Hey, everyone. I've been playing more Dead Space lately, trying to get all the achievements. The one to beat the game without dying is going to be tough. We'll see if Curtis and Nicole can pull it off in their own stories!

I don't have a ton to say about this chapter. It should be straightforward enough, and it was breezy to write. I considered combining it with the next chapter, but I decided this part stood on its own well enough to be a separate update. Kind of a transition from the beginning of the story to the middle. Our favorite secret organization also appears again; given all the references to them in the Dead Space remake, I'm hoping they'll play a bigger role in the future of the franchise. Speaking of which, another entity debuts here, one that I have a strong feeling will be integral to my series going forward…

Thanks to CelfwrDderwydd, Urbanator and Kaijicifer for reviewing since last time! Always brightens my day when someone takes the time to comment on what they liked (or didn't).

1 Hour, 45 Minutes Post-Sprawl Outbreak

Lexine was pregnant. Probably had been for less than a month, because she only began to experience physical symptoms a few days prior. After years of sperm and eggs deciding they just weren't into each other, both in her womb and the more common artificial uterus, one of each decided to get hitched. Nicole would have been ecstatic on any other day.

Today, though, it felt like a millstone around her neck. What kind of future would this child inherent, if any at all? Images of the Earth on fire while Necromorphs hunted through the streets of crumbling cities flashed through her mind. This was what'd happen if her cousins got their way. But that could be tabled with how many threats already stared them down. The kid wouldn't be around for another eight months; they had more immediate concerns, which was why Nicole came for Lexine in the first place.

"Are you still up for killing a poor excuse for a god?" The question was supposed to be rhetorical and encouraging. There was nothing to say but "yes".

"I… no."

Though it was only one word, it sounded like Lexine spoke a different language. That was how surprised two letters made Nicole. "What do you mean, 'no'?" Nicole shot back, hoping against hope that this was a joke. "Tell me I didn't come all this way for nothing."

"I mean I don't want to risk my baby!" Lexine exclaimed. Easy to forget that the slight woman was a dynamo. Her powers weren't the only thing that made her a force to be reckoned with. Right now, though, that candor made the tense situation nearly impossible. Even avoiding the question of whether a zygote or fetus counted as a person – a prickly issue that had persisted for at least several centuries – her stance made Nicole bristle. "And if you're going to say, 'Gabe would want you to,' I've already talked to him, and he agrees with me."

Nicole wasn't going to say that. At least, she hoped she'd have the good sense not to… though she couldn't be sure until the words left her mouth. "You're making a big mistake," was enough of a rebuttal.

"You know that this has taken us years! If I lose… them," she paused, for the embryo was too early in development to differentiate the sex, "we may never get this lucky again. This could be my only chance!"

"Your child will live in a hellscape if we don't stay. Is that what you want?!" Nicole's emotions ran out of control for the first time in ages. She thought they agreed, but a few cells in her womb destroyed what consensus they built! They could never be as united as the Necromorphs, nor should they have been, yet they needed to try. Otherwise, they'd fall apart. "Wait until after we win."

Even if Lexine and Gabe didn't adopt or go through the foster system – and she couldn't blame them being scared off from the terrible time Curtis had in it – there was no reason they couldn't wait. She didn't know how long that would take, yet Lexine was in her prime. Menopause was decades away. They'd win or lose long before then; it was a mercy that Curtis wouldn't heft his Line Gun around at 106. Even still, Lexine refused to budge.

"What if there never is an 'after'? You've said yourself that even if we beat the Necromorphs, that's not going to magically make the universe a better place." It was true; she did say that. Humanity was in a tough spot, and even if the greatest threat in their history magically disappeared, they'd need to fight every day for the rest of their lives to make life worthwhile. "There will always be danger, but I don't want to throw away my future – my happiness – because of what might happen."

Uncanny silence held sway. Neither spoke, and the distant wails faded into nothing. It allowed her to ponder. The two were at an impasse. Nicole still thought her friend was wrong, but she had to respect that choice. If Lexine would rather flee for family than fight, fine. It remained to be seen if a way out remained. Speaking of which, Nicole needed to explain that.

"The Necromorphs are already here; I saw them crawling across the Crossover Tubes. Whatever you're going to do, decide quickly." Her eyes widened, and everything became much more dire. It was one thing to know monsters killed nameless goons miles away. Quite another for them to burst out of a vent at any second. "I'm going to run a little distance away so I can see if Curtis is nearby."

Though they had little time, she needed to spare a minute to see if her husband made it. This was the last safe time to leave Lexine's anti-psionic aura – after that, Necromorphs might waylay them from any angle.

"I'll stay put," her friend replied with a nod, and Nicole dashed away. She'd give Lexine the makeshift weapon when she returned, for they'd be fighting Nicole's ornery cousins in minutes. Slammed to a halt as soon as her brothers and sisters leapt back into her head. They were here. Oh, god – whatever god there was or wasn't – they arrived. Their numbers already expanded. Did her best to reach past the hatred and find the one person in there who loved her.

She strained as hard as she could, though it was for naught. Thought she may have sensed him at the edge of her telepathy, but it could have been her desperate imagination playing tricks. May have been immune to the abuse the Marker hurled at everyone, yet she wasn't exempt from false hope or self-deception. Nicole growled in frustration and stalked back to Lexine, having spent enough effort on this.

I'll be able to talk to him soon enough if he is that close, she consoled herself. If…

She remained connected to the hive mind when she crossed the invisible barrier, so Lexine changed her mind about moving. Probably just went to the bathroom during the last good opportunity; Nicole thought little of it.

Until she smelled someone. Two someones, in fact. Not anybody she knew, but the fact their odors were as strong as Lexine's meant they must have been here in the last couple of minutes. What could that have possibly –

Her four eyes opened wide, and she felt her mandibles split apart.

Oracles.

They snuck up and dragged her away. Whether alive or dead, though? Alive. She's alive, Nicole thought, already following the scents that would soon fade or be replaced with rot. The government was obsessed with Lexine; they wouldn't mount all this effort and send their best agents to snap her neck. And as she learned from EarthGov building more Markers, they didn't throw away what they believed could be used. No, her friend still lived. She only hoped the Oracles were good enough to keep that true while she hunted them.

Fortunately, tracking was coded into her genes; she did it better than a bloodhound after a sinus rinse. Curtis dubbed her phenotype "Stalker", and for good reason. The Marker made its slaves to fill different niches, and hers was to sniff out any survivors before bringing them into the fold. Those skills still helped her after she no longer served the "master" she was born to worship.

Even as her nose led her closer to the vermin that kidnapped her best friend (and possibly humanity's best hope), every cell vibrated with the energy of 10,000 minds – and that number increased by the second. They were in the hospital now, picking off people on the lower floors while Infectors stuck needles in their brains and made them like her: stronger, faster, ageless, immortal unless dispatched, and part of a unity that wiped away all differences.

Terrible as it was, she still believed most people would be happier like that than as humans. Nicole was, and she gave up the social perks that came with undeath. At least they had purpose instead of being listless in a cruel universe. A pity that the Marker didn't give them – or anyone else – a choice.

The madness was torn away as she neared Lexine, which made her pick up the pace. She glimpsed the hem of a white coat flitting around a corner, and she knew her marks were close. Could have silently sprinted up and cut their throats. That's exactly what she would have done if she faced a single secret agent. As she knew from experience, however, Oracles always came in pairs. The other one only needed a second to whip out the laser gun and blast Nicole to smithereens.

Maybe I can jump in and surprise them when other Necromorphs enter the picture. While they were distracted, she'd slit one's neck and blow the other's brain out with her overclocked tissue cutter. That was the best plan she thought of while following her friend down the stairs.

Flight after flight of them. They must not have wanted to risk running into anybody on the elevator. Wait, no, the Oracles would just kill any "inconveniences", as Nicole already established. Hadn't encountered anyone after reaching Lexine, which she hoped meant most people in the hospital (the ones who weren't bedridden or too senile, anyway) got out. Perhaps they were worried about the elevator taking too long to reach the destination they had in mind. That was probably it.

She peeked over the chrome railing at a square spiral of steps that seemingly stretched forever. Though she couldn't make out the Oracles themselves, shadows on the floor and the hiss of a door sliding open told her they exited four stories down. That was the same level as the evac point. Administration, she believed it was, rather than related to medicine.

I guess I know where they're going, Nicole thought as she dashed the rest of the way. She might have vomited if she still had a stomach; soon, she'd have a better idea of whether Audrey made it out before the Necromorphs arrived. Hoped and even prayed with all her heart that the girl did. If not… well, Nicole always wondered what the Marker turned kids into, even if Audrey was probably too old to fall into the "child" category.

She pressed her hand to the door, which processed her DNA. Why are doors made like this? she wondered, impatiently tapping her foot on linoleum. Obviously, genetic scanners were a smart idea for private property or restricted areas, but why nearly all of them?

Maybe it was a holdover from the olden days when humanity was convinced artificial intelligence was right around the corner and that it would soon walk around in android bodies. That never came to pass, but the design changes could've stuck because the only group they made life tougher for was people with cybernetic hands. Not the largest demographic, but she'd worked with some amputees who preferred them to bioprosthetics, and they told her they had to press their backs or shoulders against doors to utilize them.

The barrier snapped open, and she sidled into the hallway beyond. 15 minutes prior, engines constantly flared from the other side of the level. Now, it was silent as the grave. Almost. The peculiar fwash of a laser weapon firing bounced down the corridor, and white light illuminated the darkened wall ahead. She didn't "hear" a psionic death rattle because Lexine was so close.

She hoped that everyone already escaped, since this was the end. The Necromorphs arrived.

Nicole didn't know whether she felt afraid. She spent the last two years knowing that this would come to pass. The thought lurked in the back of her body/mind in all but her most joyous moments. Now that it was here, she greeted it with grim acceptance. Whether she liked it or not – and she hated it – the homecoming was always going to happen.

The ancient Greeks and Romans, whose physicians she so admired, had a phrase for the inevitable: memento mori.

Remember, you will die. The irony of a dead woman thinking that was not lost on her.

She dashed down the thoroughfare, dropping stealth for the moment to regain lost ground. Staying close to her friend was what mattered now, both to make sure she didn't lose the trail and since it provided concealment from her kith. Necromorphs could sense where others of their race were, even if the directions weren't perfect. With Lexine around, though, they'd never sense her coming.

Unless they see me. She'd worry about one thing at a time, though. Caught up with the Oracles quickly enough… right as one of them blasted a fellow Stalker to the second death. She flinched as both its legs and one arm were practically turned to ash. Though she felt empathy for all, it was particularly poignant for the ones who looked just like her.

Now that she got a better look, she saw one of them taking point with the phaser while the other had an unconscious Lexine slung over his broad shoulders. It made Nicole furious to see anyone treated such, but the situation made her hold back from attacking. Now that she saw that her friend was out like a light, she realized how easy it would be for Lexine to meet a terrible fate at the hands of a stray laser or opportunistic Necromorph. That didn't mean other undead were so cautious.

Another Stalker barreled around the corner and met the same fate from the point woman. It seemed off-kilter, which made sense; no hive mind meant no way to coordinate attacks. Still, they would throw themselves like waves against the shore. The Marker couldn't tell them otherwise, and honestly, they had bodies to burn. There was a somewhat limited supply on the Ishimura. Here, in this city, the well would never run dry.

Triggered to hypervigilance, her head shot around when she saw rustling at the edge of her vision. Something lurked in the shadows of a break room across from her, also tracking the Oracles. No time to let her tapetum lucidum settle on it and figure out what – it was a Necromorph, and she wouldn't have more of those go after her friend.

She pounced on her sibling, ready to dispatch him or her before it posed more of a threat. One hand wrapped around its neck, and the other flew up, ready to slice off an arm.

Then it screamed, which made Nicole pause. Necromorphs didn't tend to scream. Not aloud, anyway. Sure, they roared, hollered, grunted, and made all sorts of other noises. These were meant to intimidate people, psyching out their victims to make for easier prey. The real communication happened internally, sometimes supplemented with pheromones. Fear only set in during massive routes or if the Marker itself was in danger.

Now that she sat atop whomever this was, she saw it no Necromorph. It was a person in a military RIG, which reassured her that she wouldn't have gutted them on the first hit. Her eyes dropped from the helmet to the name on the chest plate, and her grapple morphed into a hug as she did.

"Gabe." Words couldn't describe the relief she felt. Both of her friends were alive, if only for the moment. Gave her hope that her husband would not be far behind.

"Good to see you too, Nicole," he muttered in annoyance. "Now please get the fuck off me."

She immediately hopped away and helped him to his feet. "I'm really sorry," she sheepishly said. "I couldn't see you too well." Gabe didn't bother with a response, but she knew there were no hard feelings. Both had been through scarier. Maybe Gabe hasn't. He's not the type to shriek, either.

The good news was that they'd been quiet enough to not blow their cover. Even if the Oracles heard Gabe yelp, there was nothing to differentiate it from the other cries circulating. They could keep following along and bide their time until they were in a good spot for an ambush. That'd be easier with two people instead of one.

I wonder how he got here, Nicole wondered as they crept outside, picking up the trail again. Even those without tracking skills would have no problem following the trail of charred Necromorph bits. There'd be time to catch up later, though.

"Patient One. Patient Two," a voice rasped from ahead. "If you are done, I'd suggest you get out here before we snap our hostage's neck."

Oh, she thought. They weren't as subtle as they thought.

…

That could have been worse, Curtis thought as he and Karrie limped to Crossover Tube 3. They'd been extremely lucky to make such good time; a tram station (GovSec had its own limited transportation system used by government employees) was very close to the fusion reactor, no Necromorphs ambushed them, and a gore-soaked car rolled into the station the moment they arrived. All those pieces coming together was a small miracle. However, the real boon was finding painkillers.

Their only companion during the ride was the beheaded corpse of a solider. He'd never know the poor sap's story, nor her name, for the part of the breastplate that bore it had been damaged beyond legibility. It didn't really matter. What did count was her stash of supplies. As Karrie discovered when looting Twitchers, the marines had some good stuff, and this one was no exception. He helped his friend to a bench and picked through the pockets during the ride.

Found quite a few treasures within. That included power cells compatible with the Plasma Cutter and Line Gun, plus a robust first aid kit. A Med Pack was there, along with some uncommon medicines – such as a vial of codeine.

He knew from Nicole that "phenanthrene" (whatever the Hell that word meant) opioids were widely used in the present day. The chemicals tended to be made synthetically by Weyland-Yutani and a few pharmaceutical companies, though he was sure some drug labs that tired of making Colony Blue grew poppies to produce it the old-fashioned way. Nicole overdosed on morphine to kill herself, so he had an undeniable connection to the substance.

Terrible as that link was, it could be put to good use. He took the syringe, plunged it into the permeable top and extracted enough to fill the glass. Thankfully, the label on the Assurance apothecary bottle told him the appropriate dosage. He injected Karrie's forearm through a tear in the RIG that had not yet healed itself; he'd have put it in the slot on the back that automatically injected medicines, but the suit was so messed up that he didn't want to risk a wild malfunction. While Somatic Gel had some topical anesthetics in its drug cocktail, he knew from experience that it didn't work well on the massive internal damage she must have suffered. He didn't know how Karrie wasn't screaming; might have hurt her lungs more than suffering in silence.

From the station they arrived at, it was only a short walk to the tube… though Karrie was still exhausted. The drugs seemed to help, though, for she was more lucid and stumbled the entire way with minimal assistance. Could have been worse, Curtis repeated.

Though he knew it to be true, he had a difficult time convincing himself that this lucky break mattered. The rest of the journey would not be so forgiving. He had to wear a brave face… though luckily for him, his helmet did most of the work.

Karrie slumped into a chair at the security checkpoint, which was itself stained with blood and spilled SUN cola. The token garrison offered little resistance, since the defense strategy hinged upon the other end. EarthGov's plans may have seemed solid, but no plan survived first contact with the enemy – and this was quite literally first contact between most of the government and what could be called an alien species.

It didn't help that most marines barely knew how to fight. There were some excellent soldiers, like Gabe, who fought in the Resource Wars. The last gasp of those had been decades ago, however, and EarthGov reigned unchallenged ever since, turning into a paper tiger more interested in sleek advertising than conquest. The little combat that happened these days was ship-to-ship against pirates or particularly bold insurgents. Most of the people here had never fought a ground war. The Valor being overwhelmed by a single Necromorph showed that clearly enough.

Still, he believed there was a significant chance that the soldiers and Smartguns deployed in the Public Sector would hold back the tide, at least for long enough to get people out. Though his hopes kept being dashed, he needed to keep faith things would get better. Then a vid-log popped up on the security station's main computer monitor, and that spark of optimism immediately drowned.

Gabe said that the military and police (both part of the same gendarmerie) were still able to communicate on their private frequencies, and that remained true. Might not for much longer, given the slaughter in the grainy feed's background. A single soldier jostled about at the front, trying to capture the carnage.

"Hello? Hello?! Please, if anyone's alive over in GovSec, we need help!" they shouted. "The creatures – Biophages or whatever the Hell they're called – they got over! I think they crawled across the outsides of the Crossover Tubes!"

Curtis didn't think about that, yet it made complete sense. There were no weapons on the hull except for the mass drivers in the Asteroid Defense System. Gunships might also be scrambled in the very unlikely event of a spaceborne attack on the station. Humans attempted to handle something utterly inhuman, and they failed. Now the infection reached the residential area; it was a place with diverse people from all over the galaxy. All would die, starting with these hapless soldiers.

A Brute strode into frame on all four of its heavy limbs. It intimidated him from miles away and through a screen. How much more someone who couldn't have imagined this when they started their shift? The giant reared back before galloping closer, building momentum as it did.

"No, please, stay back! Stay – "

Their voice broke at the same time as their sternum. And the rest of them. Being trampled by a gigantic steamroller of a zombie must have been a terrible way to die.

All this ended as quickly as it began. It gave him déjà vu to the final transmission from the Valor. Neither he nor Karrie knew what to say. Perhaps there was nothing to speak. He felt numb. Hope was strangled and beaten to death against the wall every time he dared to dream.

Someone needed to breach the terror, though, which Curtis did with an obvious observation.

"I think we need to walk." He didn't think about how they'd get back. The tram system going across had been turned off. The Crossover Tubes proper were supposed to be sealed, but something broke through the first airlock right in front of them. The straight line might as well have been the length of a spiral arm.

"I can make it," Karrie replied, managing to get on her feet independently. Curtis didn't doubt her sincerity, but she'd change her mind once they were halfway across and wanted nothing more than to rest. Even if she had the energy, it'd take hours in her condition. It'd be too late to help anyone at that point. However, the only other option that came to mind was finding a ship like Gabe did, and he doubted any of those were left.

An idea came to him. Didn't flash into his head in a surge of inspiration. Instead, it was more like a slow creep as his mind connected some dots. Space vehicles may not have been an option, but what about terrestrial ones?

"Wait here. I promise I'll be back in less than five minutes," he said, already walking away. If he wasn't… well, he'd worry about that when a Slasher stabbed him through the gut. But he wasn't too worried. Between not encountering Necromorphs on the way and hearing the hapless guard, Curtis believed the Marker sent most of its minions across the yawning gulf of space. Why wouldn't it? Might leave some of its forces behind as reserves (if it used as many military tactics as he gave it credit for), but nearly all the meat in the Government Sector had been assimilated. This was the appetizer. PubSec, that fattened cow, would be the main course.

These brooding thoughts occupied his mind as shadows closed in. "Nicole" was in every corner. So many of them, all screaming or smiling at him. Some clawed his face through the mask, others ridiculed him for inefficacy or cowardice or any other number of sins. Maybe a dark part of himself really thought all these things, yet he thought it more likely that the Golden Marker hurled accusations to see what stuck. Sure, he wasn't the most mentally stable guy in the best of times, what with preparing for the zombie apocalypse and all – seriously, he would have been a wreck without Nicole – but he knew how to deal with being beaten down, both from his own mind and the outside world.

He'd dealt with abuse his entire life, especially as a child. A collection of people, himself included, told him he'd never amount to anything. They'd yelled at him for years.

Wondered what the Golden Marker saw in its worst fears. If the Markers were like their creations, they'd possess a collective memory. Must have remembered every time one of their own bit the dust… including, he hoped, him dropping a continent on the Red Marker. Curtis may have been one of the species' scariest nightmares, right up there with the organisms Oracle masks were modelled after.

Though it'd eventually break him through brute force, he was tougher than it gave him credit for because of all his prior exposure to pain. Still, he'd not feel safe until he held Nicole in his arms.

Come on, please be here, Curtis thought as he reached the nearest industrial workshop. He found a dead man in a nearly identical waystation, which was his first hint that the nightmare began anew. The spaces looked very much like auto shops or garages. That was an apt comparison, for some of them were exactly that.

Curtis put his hand against a large door that he knew what he sought used to be behind. As it trundled open, he exhaled a sigh of relief that they still were.

Though covered in chalky dust, the Mining Utility Vehicles appeared to be charged and ready to roll. They may as well have been a collection of luxury cars.

The electric rovers were designed to ferry ore in attachable carts, which must have been someplace else. They became obsolete a century ago when advances in manipulating gravitons led to the creation of kinesis and tractor beams. There was no need for bulky trucks to haul loads anymore, yet he remembered from working in the Titan Mines that the CEC kept a token fleet around.

He mounted the closest one, his mining credentials allowing him to activate it without fuss. The electric motor hummed to life while he steered it, picking up steam all the way. Most people didn't know how to drive in an era of ubiquitous public transportation. A semester of Flight and Cargo Manipulation saves the day again.

A coat of powder blew off the hood when Curtis accelerated out of the room, making him wipe off his visor with one hand while the other remained on the wheel. The risk of crashing felt small enough that he pumped the accelerator rather than slow down. Whipped around the bend and bumped over a stone before halting in front of where Karrie sat.

"Lo, my knight in shining armor upon a great steed." Her weird sense of humor was intact despite all her other parts that weren't. In any case, he helped his trusty squire into the second saddle.

"Let me have the Plasma Cutter if I'm riding shotgun," she said, slumping back.

Curtis noticed that Karrie no longer had the Core Extractor. She must have dropped it after nearly being crushed by the Boss. No great loss, though. Specialized ammo for the thing would be nonexistent outside the mines. Even if it appeared inside every discarded snack wrapper, neither Karrie nor her RIG were prepared to lift the heaviest portable mining tool he could think of. He gave her the Cutter, which she checked to make sure was loaded.

With that, he drove through the burst-open threshold and down the tunnel. The sides of the buggy almost scraped the clear walls; any narrower, and they wouldn't have been able to fit. Eh, there's probably some part I could chop off if I needed to.

He pushed the little vehicle to its limits. The engine hummed louder, though it was still eerily quiet compared to a whooshing tram, let alone a spaceship. The speedometer clocked it at a maximum of 30 miles per hour. Wouldn't go faster no matter what he did. The thing was designed to move rocks while mining. Velocity wasn't the CEC's first concern during the drafting process.

Stole a glance back to see if any dead weight could be excised, though he quickly decided that getting Karrie to shoot at their own ride was a profoundly terrible idea, no matter how much the "Nicole" outside the strip of window encouraged him to do just that.

Killing Necromorphs made it seem like every problem could be solved by cutting it apart, which obviously was not true. Would have been fun, though.

Curtis shifted in the seat. His eyes stayed glued to the speedometer; there were no obstacles in the way, and he didn't want to look out to see if buildings in PubSec exploded. 30 mph was good enough, he told himself. The distance from the Government Sector to the Public Sector was about five or six miles, so it'd take… uh, 12 minutes to get across at this speed? Something like that. He could do basic arithmetic in most other circumstances.

For the time being, his attention wandered to more concrete perceptions, especially the ones that weren't awful. For example, he felt glad that nothing in the tunnel slowed them down.

Corruption would quickly snake its way into the tight, dingy corridor – the perfect place for it to grow. They'd have been in trouble if that process already began; the vehicle was meant for rocky ground, not organic mud. It'd be stranded in mire, and then they'd have to slog the rest of the way. More than an environmental hazard, the ground would call to every Necromorph on both ends of the burrow to box them in. No way the Marker would ignore the opportunity. Beyond screwed if that happened, so all Curtis could do was tighten his grasp on the wheel until it nearly broke and hope all the zombies got across already.

Over halfway now. He normally regained his psychic connection with Nicole around here. Not this time, though. That made his stomach drop. She was either dead or with Lexine. They flew blind. Without guidance, the only map he had was instinct.

And instinct told him to head for Titan Memorial Medical Center. That's where Gabe went. Nicole probably travelled there, too; his admonition to remain in their apartment wasn't going to keep her caged. Even if they were no longer at the hospital, it'd be the best place to begin looking. That doesn't matter much until we reach the other side.

That came up quickly. When he squinted, he discerned an aperture the size of a pinhead. The fact he hadn't already been shot full of holes was a good indication that the Necromorphs tore up whatever Smartguns were pointed this way. Still no Link to Nicole. He elbowed Karrie to break her trance; the engineer said nothing during the ride, not that he blamed her. Knew firsthand that losing so much blood caused incredible lethargy.

But he had to keep her awake. Even if she would no longer imminently bleed to death, they weren't out of the woods yet. Anything could happen once they hit PubSec, and both needed to be ready.

"Did you see that?" Karrie rasped, shrugging her shoulder at the window to their right. He glanced out, seeing nothing but a parallel tram track and the dull metal skeleton of a ghost ship, looking like a beached whale carcass. The sight made him cringe. He was glad they didn't pick Crossover Tube 2. The Ishimura was the last place he wanted to be right now.

Other than that, he didn't know what she was talking about.

"No. What was it?"

"I thought I saw something crawl over the window." Wouldn't surprise Curtis if a few Necromorphs lagged behind their brethren and skittered over the glass. Then again, blood loss or the Marker mucking up their minds were equally plausible explanations. At this point, he wasn't too concerned about being spotted, since they were nearly across. "I appreciate the warning." She performed her job as dutifully as he did his.

That was when a strong wind blew down the tunnel. For a moment, he thought he finally got the cart to go as quickly as he desired. Then the lights on the ceiling turned crimson as a klaxon blared. The station's AI casually announced a hull breach.

Curtis had been through this before, and Karrie was too tired to make much of a fuss. The wind didn't slow them down too much. Really, he wouldn't have worried if not for the emergency seal dropping from the roof in front of them. Didn't know why there wasn't a sealant grid that could be freely passed through instead of this archaic mechanism. Maybe those were too finicky in a relatively fragile environment. Or perhaps the universe just loved throwing wrenches into his plans. Either way, he almost slammed his foot through the floor to milk every bit of speed out of his gallant horse. He'd rather crash into a wall than fight whatever Necromorphs burst the Crossover Tube!

"Duck!" he shouted so that Karrie didn't get her head taken off by the descending metal slab! She dutifully complied, her upper body flopping onto the dashboard. Between the drugs and lack of bodily fluids, this must have felt like a dream. How lucky he was that she decided to fight what she could not be sure was real.

The vehicle rushed under the closing trap while it was just above the hood of the vehicle. There was less than an inch of clearance even with them curled up their seats. A roof or windshield would've doomed them. He stole a glance back to see what they didn't have to deal with.

All he glimpsed before the seal shut was the bladed tip of a long, black tail bathed in red light. Then it was gone, and the wind suddenly stopped.

"Uh, what kind of Necromorph was that?" Karrie asked, wobbling back into her seat.

A Leaper? No, those weren't strong enough to bash through an alloy window with a single blow. A subtype of Nest that shot different projectiles? There weren't many Necromorphs with tails. "I don't know," he admitted. They already encountered the Fodder, so it didn't surprise him that the Marker cooked something else up.

Still, he'd never seen one that was so… shiny.

The exit was just ahead, which snapped him out of his funk. Even if the Necromorph called to its allies about cornering their greatest foe (well, one of their three or four greatest foes, but still), they'd emerge before being surrounded.

The tang of smoke penetrated Curtis' helmet before the air scrubbers kicked in, and he hoped Karrie's still worked. His foot lifted from the accelerator, which let them slowly glide to a halt at the other end of the tunnel, which had also been torn open. He allowed a momentary indulgence to see what they faced. He felt his lips curl as he did.

Through the haze of toxic fog, he saw gutted artillery taken by behind in a surprise attack. Gore and severed limbs soaked the pavement. No full bodies, though. They had all joined the cause.

Some sort of military APC had been flipped over, now sparking and bleeding oil. That seemed like a terrible vehicle to keep on a space station, but it was probably fitted with a low-caliber gun instead of a big cannon that could blow holes in the wall. EarthGov pulled out all the stops, not that it helped. He finally dared to look through the windows, unsurprised to see chemical fires burning in the vacuum.

A distant roar snapped him from his shock. With that sight burned into their brains and enemies all around, Curtis drove into a city on fire.