2 Hours, 45 Minutes Post-Sprawl Outbreak
Curtis wished he and Nicole left Titan Heights a couple minutes sooner. That way, they wouldn't have seen their home dragged into Hell.
Roars of the dead and screams of the living blended into a concert of violence. Shotgun blasts (presumably from the man who proclaimed himself to be armed) punctuated the symphony before decrescendoing into silence. All they could do was flee down the hall and hope it was enough to escape the orchestra pit.
A Slasher fell through the ceiling in front of them. This didn't slow them down as they peeled to the left and right to dodge the blades. Curtis had no fucking idea how many there were, but they didn't have the ammo to deal with every single one. Even if they did, more would come. Their only option was to get out and wish these people swift demises. Nicole and he agreed on this.
Until they turned a corner and found a harried couple screaming at each other in the hall. They either didn't know or didn't care that the world crumbled around them. To be fair, it sounded like they argued about something important.
"We can't help her! We have to go right now!" the man expectorated. He grappled the woman and tried to drag her away. Neither noticed them, wrapped up as they were in domestic drama.
"I'm not leaving my mother!" she shot back before biting her partner on the arm and breaking away. Curtis and Nicole meant to rush by, but the situation's morbidity gave them pause. Despite everything they'd seen, this caught them by surprise. They shot glances at each other, silently glad that they never dealt with anything like this. Curtis couldn't say whether the chomp came from Marker-induced dementia or natural stress. Regardless, the woman dashed to the open door of their apartment and yelled, "Come on, Mom, there's still time to – "
A humanoid shape lunged out and tackled her to the ground. Ah. He saw the problem. Most Necromorphs could easily be identified as monsters. Fodders, on the other hand, could not. This was the first time Nicole saw one, but Curtis' memories told her everything she needed to know. For example, the fact that they looked almost exactly like humans, with the only exception being holes in the head from Infector tongues (or lacking even those, if they were animated by latent Marker signal instead of the quick and dirty way) and iridescent eyes.
Therefore, it was easy to understand why the woman thought this monster was still her mother. It outwardly looked like an older woman in a nightgown; Curtis probably would have been tricked at first without Nicole around. By now, though, the ruse was clear. Most 70-year-olds weren't spry enough to leap several feet and tackle people while wielding carving knives. Right, they used human tools because their disguises meant forgoing the blades and teeth that usually came with being a Necromorph. On the outside, anyway – within, all the woman's organs had been reconfigured into weapons waiting for an excuse to burst through the skin.
"What the fuck are you doing, Mom?!" the woman shouted, fruitlessly trying to shove the creature that used to be a parent off her. The mask of humanity slipped when the jaws opened wider than a human's ever could have. Metal blades rose, glinting in the dim light. Another shriek, though he wasn't sure whether the woman or the man or the Necromorph produced it.
This must have been the most terrifying thing in this couple's lives. For Curtis and Nicole, it was all too ordinary. The extraordinary became normal, and the bizarre couldn't have been more mundane. They could never go home again… but at least disillusionment made them more effective.
Do you want to get this, or should I? Curtis nonchalantly thought.
I'll do it; my aim's a little better, and the Plasma Cutter is more precise than the Line Gun. Fair enough. He was proud of his aim, but Nicole never lost her surgical precision. Two blasts from the tissue slicer amputated the Fodder's arms. A human would spew blood from the stumps, but this freak did far more than that. The top half of its body sloughed away like an old coat being cast off, leaving a mess of tentacles with legs attached. It no longer vocalized, but it expressed anger by skittering off its current victims and charging at whatever dared bisect it! Had to admit that the sight of it thrashing across the carpet on a mass of feelers unsettled him, since he'd never seen the like.
Regardless, it was his turn. A single shot from the Line Gun sheared away most of the tendrils, sending calamari across the room. Some of the pieces landed atop the couple, still processing what just happened.
A surge of bitter serotonin coursed through him as he and Nicole stomped away, seeing no point trying to address the people they'd just helped. At the same time, he asked himself what was accomplished. If those two didn't die now, they'd expire in a few more hours. At most. More likely, they'd die in the next couple of minutes. Perhaps that time could've been extended if the pair tried to follow – something he wouldn't object to – but they dashed away from the metal man and his "monster". That was the sane response. In this insane calamity, though, the normal action was rarely the best.
If you ignore the suffering of the people right in front of you, you're as ruthless as the Necromorphs, Nicole thought. She slumped over to obscure her true height, clearly outlining vertebrae through the cloth RIG. Regressing to the ravenous state of her relatives, even briefly, rattled her. Yeah, that's how I know. Fair. Almost forgot what it's like to have countless people urging the worst in each other. It's more complex, of course, but that's the main feeling in hindsight: peer pressure.
He appreciated his wife putting her struggles in understandable terms. Even Linked to Nicole for years, Curtis simply couldn't comprehend the essence and intricacies of being a Necromorph. To do that, he'd need to become one… and the goal was for that not to happen. Still, guilt dripped from her thoughts like water from a soaked towel. You don't need to explain yourself. We knew the risks and survived them. Could have gone a lot worse. Besides, he had been, like, 90 percent sure that she wouldn't kill him!
A couple of Slashers burst through a nearby door, and the duo took down one each, breaking the tension between them. With all that out of the way, they were finally able to put some thought into the next phase of their plan: getting to Isaac.
Wherever he had been kept these last few years, he got loose (Nicole called it), and now he was in the Church of Unitology. The big one: there were smaller chapels, but when someone said "Church" on the Sprawl, they invariably meant the marvel of engineering near the center of the station. How did he escape? Why did he go to a place he should have actively loathed? They'd ask him these questions, among others, once they found him!
Despite being at an odd location, it'd be easy to reach. If the trams still ran – and he guessed that they did, considering how tough the things were – it'd get them to the Concourse, which housed the Church. He was already somewhat familiar with the layout, since he went to it several months ago for that exhibition of holy artifacts. The Unitologists weren't getting them back. And if they arrived and couldn't find the man… Nicole agreed that they needed to head for the Golden Marker.
Silently, they continued down the corridor toward the nearby gondola he took to work a few hours ago. Still difficult to wrap his head around how so much had changed this quickly.
The only other notable thing to happen in Titan Heights came when they passed through a laundry room. The complex boasted several, since individual apartments had neither washers nor dryers. He came down every couple of weeks to clean his clothes for the low, low price of two credits. Should've been free, seeing as he lived there, but he'd take what he could get. The setup reminded him of being in community college. As they went through, Nicole stopped dead in her tracks and tilted her head at one of the machines.
Curtis followed her gaze, expecting to spot a creature lurking in the shadows. Instead, the only thing he noticed (other than advertisements for different brands of laundry soap and bleach on the walls – half of them from Weyland-Yutani subsidiaries) was that one of the 20 or so machines kept running despite the room being trashed. Didn't get why it mattered… until he listened closer. Quickly, he picked up on bleats and brays blended with the normal rumbling. A Necromorph had been shoved inside. Given the size of the box… well, it couldn't have been an adult. Nicole stared sadly for a moment more before marching away.
He followed, feeling as if he'd simultaneously been plunged into ice and boiling water. Didn't dare peer into her mind to learn what she did. Sometimes, the hidden was worse than the visible. That was something that remained in the back of his mind as they crossed through a sparking door. This was Titan Heights' rear entrance, which linked to shady back alleys. Nothing too bad – that Curtis knew of – happened in them. Stuff like selling contraband and forged IDs or RIG identifications. That was another reason they lived there; it'd be a simple matter of contacting a counterfeiter if he or Nicole needed updates. Curtis even considered getting plastic surgery or new fingerprints from one of the street docs that operated around here, but he decided that was excessive. He'd have mentally cracked a joke about getting rid of his beautiful face, but that would have been in poor taste.
After all, these people were probably all dead. Silence and smoke and the stench of cruor hung heavy in the air. Again, he could only think of the Mars Independence Riots. That was his main touchstone, though this was so much worse.
Nicole waved him up, having sniffed the bloody draft and determining that the danger had passed for a brief time. More people to kill and make like them, even if that number rapidly dwindled. Then, the Golden Marker would probably pour its millions of troops into the task of annihilating the two or three people who could stop it. There was no way they could survive so many once that happened, so he hoped their stealth skills stayed sharp. Being able to hide from that gunship was a good indication that they were pretty damn sneaky.
He practiced those abilities as they crept down the canyon. Not as dark as it could have been, since the transparent ceiling was tilted in the sun's general direction. A few LED lights on the buildings also functioned, as did the neon signs of cheap restaurants and shops and bars. So many people should have been here, basking in the dim evening light that came through the glass. Curtis felt glad he'd never been good at making friends, because he'd have so much more to mourn. There was already more to grieve than he could imagine.
On the Ishimura, thinking in such dire terms was dangerous; connected to Nicole, the other Necromorphs could sense residue from his thoughts like ripples in water. Now, however, they'd drawn even closer together, making their abilities stronger. She had told him they wouldn't be as easy to find that way. Probably not a good idea to internally yell at their enemies, yet they could hold normal conversations without blasting airhorns in the mindscape. Almost would've preferred that limitation. At least it'd give him a reason to minimize worrying.
I smell something, Nicole thought. Coming from the left. "Sounds" like three – no, four – Necromorphs. Good to know, but Curtis already switched off the lights on his RIG and pressed his back against the wall. His other half followed suit, and she blended in far better with the rust-stained steel. His eyes fixed onto the opposite wall. It was decorated with impressive graffiti, which spelled out two words in blocky font. Beautiful work, though he preferred Nicole's more surrealist style. It took him a moment to decipher the phrase, and he'd have snickered if the situation allowed for it.
In letters as tall as him, some rebel soul wrote: FUCK EARTHGOV!
Anywhere other than a seedy alley, the government would've scrubbed it off within the hour and located whoever scrawled it with the state surveillance apparatus. He could get away with thinking these thoughts because they were mostly masked from the things scraping along. The four shambling creatures lurched down a perpendicular passage. Shadows of blades and bone were cast on a dumpster next to the graffiti… a dumpster that, he noticed, leaked Corruption from its open top. Almost forgot about that hazard. It wouldn't spread as quickly in open areas, but alcoves like this had a couple of hours before choking on flesh.
The dead passed, and Curtis exhaled a silent sigh. Just needed to do that a thousand more times. Turned the vitals on his suit back on while Nicole peeled herself from the wall. The tram stop waited just ahead on a more "respectable" block.
Crossed it in the span of a few heartbeats, and he knew he saw things writhing in the bloody corners: his imagination filled in the blanks. A cracked electronic sign for Sprawl News Network lit the way, and anchorwoman Maria Regan's eyes stared out from a dead mass of static. They were in the foyer. Only a few more feet.
A broken hologram spewed light around the room in a tight circle, which looked like the cars of a train whizzing past as they strobed. An AI sputtered something about "delays" and "unexpected cancellations," though he held out hope that one would roll into the gate before too long. The service's slogan was "be there on time," and that needed to be true now more than ever. Good thing that the service was completely automated, just like on the Ishimura, so he didn't need to break into the locomotive and pilot it himself.
Tensed up as he rounded the final corner onto the platform, readying the Line Gun to pounce on Necromorphs before they ambushed him. Blinked a few times once he got a clear view. To his surprise, the station was inhabited by neither dead nor living. Nicole ascertained that because she didn't smell or psychically detect anyone, yet that wasn't the same as seeing it.
Not to say the place escaped harm, for it had been just as destroyed as everywhere else. Luggage was strewn across the floor, abandoned to make room for more civilians. All the stuff left behind – some of which may have been valuable – meant dozens or hundreds more people could fit in the train on its way to an evac center. His heart grew warm at the sentiment; seemed like human decency won out. Hard to find hope in times like this. A single act, sparked by someone whose name he'd never know, saved so many. Things like this may have seemed small, but they meant people got to live.
He'd take what he could get, because there was more bad than good. Bloody handprints, claw marks, a couple of body parts. These were the things his jaded mind dismissed as ordinary.
The flaming train that raced by, screaming as it scraped the wall, snapped him out of his complacency. He yelped and leapt back as he felt heat on Nicole's face. It neither stopped nor slowed, and the only evidence after it rocketed past was smoldering paper at the bottom of the tunnel. OK, good thing they were going in the opposite direction!
Tiredness nibbled on Curtis' muscles as he saw comfortable, plush chairs. Though he wasn't drop-dead tired yet, they still called him to sit down for an hour or two. He deserved that, didn't he? That was why he stayed on his feet. Besides, it'd be better to relax on the trolley… assuming it came.
3 Hours Post-Sprawl Outbreak
Nicole took tentative steps forward, probing with her toes before fully committing to each pace. She smelled the surroundings again and kept her ears open. Something seemed wrong.
Couldn't explain what. Something just lodged like a splinter in her awareness, telling her to keep watch. She had no problem with that, since getting distracted during a time like this was never a good idea. Perhaps she'd let her guard down once the tram came.
Speaking of which, she heard the faint hum of the bullet train blasting down the opposite subway channel. The lack of a glow around the bend told her that this one was, thankfully, not a heap of flaming slag. There was something else dangerous aboard, though: Necromorphs. She and Curtis readied themselves in an instant, pulling out guns to mow down whatever waited inside! She ducked behind a pillar, and he sheltered himself with a row of chairs!
They could set up crossfire to take advantage of the chokepoint that'd be created when the doors opened, and… her racing mind slowed when she realized they did not face a platoon or a squadron. Instead, the tram contained one single soldier – and he was in agony. Necromorphs didn't experience pain the same way humans did. They realized amputated limbs hindered them and strove to avoid such injuries, but it took an incredible amount of damage to make them vocalize or writhe or betray any response. Even then, such mutilations made them more lethargic until they "died" again from loss of biomass, so those sensations tended to not last long.
She understood pain better than any other Necromorph, being Bonded to someone who still felt it the way she used to. That was the only reason she comprehended the strange, terrible burning.
Occasionally, she cared for patients with grievous injuries who had been sedated for their own good. Whenever they awoke from their drug-induced coma, they felt fine for a few minutes… until the medicine ebbed, and the misery rushed back. That was what happened when the gondola rolled in, coming to a halt as she and Curtis emerged from their cover. Confusion arced between them; neither knew what to expect.
The pneumatic doors hissed open. Inside the car may as well have been a slaughterhouse. Not of humans, but of her own kind. The shock made her mandibles drop. She and Curtis killed scores, of course, yet this crime scene bore no hints of bullets or plasma. Limbs were ripped off with brute force. Bodies had been crudely bisected. It was as if the predators of ancient Earth appeared and wrecked them. Going in may have been a bad idea, but she didn't know when the next ferry would come. Besides, the predator had exhausted its prey here.
Claw marks in sets of four scarred walls and upholstery. No Necromorph possessed such talons, which gave another hint that the foe they faced did not hail from her people. Already knew that, but it perplexed her to think of alternatives to how it got there. No way it was a coincidence that it appeared at the same time as its opposite numbers. Perhaps she could've learned more by scrounging for tissue samples if she had the time and equipment. However, she could only think of one clue to investigate.
Curtis followed close behind her as she trudged through body parts to the far end of the cab. Appreciated his desire to protect her, but what they walked toward could no longer harm anyone.
They reached the end of the car, which itself was connected to the next one so that passengers could travel through the train. No need, though, since the Necromorph leaned against it, looking exhausted despite only existing for less than an hour. Still, having the lower half of one's body removed would tucker out anybody. No, not removed: disintegrated.
The floor beneath where her cousin's legs used to be had been eaten away, leaving a hole several feet in diameter. That, she did not see coming. The smooth, melted edges and acrid reeking meant this wasn't conventional damage. No, it had been caused by some sort of acid.
And it's a Puker, Curtis thought with fear-infused wonder. Huh. That same unease crept onto her. The Necromorph phenotype produced a ludicrously powerful acid of its own, able to eat through meat in seconds and metal in minutes. Its flesh had adapted to store the stuff, since it would otherwise dissolve itself moments after being "born". While she never had a chance to spectroscopically analyze a sample, she deduced through what it could and couldn't oxidize that the vitriol Pukers produced was fluoroantimonic acid: the strongest known to science. Curtis didn't quite grasp the specifics, but he didn't need to. His layman's knowledge was enough.
If the Puker could resist the most violent acid known to science, then it meant they dealt with something even stronger. Even as the organic part of her reacted in horror at the thought of a splash of such fluid eating a limb, the chemist in her wanted to take a sample!
Of course, there was none to obtain. It all dripped through the floor (and probably the bottom of the tunnel), and even if any was left, she didn't have any containers able to handle it. A few polymers resisted fluoroantimonic acid, but they wouldn't work with something dozens of times more potent. Whatever the creature was, it dealt in physics beyond the ken of human knowledge. While this was crucial, more could be learned from questioning.
The doors trundled shut, and the tram lurched forward, which made the Puker's head slump to the side. Just barely animate, he mired in a limbo between death and, uh… undeath. But he should have been aware enough to answer some questions if roused from its slumber. Slowly gained speed, and Curtis told her to hurry the interrogation; they'd hit vacuum in a couple of minutes, and then the limp meat would be sucked through the hole in the floor.
There was no need to tap him on the shoulder when a directed beam of thought accomplished the same. Her brother awoke, as if from a light sleep. His eyes spun like marbles, then fixed upon her. Immediately, he knew to whom he spoke. Not a difficult task. What other human and Necromorph pairings were there?
You… traitor, he thought through the haze. His head turned toward Curtis. And you, reviled. Leave me to expire with dignity. She didn't think that was possible with his words slurred and half his body gone, but she wanted to cut to the chase. Squatted down to be on equal terms.
You may hate us, but you loathe and fear that thing even more. No reaction to her statement, yet she knew it to be true. If you share what you know about it, though, Curtis and I may be able to kill it. The Puker blinked, mulling the offer over before agreeing… only after saying there was no way for the two of them to stop it. That remained to be seen.
The memories that started playing in her head did not inspire much confidence, though. The stream of consciousness was foggy and degraded, reminding her of a static-filled vid log. She watched a horror movie through another's eyes.
A dark shape entered the car through the far door. It was shiny and black with many sharp parts. The full silhouette still eluded her, but it grew clearer; in particular, she noted its elongated cranium and four "tubes" jutting from its back. It dashed forward in a whirlwind, slicing Necromorphs to pieces with its claws and tail. Though they knew the chances of victory were almost nil, the Marker's pawns threw themselves against this monster. Some would have preferred fleeing over martyrdom, but there was nowhere to run, and their god propelled them to attack it if there was even the smallest chance of success.
It avoided such harm by crawling on the ceiling, which was a feat only a few kinds of Necromorphs could accomplish. The nameless Puker vomited on it to no avail. Then, when all seemed lost, when nearly all their forces had been torn to pieces, one particularly skilled or strong soldier managed to pierce the chitinous armor. Which resulted in a geyser of green fluid spewing onto the floor, eating through multiple feet of metal and tech. This completely obliterated the last Necromorphs, save the one they interrogated. The thing presumably crawled through the hole and went to continue its slaughter.
Nicole stepped back as she snapped from the memory. Curtis sweated for her, and both their sets of lungs (one of which was vestigial) sucked the pungent air faster. She'd died a thousand deaths from this thing, and that number would grow. Despite being barely bigger than her, it seemed like a rhino that casually wrecked everything in its path.
The Puker tried to upchuck while they were distracted, but the bile was unable to clear the gap and fell through the hole in the bottom. Most of it drained out, and his diaphragm had nearly been burned clean through. Even so, her brother wasn't about to expire without a couple last words… though they may not have been his own.
Our Golden God honors me; it has a message it wants me to deliver. Any Necromorph would beam with pride at delivering such a proclamation. Unless their body had almost been annihilated and they rapidly regressed into nonexistence. In other words, the Puker wasn't as enthused as he would have been under other circumstances.
Curtis could not have cared less, so he plopped down in a seat that avoided the "mess". Only about 30 more seconds until they reached the void, so he saw no point burning the plasma to chop its head off. That surprised even him; he expected to want to kick the monster down the pit. They'd already been wrecked enough, though. No salt that he rubbed in this massive wound mattered compared to what already happened.
Nicole, on the other hand, stayed to hear the communication. The obelisk could scream directly into their minds, yet perhaps it considered such a thing beneath it… or it might betray fear. Whatever the case, she'd honor her cousin's last request. She'd like to think any family member would do the same, no matter how estranged they may have been.
A distended mouth moved, preparing to enunciate words it was never meant to say. She dangled on the metaphorical edge of her seat for the threat. She'd heard plenty of grandiose ones from the Red Marker, which wanted to string her up and parade her through the husk of the Ishimura.
"I hope it does not slay you; I long to do that myself." Understated, but she appreciated that. She'd rank it an 8/10 on the intimidation scale. She sensed a twinge of annoyance from beyond that it couldn't rattle her. Well, it could, but not with its words. Its actions were scary enough without half-baked omens.
The air rushed out in an instant, dragging the Puker and other body parts with it. Nicole already sank her claws into the floor to brace against the suction. The loss of gravity came as a surprise, though. Quickly figured it was from the gravity panels in the car being wrecked by the acid and no longer having backups outside, but it shocked her for the first second or two!
They quickly passed through a sealant grid, letting air and gravity take hold again. That part was merely a brief "tunnel" on the way to their destination. In fact they slowed to a stop already… just not the one they headed for. Nicole sat next to her husband, pondering what they'd learned. Though still fearful, she felt more confident that they could beat it if push came to shove.
Whatever the mystery being they faced was, it turned out to be powerful, fast and smart. But it wasn't invincible. Even if it bled acid, that meant it could still bleed.
Just like old times, isn't it? she asked as she flopped down beside her other half. The doors opened, revealing another terminal that looked like it had been hit by a cyclone. This one smelled a little bit like wood – perhaps one of those upscale stores that sold furniture made from trees was nearby. In the distance, a one-armed Leaper spotted them and hauled itself forward, but they'd be gone by the time it got close.
I don't know about that. We didn't have the sage wisdom we do this time around, Curtis replied.
Oh, totally. They were so much more mature now that she knew how to cook stir-fry or draw biomechanical landscapes. Speaking of which, the organism reminded her of that Human Condition painting; its outline evoked something almost synthetic. I can see that, now that you mention it, he added. But back to the point, personal growth didn't provide an advantage in monster slaying.
I wouldn't trade it for anything, though.
They took off again, and Curtis' mind sparked as he tried to solve this problem from the perspective of a miner. He remembered the dark armor that coated the being, which must have been at least as tough as the best RIGs to shrug off mutilation from inhumanly strong arms. It could be penetrated with the correct application of force, however. And plasma weaponry might make a bigger difference, since it inflicted damage through extreme heat.
That's not a good idea, Nicole chimed in.
Why not? In an instant, she added her medical expertise to Curtis' forte in hitting things. The image of liquid acid flash-boiled into gas played in his head. That was pure imagination, but it wouldn't have been too different from acid rain, a phenomenon that both were familiar with from living on Earth. That harmed the environment (such that it was) more than humans, but super-acid vaporized by plasma would be thousands of times stronger. It'd be a cloud of death that destroyed anything it touched.
…OK, that might not work. Hey, it wasn't a terrible concept; he just needed to get far away before popping a shot off! As for her, she wasn't sure what to do if push came to shove. She tensed up as she imagined it breathing on her back.
I know that you don't want to think about this thing, but we need to figure out a plan. It's been here, and with our luck, we'll run into it sooner or later. Yeah, she knew! Just didn't have great options… or maybe instinctual fear got to her.
If we bump into it, we run like Hell. Curtis supported that. Discretion was the better part of valor, and they had no problem running from a fight (if lives weren't at stake). Either the Marker would throw enough Necromorphs at the creature to down it, or it'd slaughter her kin until none were left. As much as the second outcome made her shudder, it would be a win either way.
THAT IS AN ADVISABLE COURSE OF ACTION.
Ah, the Black Marker. It echoed in every cell, which still rattled her after all these years (though it made much progress in getting "quieter"). This was the first time she'd heard from their patron since the outbreak began, though Curtis exchanged a few sentences with it while they were separated. This topic was of enough interest for it to enter their conversation. Do you have any insight?
I AM AFRAID I DO NOT. WHAT I KNOW, YOU KNOW.
She figured as much, but checking didn't hurt. Maybe seeing more of the beast through their eyes would rattle some memories loose. The Black Marker revoked the rest of its kind before this entity came on the scene a couple million years ago, though it might've gotten the most important tidbits.
I HAVE NOTHING MORE TO ADD. ONLY… I AM SORRY YOUR FRIENDS COULD NOT JOIN YOU. BUT GLAD THAT THEY ARE ALIVE.
She wasn't sure how much of the sentiment was genuine. After all, it never had friends; not in the way humans knew friendship, anyway. Millions of years alone precluded any sort of interaction. The concept of friendship didn't compute to their kind; they were either family or food. But it knew death. Despite being made of stone, decay shrouded its whole existence.
Where do you think it came from? Curtis wondered, racking his brain for an answer to what was arguably the biggest question. Other species used to inhabit the galaxy before the Necromorphs assimilated them all. Earth only endured because the Black Marker rebelled against its prime directive. If another race survived, that completely changed the way humans looked at the stars.
Honestly, I have no idea, she replied. Neither did the rest of her kind, since she would've learned about that during her visit to the hive mind. If it was an alien – and the Marker believed it was (though it may have been a time traveler or from another universe or whatever) – that meant two things: it originated on another planet, and it had the ability to move between solar systems.
The latter gave her pause; why hadn't humans encountered these things if they were spacefaring? Even if it was naturally attracted to Necromorph outbreaks, where was it on the Ishimura? Besides, it didn't seem sapient enough to hail from a spacefaring civilization. Hard for her to judge an alien race, but it didn't use artificial tools or weapons. The same observations could be lobbed against Necromorphs (for the most part), since they relied on subterfuge and the promise of the Markers to spread. A shiver crawled down her spine as she put the pieces together.
She reached the disturbing conclusion that it had been on Titan Station since before the outbreak occurred… and that humans brought it. Curtis' head swiveled to her as the same fear gripped him. The first sightings were in the Government Sector: the same place EarthGov experimented with the Marker. If they found the natural enemies of the Necromorphs, they'd have released it to try and turn the tide. She had no evidence, but the hypothesis fit the facts. Maybe they'd learn the truth when they got to GovSec, for this raised more questions than it answered.
The train rumbled to a standstill, opening its doors for the two passengers. This was their stop. Everybody off. Paranoia about the alien made her knees weak.
Curtis took point as they emerged, though Nicole again did not sense many of her kin around. Oh, some were nearby, just not in their immediate vicinity. They dragged bodies through the halls and sang shanties to distant deities. The best they could do was try to sneak past; the Church was a few blocks away. Of course, they already knew the holy site to be overrun, so it offered no sanctuary.
That's a pleasant thought, Curtis internally muttered as they struck out. Though I guess it is good that we're thinking about whatever's around the corner.
They were able to make headway without much trouble. A couple of close calls, though nothing serious. More concerning was the Corruption that began to grow in tracts along the floor. From its origin points in trash cans and garbage chutes, it spread tendrils across the ground like tumors consuming a body. Nascent thoughts bubbled within, mindlessly calling to be made one.
Advertisements glowed through dirty, cracked screens, unaware that the things that saw them could not have cared less about whatever they sold. Money meant nothing; a planet made of gold wouldn't have bribed the Necromorphs into sparing anyone. Still, one ad stood out to her by being the biggest and brightest of all.
WEYLAND-YUTANI CORPORATION
"Building Better Worlds"
Interspersed between the letters were products manufactured by the company and its host of subsidiaries and partners. Everything from toothpaste to mining tools to starship parts was displayed. Behind it all was a profile that became famous throughout the galaxy over the last year: the Atmos. It sloped gently up before plateauing at the top, which evoked the image of a shield volcano.
Weyland-Yutani had been a staple of life for the last 400 years, and they grew more powerful by the decade thanks to their cutthroat business practices and diverse products. They even employed mercenary teams to rent out rich assholes who wanted private armies. The Atmos catapulted their star higher than ever before. It seemed like they were no longer "just" a megacorp. Like the CEC in halcyon days of planet cracking, they became saviors of humanity. Certainly more popular than EarthGov, if the Transnet chatter she'd heard over the last couple of months proved accurate. She idly wondered whether Wey-Yu could start their own religion that became more successful than Unitology.
Don't joke about that, Curtis griped. That could actually happen.
Unless they've figured out how to read minds, I think we're safe for the moment. From big business, anyway. Less they could do about physical danger as they crossed the threshold into the Concourse, becoming aware of more minds than their own.
3 Hours, 15 Minutes Post-Sprawl Outbreak
Curtis rarely came to this place. Not much reason to; it wasn't close to his apartment, and his and Nicole's austere lives meant they rarely bought things in general. Some exceptions, of course, such as when he bought specialty tools that Nicole used to further her digital art career. No better place to go in the outer solar system if one wanted to buy something niche.
The Concourse was the main shopping area of the Sprawl – thousands of boutiques and stores all bunched together. Family-friendly on the upper levels, where they currently were, but it became seedier as one ventured into the underbelly. Nothing illegal, but there were strip clubs, sex parlors (vanilla and tailored to various kinks), "discount" cyberware and gene mods, etc. Basically part of the red-light district, though the crazy stuff remained elsewhere.
The view didn't hurt. Good thing his fear of spacewalks didn't extend to just seeing space!
The wall to their right, as well as the ceiling, were made of the omnipresent "glass" alloy that let people inside see the stars. And there were many, since night had spread a blanket over the Sprawl. PubSec was shielded from Sol by the other side of the station, allowing other stars a chance to shine, along with Saturn (and a screen with Tiedemann's face, which continued to spout the same evac orders). Curtis stepped to the guardrail and looked over the edge. Barely able to see the bottom at over a dozen stories deep.
We're not alone, Nicole said. He already knew that, but it wasn't until he investigated his wife's mind that he truly understood what she meant.
Hundreds of Necromorphs gathered at the other side of the complex. More than that, they fought something. A distant burst of gunfire let him know that their targets were human, as opposed to the alien that'd been chopping them up for the last couple of hours. If Nicole weren't here, Curtis would've worried he hallucinated. He didn't expect anyone else to be alive, let alone anybody who fought back. Wanted to dash over and jump into the fray until two important details poured across their Bond.
First, he saw idols of Markers and gothic architecture through countless eyes. They were outside the Church, and anybody who wanted to get in there – including Curtis and Nicole – was up to something. Second, images of their targets filtered through those same optic nerves: a platoon of people clad in black RIGs with violet highlights, holding back the tide through both skill and sheer firepower while a sapper attached plastic explosive similar to the stuff Hammond blew himself up with to the sealed door. A bullet nailed one of the Necromorphs in the face, which knocked its head off and snapped him out of the vision.
He and Nicole felt vexed about who these people were. The RIGs looked nothing like those of EarthGov soldiers. It also sounded like the government wrote off the Sprawl as a lost cause, though he supposed it wasn't impossible that something in the Church of Unitology was worth an expedition in a Category X shitstorm. Unitologist shock troopers? There were rumors that the Church had soldiers to do their dirty work where bribes and blackmail failed. This made no sense, either, even if the location was right. After all, anyone so fanatical would have wanted the Necromorphs to kill them.
I guess it doesn't really matter who they are. Curtis shoved the thoughts away. The important thing was that they couldn't waltz in the front door as they hoped. Not only were warring forces between it and them, but the doors had been welded shut at some point or another if a bomb was needed to get in! Maybe some other entrance point existed, but they were unable to look up maps of the area on the Transnet. That was when Nicole pointed to something he was surprised still existed: a physical map. Surely he'd seen them before, but why would he pay attention when he could immediately summon a guide from the aether?
They went over to the chart while a distant blast made the metal beneath their feet quiver. He guessed the explosive did its job, and now those mysterious soldiers made their way into the Church. Curtis hoped he and Nicole didn't bump into them, but with their luck… Anyway, working in a twisting maze of tunnels kept his orienteering skills sharp, and he quickly spotted a solution to the quandary.
The main entrance to the Church from the Concourse may have been blocked, but there was an alternate route on the bottom level, across from a chop shop that specialized in giving people "exotic" appearances. Judging from its tiny size on the map, he guessed it meant little. The people down there weren't respectable, and they lacked the money of those up here. Both had recently been made equal, though, and it was the best solution the duo saw. Therefore, they descended a broken escalator into the gloam. Each floor was darker than the last – just as many lights out, and less filtering in from outside. He imagined diving into the ocean, which got darker the deeper they went. Maybe they'd find another Marker at the slimy bottom of this sea.
He primarily saw through Nicole's eyes, which picked up parts of the color spectrum in ultraviolet and infrared. Particularly helpful because neon signs glowed strongly in these shades. Kept going down until they reached the abyssopelagic zone. Even Nicole had trouble seeing in this world. She relied on touch and smell to move forward, and he remained dutifully behind her with the flashlight on the Line Gun illuminating their path. Something smelled like moldy fruit, which was one of the last odors he wanted to be exposed to, but at least it wasn't toxic.
They passed a club, which still played a thumping bass track. Time meant little, for things could happen at any time. It was never too late or early to party. Curtis froze in his sweaty armor upon hearing a normal human laugh… only to realize it was part of the recording. His shoulders drooped.
Let's get to the Church, Nicole thought, as disappointed as him. Maybe they wouldn't have been able to help, but the two wanted to find more people alive than armored raiders. Did they count as looters? If so, Tiedemann gave them the green light to shoot first (though he hoped it didn't come to that).
Though their caution was necessary, they encountered few undead. A couple of sessile Guardians formed on the walls near chokepoints, though they were undeveloped enough to merely flail intestines at empty air. They also spotted a Fodder hiding in the corner while "sobbing", hoping to lure someone foolish enough to check on it – which Curtis would have if Nicole hadn't confirmed it to be a Necromorph, so the tactic worked! Most danger came from almost tripping on things and causing a ruckus. They'd bump into the undead soon enough.
Speaking of which, the entrance came into view from behind a pillar. The sign above glowed a shade of aqua similar to shockspace. Clashed majorly with the rest of the facility's architecture, which cemented it as an afterthought compared to the grandiose façade above. It made complete sense for the main Church of Unitology to be on the Concourse, tied as it was to the hyper-capitalist culture.
That wasn't how it used to be. Most religions of old Earth, he learned from researching them during his quest for meaning, said that the poor and downtrodden tended to be more worthy than the rich and powerful people who oppressed them. When he first read that, he scratched his head in bewilderment. Why wouldn't a god want their followers to be successful? Everything in his day and age extolled money as a virtue and encouraged people to accrue as much as they could (even if that was impossible for almost anyone who hadn't been born into it).
Even when Curtis became a cog in the state machine as a miner, he still wanted wealth. That was the point of being alive, right? He took that job on the Ishimura primary to follow the siren song of credits! It wasn't until his entire reality was shattered that he saw how wrong he'd been. He'd been chasing money for so long that he never stopped to enjoy the things he did have. His wife put a hand on his shoulder, and he felt the corners of his mouth pull into a smile.
Not that everything had been bad; he loved his job and the satisfaction that came with sustaining humanity. Mining turned out to be a great career for him, just like Nicole loved being a doctor. But it, along with the hedonistic pleasures he pursued to fill the hole in his soul, was all he cared about for a long time. Now, he stopped and tried to enjoy his life, small and scary as it was, just so he didn't miss it. Only Necromorphs "lived" forever, and he didn't want to exist like that.
Some still flocked to Unitology because they, like him, sought belonging. They helped in a lot of ways, to be sure – such as running food pantries (which Karrie took pride in) and providing housing – but this paled in comparison to what they gave people with power. From hidden doctrines to personal luxuries to positions of authority, those who already had were lavished with even greater favor. Wasn't hard to see why the upper echelons of companies like the CEC skewed their way.
Church of Unitology
All are welcome!
Well, that was a nice message on the flickering sign. Below that was a turquoise image of a Marker. They found one down here, after all. The lack of blood and guts splattering the door was a good sign that nobody thought of this before them. The only piece of gore was a human hand that hadn't yet started morphing into something that would leap up and try to claw his head open. Took a step forward to go inside, and his foot stuck slightly to the floor. For a split second, he feared he'd fucked up and set foot in some Corruption and blew their cover, but a glance down revealed something different.
What's this? He pulled his boot out of the puddle, finding it coated in a clear, viscous fluid. Completely unlike the acidic or flammable/explosive substances some Necromorphs produced, so he wasn't worried about that.
I'm not sure. Maybe a chemical spill; there's plenty of stores nearby. Yeah, its consistency reminded him of some liquids that kept his tools working. Didn't pay it much heed except wiping his foot on corrugated metal. Anyway, I believe Isaac was headed to the top floor.
Sounded like they had a long walk ahead of them, then. This would have been easier if comms were working; he could just call Isaac!
The doors cracked open, and Curtis tentatively padded into what might have been the most dangerous part of the entire Sprawl. At least they knew that they were welcome to go inside.
…
Hey, everybody! Summer is nearly here, so I'm hoping to have more time to write. Not a guarantee, but I'll look for those opportunities. If nothing else, it'll give me a break from the internship, which continues in the fall. Though it's going great, it'll be nice to kick back and relax. Teachers getting so much of the year off is a big draw, I won't lie.
Anyway, I had a fun time writing this chapter. We're slowly seeing more of the Xenomorph in glimpses and flashbacks, being a silent hunter that annihilates its prey. They help me return to the horror roots that the series started as; much as I like what I'm doing now, I veer into action territory more often. Next time, Curtis and Nicole will venture into the unknown reaches of the Church of Unitology. That'll be a fun ride… and you never know what will be inside. Seems like a lot of forces are converging there, though.
Thanks to Kaijucifer, CelfwrDderwydd and GeorgeP for reviewing recently. The fact you guys have something to say about my work means a lot to me.
