique, though essentially being a distinct human subspecies already established that.

While there was more to be learned, she knew she needed to bail. Only a matter of time before the people after her discovered how she escaped (they might have already). Besides, she had other things to do.

Now came the next step on her agenda: find Lexine. The Oracles wanting her so badly drove Nicole to get to her first, and she already formulated a plan. Titan Memorial Medical Center, where Lexine went for this exam, wasn't far from their apartments. She could skulk through the alleys like an urban cryptid before crawling into that building's ventilation system. Most people would stay indoors until this ominous crisis passed; communications didn't die in humanity's most opulent city. Sure, local outages happened from time to time, but not the whole station for nearly an hour. People knew something was wrong.

Nicole growled slightly as she wiggled away. She knew almost nobody on the whole Sprawl, but she wished there was some way for her to tell everyone that it would be all right… and she hoped that wasn't a lie. Again reached out to Curtis, finding only darkness on the other side of their Link. He was still too far away. I'll find Lexine. Then we'll get Curtis and Gabe.

All she needed to do now was get out of this maze. The grates she passed led to identical toilets, some of which had people on them. And some of them looked scared by what happened. A few even cried. They were alone. Most people were; genuine relationships were rare, as she and Curtis knew too well. Now they had no way to contact to anyone.

I wish I could just talk to someone… it's all fallen apart here. Nicole's final words in her previous life bounced around her mind. They were fragments of another world. While she now knew (or at least strongly believed) that she was Nicole Brennan instead of another entity that possessed her memories and personality on account of wearing her flesh, a few parts of her former life still felt alien to her. She recalled them, but only from a distance. Her death was one such moment. Then again, how else was one supposed to remember their own demise?

Still, Nicole pressed on. The most these desperate people received from her was some intermittent thumping over their heads. A saurian zombie bursting down from the bathroom ceiling to provide comforting words would help nobody. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to save their lives if the stars aligned. That was one of her lights at the end of the tunnel. Speaking of which, she glimpsed a light at the far end of the ventilation shaft after a final turn. Not hope, not fear, not love.

And it sure as Hell wasn't her impending death. Even if it was, the grim reaper couldn't compete with the scythes some of her "siblings" wielded.

Nicole kicked the covering off and slithered into the storage closet, plopping to the ground before peeling herself up. Ugh… She looked around the half-lit room, glad to see moldering furniture and spare lightbulbs instead of human beings. Was not so pleased when the odor of mildew and a rotten piece of fruit someone must have forgotten forced their way into her lungs. Nothing smelled "good" or "bad" to her anymore (unless Curtis was around for her to interpret through), but she recognized it as unhealthy. Did the vents on all floors connect to these? There had to be a better design than this.

In any case, the people here had more urgent threats to their health than poor air quality.

Nicole put an ear to the door and listened for foot traffic. Heard nothing, so she assumed the coast was clear. Even if it wasn't, she'd gotten far enough away from the Oracles that she felt comfortable enough to make a break for the exit. Hoped any poor saps who saw wouldn't have heart attacks and die, but, again, they'd soon deal with Necromorphs who weren't nearly as nice.

Should open from the inside, even if I don't have the credentials, she thought, eyeing up the door. She placed her hand on the hologram, only to be immediately denied. Arched a bony brow and bent down to see the error message. Turned out to not be a matter of permission or even her genetics not quite being human. According to the readout, the thing was just broken. I guess that explains why this room is even dirtier than it should be. Almost wished she still wore shoes to keep the grime off her feet. Titan Heights turned out to be trashier than she thought.

That was all right, though. She was sure her skull could accomplish what her hand could not. Chuckled lightly at the thought and shook her head. Never thought I'd be such a bruiser. Like, she'd always been assertive, but now her body was strong enough to fight the people who used to harass her… could've used muscles like this the first time Mercer tried to kill her.

Nicole paced to the back of the room and lowered her head. Her bony scalp was a battering ram, and she didn't get to use it often enough! Cracked her neck to keep it loose, and her talons scraped the ground to gain traction. It became soft enough to hear a pin drop.

That was when she charged. Didn't know her top speed, since she and Curtis lacked the space to test it, but she ran faster than any human in history. Euphoria washed over her as she accelerated faster, getting closer to impact. She missed the freedom to stretch her legs more than she realized.

It only took one hit. The single blow punched a hole clean through the door and out the other side. Her head shot left and right while her four eyes adjusted to illumination brighter than any she'd experienced for a while. Nobody was around, but she imagined she'd look like an alien hunting trophy with her skull mounted like that of a deer. In hindsight, she could've easily penetrated the metal with her claws, but this was more fun.

Slipping through the hole was simple. If she could cram through the vents, she could get her arms and legs through this. She was reminded of the octopus, some species of which persisted in a few parts of the oceans. The creatures could squeeze through any gap if their hard beak fit. The same was true of Nicole; she could go anywhere if she made a hole the size of her head. One arm went first, then the other, and then she crammed her sternum through. The spindly yet strong legs were easiest, being the trailing portion of her body. With that, she pushed herself up from the hallway's old, tacky upholstery.

She was about to bolt, but Hans Tiedemann interrupted her. Yes, the master of Titan sprang to life from her RIG's holo-screen, sternly staring at her.

Though not the scariest thing to occur in the last hour, her knees became weak when she looked at the man's face, which may as well have been chiseled from granite. Nicole's parents schooled her in the sculpture of different ancient civilizations, and his face could have been pulled from classical antiquity. Now, that intense gaze cleaved through her.

"Attention, citizens. This is Director Tiedemann," he announced. Her fear ebbed at hearing the message repeated a dozen times from behind the doors of as many rooms. Tiedemann didn't find her specifically – he sent this to everyone. Didn't know whether that was better or worse, but this very special announcement portended nothing good. "A station-wide emergency is in effect; the Government Sector is under attack by insurgent terrorists, and this violence may spread to the Public Sector. All of you are in grave peril." A shrill scream blasted down the corridor at the news without the briefest pause. Nicole winced at the terror in the noise: the scream of someone who waited for something awful to happen on an island of safety in the hostile cosmos. It could happen here, and it probably would.

"In accordance with Titan Station Civic Code, I am declaring martial law. All citizens are ordered to evacuate." Her mandibles dropped somewhat while Tiedemann's face was supplanted by a map of the Public Sector. "Those who do not own a personal shuttle must proceed to the nearest public transport station, where evac is being prepared." The locations of those flashed on the screen. There were several, yet she doubted they possessed the infrastructure and manpower to evacuate millions. As dangerous as the Ishimura may have been, it was feasible to vacate because of its smaller size and population. People were going to be left behind. Tiedemann ended the sermon with an admonition: "Looters will be shot on sight. This is not a drill."

His stoic face softened slightly. "I wish you all the best." She expected the message to shut off, but it instead stuttered before looping to the start.

Good idea to keep it going for as long as they can, she thought while Tiedemann's shade began the spiel again. Still, she closed it on her RIG and sprinted away, the consequences only beginning to sink in.

The streets would descend into chaos. She already heard panicked clamoring and cabinets slamming as people rooted around for their most valuable belongings. Hoped they'd follow orders, but this gave the green light to people who wanted to take advantage of the situation to steal stuff. Doubted the threat of robbers getting the death penalty would scare many off. Plenty thought the government was too corrupt to care (she could more easily imagine the militarized police force looting than anyone else), and others were desperate for money or already irate enough from the Marker to start something. Even more understandably did not trust EarthGov, so why bother leaving their abodes? Nicole considered all this as she took a hard left turn. Nearly bumped into a man on the other side.

"Sorry!" she shouted. The guy immediately collapsed, unconscious. Yeah… Shoved that to the side and kept going!

Tiedemann must have had profoundly little faith in his own soldiers to decree this. There was no way the Necromorphs reached PubSec yet, since she didn't feel the tug of their minds at hers. Just the Golden Marker taunting her. The tide might still be turned in the Government Sector. Probably not, but maybe. He risked his neck to try and get people out. A lot of caveats, like nobody in PubSec being aware of the mutant undead yet and EarthGov potentially executing survivors, anyway.

Would they really do that? Killing thousands or millions of people, depending on how the evacuation's success, would be monstrous even for them. But she could not underestimate the brutality of those who supposedly protected them. Little was beyond the pale. Still, she almost respected Tiedemann for wanting to keep people safe. Though if he really cared, he wouldn't have allowed a Marker to be built here. The Atmos, which neared completion, didn't balance the cost by a long shot.

Nicole slowed from a full sprint to a jog, which was still fleeter than the maximum clip of most people. Not tired, for she didn't experience exhaustion in the same way humas did (she felt the energy in her cells ebb slightly, though the Marker replenished them almost instantly); she wanted to be perceptive now that even more distance had been put between her and the Oracles.

Almost sorry she did, for the noises of misery caught up with her now that she no longer outran them. Wailing, crying and the bashing of a head against a metal wall – Nicole heard it once and would never mistake it for anything else. Each gasp, shout and moan clawed at her soul as she passed. Empathy was a core part of her, but it now became a curse. She kept reminding herself that not interacting with anyone helped immeasurably more than stopping to chat. Even if it felt like an excuse, she knew it to be true.

Case in point: a door ahead of her on the right side of the hall shot open, and the woman who emerged looked at Nicole. Impossible to gauge the thoughts running through one's head when a raptor zombie charged at them after breaking news of a terrorist attack. Nicole's first encounter with a Necromorph in the form of the Hunter was probably more intense, but not by much. Whatever expression was on her face didn't matter compared to the pistol suddenly in the woman's hand.

Oh, great, she thought, not slowing down. Titan Station's gun control measures were strict, so this must have been contraband – not surprising, given where they lived. Of course, bullets were bug bites against Necromorphs unless one knew where to aim. That meant Nicole didn't dodge as the pop of the Divet overwhelmed the scream. Only felt the slightest twinge. Needle sticks were less pleasant. The flesh wound would knit itself in an hour.

Nicole barreled past, not saying anything. It'd make her even more upset, and nobody needed that. Either the woman or her gun dropped behind her, and she had no reason to check which. Turned another corner and opened another threshold, this one more compliant than the last.

Where am I going? she wondered as she tapped her foot. Titan Memorial, that's right. It wasn't a rhetorical question. She actually forgot her goal because of what happened. And the distractions would get much worse. She limply punched the wall, bristling at the thought of people as "diversions". So many needed help that Nicole was bound by oath to provide. That I can't give.

The door opened, and Nicole stepped through. This chamber was the highlight of Titan Heights, being the only place in it approaching picturesque. The eight-story mezzanine that formed the building's backbone was made special by the window that ran up the entirety of one wall, with the other three being balconies that gave each floor a view. That created a spectacular vista of the cityscape upspin of Titan Heights – hundreds of sealed skyscrapers projecting into space in an arc a dozen miles long. Now, she thought of the marvels of engineering as tombstones with thousands of epitaphs scrawled upon each. It became a graveyard. Hey, she was technically among those names.

Nicole strode over to the guardrail and leaned against it, taking in the view. Saw nobody else on the third floor (where she was), but the sounds of panic were louder. In the lobby below, couples argued, and a few families holding hastily packed suitcases fled. At least some people departed with enough urgency to escape. That made the idea of sneaking to the hospital implausible. Most people stayed inside before, but this was the start of an exodus as more people went with the flow and became a flood.

Setting aside threats to her personal safety, like armored soldiers and undercover Oracles – for Nicole expected they'd have backup around since this was such a priority – her presence might harm others. At least one individual already fainted from seeing a monster out of a pulp sci-fi/horror author's worst nightmare. People would trample each other to get away from her, and any weapons fired had a greater chance of hurting bystanders… and there was a chance for the Marker to trick people into shooting others, anyway.

Her whole plan had been vented into space.

Wait a minute. She looked again at the grand window, which currently pointed at the sun. Though only a tenth as luminous as it appeared from Earth, it remained too bright to gaze at. That was fine, for she paid attention to the "space" part of the panorama. Cold, empty and a perfect highway to her destination! Nobody in the vacuum to see or stop her, and she could enter the facility through the emergency airlock she knew was on the roof from her time working there. It offered many advantages and few conundrums.

The only problem was getting outside. Even if she was strong enough to break through a wall or the ultra-tough transparent alloy – and that was far from certain – it'd take several minutes. She'd also have to find a completely depopulated area, since other people might be hurt or killed by her recklessness if the sealant grids that were supposed to plug hull breaches failed. There must have been an easier way to get outside.

The garbage compactor! The eureka moment made her feel like a genius for the first time in too long! Her scientific efforts of late in discovering the secrets of Lexine's brain slowed to a crawl, so it was nice to be a savant again.

She occasionally put on educational vids about the Sprawl while doing art as background noise, and she remembered one concerning how the station handled waste disposal. It was nice to learn about where she lived, and she liked the narrator's voice. Never expected that knowledge to help her at the end of a world.

Anyway, litter was collected and ferried via gravity beam (the same setup planet crackers used to move their hauls) to the nearest of Titan Station's 997 zero-gravity waste compression chambers. From there, it was pulverized and burned into pieces small enough to pose no harm to the station. Finally, the tiny detritus was vented into space, where it became part of Saturn's tenuous E Ring, which ran from Titan Station to the inner moon Mimas.

It sounded like the system on the Ishimura, only separate from the sewer, so no chance to accidentally fall in. No recycling infrastructure to speak of, however; why do that when humanity could just make more stuff? It's not like they stretched their resources to the breaking point or anything. Nicole stepped back and sighed; this couldn't be less important. What did matter was the way out she had. Titan Heights surely generated enough dreck to host one of those 997 one-way tickets outside.

The first thing she needed to do was get to the bottom floor, where access to the sublevels housing the electric pig would be. She'd prefer to go a normal way, but she didn't want to frighten people on the stairs or elevator. Plus, those took too long. Every second she burned was one the rest of the Necromorphs gained. She needed to bite the bullet and use the route in front of her. Hope I'm not going to regret this.

The people streaming out of the lobby had no reason to look up. Hoped they wouldn't, for she had no shadows to hide in with the sun shining through the giant window. Nicole told herself not to think about it. If she smashed through doors with her skull, how much harder could a jump like this be? She was on the third floor, so she wouldn't even be going that fast. Better than jumping off the seventh, where she and Curtis lived. While this kind of fall would likely be enough to break a human's legs, she no longer had to deal with that inconvenience.

A leap of faith from the balcony took more courage than Nicole liked to admit, especially with the people counting on her to not die. The primal fear of heights (or, rather, of falling) persisted in her flesh beyond death. Then again, terminal velocity still posed a threat to her kind, as she learned from seeing Twitchers kill themselves by running into walls, so perhaps that was by design. She jumped onto the guardrail.

The view was amazing. The sounds, not so much. So much pain, and her estranged brothers and sisters hadn't even arrived. That was what literally pushed her over the edge; if she couldn't stop them, she was at least able to help some people, or at least not make things worse. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure, but she'd take what she could.

She landed softly as a cat only 15 feet or so from a young man carrying an unzipped duffel bag bearing the Delhi Tigers Z-Ball team logo. This may have been everything he had. At least he left with his life. Only by luck that nobody saw her.

No time to waste thinking about how much worse that could have gone, though. Instead, she silently darted down a flight of steps behind her. Nicole dared to feel a twinge of relief upon descending them, since the base wasn't visible from anywhere but the top.

At this point, she was on her own. The memories Curtis shared got her this far, yet he'd never gone into the utilities. She needed to rely on herself, her wits, and the tools at her disposal. Those were all she had.

DID YOU FORGET ME? I AM OFFENDED.

Sorry, my mistake, Nicole thought. The entity that sustained her existence often slipped her mind – days or weeks might pass between the times it spoke to them. It'd surely pick up in this time of crisis, but not by much. The older than dirt dog learned a new trick: humor. After all these years, the Black Marker developed a sense of sarcasm, since the deafening voice could not be less offended. Well, probably; tough to get a read on something so behemoth and different from herself or Curtis, despite their connection. But yes, I also have you.

Placed a hand on this door's hologram and desperately hoped she didn't need credentials to enter. It thankfully did, so she remained stealthy as a spy. Sneakier than the Oracles, even.

YOUR MATE IS SAFE FOR THE TIME BEING, YOU SHOULD KNOW.

Nicole knew Curtis could handle himself, yet she felt a weight being lifted. The Black Marker could route crucial information between them even when their Bond was cut by distance… a poor substitute, though better than nothing. Still, she didn't expect a play-by-play of everything Curtis did and vice versa. It had other matters to attend to, like counteracting the Golden Marker's mental machinations the same way it tried to hold back the Red's. It also thought "slower" than them, as it said before, so it wouldn't be able to update them every minute.

The Black Marker sank into the back of her mind as she entered another maze of tunnels. These were more cramped and industrial than the attempt at style above, mostly being bare metal and wires. Felt like being back on the Ishimura, which was not comforting. At least there were no people here – the only sounds were the rumbling of life support systems that kept them all alive. She hoped there were backups, because those would be the Necromorphs' second targets.

The first, of course, were whatever people they saw.

If I were a giant room that destroyed garbage, where would I be? Nicole wondered. Tough to find the path. The directions on the walls to different places had worn away from time and corrosion. A map of the whole Sprawl was downloaded on her RIG, but that didn't include the service tunnels, since these weren't meant for civilian use. She did have one option before resorting to guessing, however.

She turned up her nose and sniffed the air. One good thing about so few people being down here was that they and their companion scents were ambient details. The primary scents, weak though it they have been, was that of soggy foodstuff. Decaying organic matter was one of the most common ingredients in a trash potpourri, so she knew exactly which way to go. Necromorph biology to the rescue again.

Despite the downsides, many of which she'd experienced in the last few minutes, she felt it was a good trade. If the Markers didn't force this through violence and let the dead retain their free will, many humans would willingly volunteer to become what she was. But waxing philosophical needed to wait. For the time being, she put her senses to work.

Her olfactory organ – not sure whether the term "nose" was the most appropriate, as the nasal cavity and maxillary sinuses were now exposed to open air – led her through the labyrinth. Encountered no one, though it took longer than she would have liked. Checking her RIG to see exactly how long would take even more.

A circular door like an airlock was embedded in the metal wall, which reminded her more of the Ishimura than ever. The rumbling of pulverizers beyond made her think of the machines Curtis worked with to destroy ore. A similar process happened here, and anything that entered the chamber in its current state would be paste. Needless to say, it was locked.

There must be a control room somewhere, Nicole thought while rapping on the wall with a claw to estimate its thickness. Didn't work because of the racket on the other side. Regardless, a ramp next to the door led up before curving to the right and bore a few worn posters extolling workplace safety, so her brain (such that it was) rather than her nose told her to search that way.

She walked around the corner and opened the door at the top, which was unlocked. Safety measures were sophisticated, but not security. Why would they be? Nobody wanted to break into the garbage dump. Until now.

A suite of holographic controls was projected near a large window overlooking the waste compression chamber. Though sturdy enough to not shake with the din beyond, it wasn't thick enough. The constant uproar was loud enough to lead to hearing gradual hearing loss the same way it happened to people living near busy spaceports. Why have the room filled with air instead of being a vacuum?

Some amenities, though, like a beat-up microwave and toilet that might've dumped into the trash compactor next door. A card table sat in the middle of the room, hosting an open personal computer and a pair of headphones that must have helped somewhat in protecting the ears of whoever had to sit here to… uh, she wasn't sure what the gig involved, though she saw the appeal.

The pay must have been poor, it smelled like a sewer and was generally unhealthy, but it didn't seem hard. No worse than most food service industry jobs. Anyway, interesting office. Not sure whether it was better or worse than the drab cubicles she was used to working in. Cutting to the chase, she went over to the control panel and tried to turn off the shredding mechanisms. The mainframe required authorization to access. She expected as much, but it still made her mutter under her breath. The guard and his or her RIG were gone, but there was one place the right codes could be…

She walked sat at the uncomfortable folding chair in front of the PC. Tiedemann's address played on repeat, this time with subtitles. Along with the discarded headphones, she took that to mean the previous occupant would not be coming back. Good. She was glad that, for the moment, people were able to help themselves. Then she closed the tab and rooted around in the digital dirt.

She may not have been an elite computer hacker like Schneider, yet spending too much time on the Transnet and all her hobbies and work being online these last few years taught her how to use a computer with a level of finesse few ever achieved. Not necessarily something to be proud of, but it turned out to be a boon. As she searched, she noticed her eyes stinging from a half-extinguished cigar smoking in an ashtray.

Hard to believe anyone was reckless enough to do drugs nowadays, given the literal centuries of scientists saying they were horrible for the human body. She understood why people did, though. Life under EarthGov rotted humanity to the core, and drugs were a way to cope. People tried to ignore it (Nicole certainly did, especially when she was privileged enough), but many needed something to take the edge off the nihilism.

Nicole found the password before too long: a string of letters and numbers. She hoped it'd be something like "KellyRoseIsTheGreatestArtistEver", but alas. That'd be something. If she ever met a fan of her artist persona in real life, she might die of embarrassment faster than they died of fright.

She couldn't spin the information over with the Transnet down, so she brought the PC over to the control panel and scribed the gibberish herself. The smashing plates and occasional gouts of flame – maybe the incinerator was why the chamber needed air, as fuels that burned in vacuum were far too costly to waste on waste – sputtered to a halt, the mechanical screams lapsing into groans before ceasing.

"Diagnostic mode initiated for Waste Compression Chamber 960," an AI said. "Compressor piston offline. It is now safe to enter the chamber. Authorized personnel only."

As far as anyone knows, I am. Before she did, though, she needed to release the detritus floating in the destroyer. With a few more button taps, a hiss came through the window as everything beyond was pulled away. All right, Nicole thought. Let's get out there.