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KP - Episode 13 (Public)
🕑 Added 2023-09-29 02:46:41 +0000 UTCWords Count: 4638
With an audible gasp, I heave- shooting up from the lying position I'm in, startling our dear engineer who leaps up from his makeshift seat, Plasma Cutter clicking in his palm as a result of his grip tightening due to the sudden influx of tension… In just one motion, I manage to wipe all traces of sleepiness that were previously present on his face, though some still linger in those dark, haunting depths of his. “Ju- Julius? Is that you? Answer, dammit before I'm forced to use this!”
The thoughts of lunging at him- pretending to have turned into a Necromorph very briefly cross my mind, but I ultimately decide against it. With how trigger-happy Isaac looks, the guy might just blow my legs clean off for twitching the wrong way, and I’m not in the mood to test out my regenerative healing factor, powerful as it may seem at a first glance. “I'm okay!” I yell, raising my hand slightly to signal the engineer who lets loose a tired sigh, falling with a thud on his ass; his rusted metallic suit jingling with his movements.
“Are you good? Feeling any different?”
I stretch my arms, smiling as pulses of radiations warn me about the presences of multiple Necromorphs quickly closing in on our location. “Yeah… I feel refreshed actually. Oh, and–” Coughing dramatically, I swerve towards the encroaching group. “Incoming.”
Isaac’s eyes widen as he picks up the sound of scuttling legs and distorted cries echoing through the dark corridor. He reaches for the ever trusty Plasma Cutter, his grip tightening once again, prepared for the imminent battle that lies ahead. As the first Necromorph storms through the doors- its spiked limbs rending even metals, and lunges at us, its grotesque limbs and twisted form eerily illuminated by the blinking lights.
Instantly, I make to intercept yet it just passes me by, as though blind to my presence. “Wh–?”
Needless to say, both Isaac and I are perplexed by the turn of events, but the engineer’s hands are quicker than his mind, and a mere twitch of his fingers later, the Necromorph suddenly finds itself without the benefits of legs. I myself am clueless as to how Isaac managed to line up the shot so… So perfectly in the seconds it took to approach, but there’s little time for contemplation when more of the undead are bursting down from vents and through doors.
‘Who the Hell designed this ship?’
I swallow the urge to vocalize my thoughts, berating the designer in my mind. ‘Just what was the reasoning behind having vents that are large enough to fit humans? What were they thinking?!’ We make quick and easy work of the common Slashers and Enhanced Slashers, far more annoyed than fearful. “Well, that was something…” Yet when I try to approach Isaac, the paranoid engineer points his Plasma Cutter at me, his visor taking on a menacing glow. “Get back!”
Hands firmly gasped around the high-tech weapon, Isaac growls, visibly tense.
Even through that armored suit, I can easily read the cues in his body languages- the nervous fiddling with his Plasma Cutter; the constant shifts of balance as if to keep himself warm and active. The message’s clear: If I do not comply, he will open fire and things shall get ugly for the both of us real fast.
“What the FUCK ARE YOU?!”
The sudden spike in volume causes me to flinch, but instead of doing what my body and Deimos are actively advising me to, which is to get rid of an immediate threat, I put my arms up instead, even making sure to take several measured steps backwards to show goodwill, though my eyes continue to track the reactions of my twitchy companion. “I’m still me, Isaac. I’m Julius Campbell, and I am sorry to say I’m as human as it gets. We've fought hundreds of Necromorphs together, remember?”
“No… I don’t believe you! If you’re telling the truth, then why did those- Those things, they avoid you? You were RIGHT THERE!?!” The confusion in his voice’s clear, something I can use to my advantage. Isaac hasn’t slept, drank nor eaten in twelve hours. Although this means he's very irritable, it also means he’s extremely susceptible to external manipulations…
‘External manipulations?’
Initially, I believed the infection has made me invisible to the Necromorphs, but what if that is not the case? What if this is yet another trick of the Marker? It’s what I’d have done in its place- turning friends to foes, and now that I know for a fact it is sentient. “Isaac, have you seen any of those things communicate?”
“That says nothing. You weren’t normal to begin with–” Okay, ouch? That's a hurtful thing to suddenly tell somebody. “How do I know there’s not a rotting face under that helmet?” Rolling my eyes, I access the holographic display projected by my RIG, issuing an order to the suit I’m wearing. One loud hiss and multiple mechanical clicks later, the helmet disassembles to reveal my face.
Immediately, Isaac recoils in horror. “What the FUCK?!”
What’s with him? Is there a ‘hurt-Julius’-feelings’ day that I’m not aware of? I’ve never thought of myself as… Particularly ugly. If there is one gift my late mother has given me, it is this charming face which I'll admit I’ve relied on extensively. But, even if he doesn’t find me objectivelyattractive, isn’t it overreacting to gasp and curse like that? Expression darker than the bottom of a cast-iron pan, I glare, scoffing at the slight. “The Hell’s with you–?”
The threatening hum of the Plasma Cutter makes me jump sideway, narrowly avoiding a lethal shot that would have halved the length of my leg, I scowl- getting into position. With a kick of my feet, I crash into the ship ceiling and, before Isaac can react, leap onto his back. I wrestle the man to the ground, blocking and deflecting his ferocious punches with ease, all whilst the man flails violently in my hold. “God- Isaac, stop!” Obviously, he doesn’t listen. Not sure what I was thinking either.
“I swear if you don’t stop- stop this instance, I’m going to knock you unconsciousness! I’m not joking!” Seeing how angry the engineer is, I put him in a chokehold, forearms pinning his airway until he eventually goes completely limp in my arms. “Goddam–!” Afraid that he might die, I ease up the pressure only to receive an elbow to the face as he crawls away, stumbling for his firearm, lively as ever.
“The Hell you got up your ass, Isaac?!”
Despite the armoring and my own heightened skin, pain barely registers, yet curses threaten to escape my lips nevertheless.
“The only thing up my ass–”
The wayward engineer lunges for his Plasma Cutter, “IS YOU!”
“Can’t you see, Isaac?! It’s the damn Marker, it’s trying to–” I narrowly sidestep a haymaker, feeling his armored knuckle scrapes against my stubbled chin. “It’s trying to turn us against each other!”
He whirls around- trying to aim but I'm quicker, my navicular bone colliding with his fist, forcing the engineer to drop his Cutter.
With a second kick to the jaws, I'm able to knock the man on his back, who struggles as I lay my heel on his throat. “Will you finally listen to reasons?” I know Isaac won’t- not while he’s still like this, but it is the courteous thing to do: Asking, I mean. Besides, if he ever brings it up, I can always say I offered to spare the guy the concussion, but was unfortunately refused and even threatened with dismemberment via an extremely high-tech Plasma Cutter.
‘What can a guy do?’ I think sarcastically, before the pressure on his airway increases exponentially. “Do keep in mind: I don’t want to do this, but you forced my hands…!” The third kick strikes true, causing Isaac’s helmeted skull to bounce against the metallic floor, bringing a temporary, albeit violent end to the man’s bout of Marker-induced hallucinations. “Night-night, Isaac. See you in an hour.”
Letting loose an exhausted sigh- one that stems from the mind rather than the body, I rest my back on the wall, slumping as Isaac’s breathing stills. For a moment, I’m worried I've killed another human being again, but it was just the adrenaline with a… Healthy pinch of paranoia. But, in order to ensure no mishap will take place, I nudge man over on his stomach to check his RIG. Flashing red greets my sight- ‘He’s in critical condition. Alive though, which is good.’
‘Slit his throat and steal his gun.’
He shouts, unusually loud as Deimos joins in, growling through pounds of dangling snots in the back of his throat. ‘EaT hIs CoRpssse. Re- ResOurces aR- are scArcE iiin Sppace… SS- ShOuldn't be WaSS–’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! Here, let me!’
My Alternate Personality- AP for short, coughs several times, as though to taunt the Klyntar who is clearly struggling with our language, then with the sass of a black woman in an 80’s Comedy Show that was made specifically for white people, he repeats. ‘He said: We should not be wasteful! There, you gooey fuck. It's not even that difficult.’
“Be nice.”
I quietly whisper, acknowledging the voice at last after over a decade. I had always thought he was a figment of my imagination, but seeing as our alien friend's interacting with AP all willy-nilly, it’s safe to say he isn’t just another coping mechanism created during my childhood. He's that and more, clearly. ‘Atta-boy. You finally got something right…’
‘Don’t call me that.’
I grumble, facing towards the mirror behind where I had risen, only to be confronted with the sight of a hideous visage.
Once vibrant, lustrous blonde strands have transformed, now relinquished to a ghostly white. The once sun-kissed, healthy tone of my skin, earned through year after year toiling under the scorching sun, has vanished as well, replaced by exposed sinewy muscles. A lipless grin stretches across my face, exposing sharp fangs in place of teeth, while bone-like growths reminiscent of a secondary set of teeth jut out from my cheeks, further adding to the horrors of my lost Humanity.
“What the F–?!”
The voice’s the first to respond,
‘Fucking cool–!’
Followed by the Klyntar.
‘LLooKiNG GooDDD–’
Of course you’d think that, you toothy goo! “Annabella! What. The. Fuck?! What is is?!! What happened to my handsome face?!!!”
[The infection- the energy that fuels it seems to have fused with you. This is the result, duh.]
“I know…” I speak through gritted teeth. “How do I fix this?!”
The phrase: ‘A face only a mother can love’ basically applies to all Necromorphs. Unlike them, I look a little more… Human, but I will be lucky if McDonald’s accepts my resume looking like this.
[There’s a very simple solution…]
“Spit it out. This is no joking manner!”
I can’t see her directly, though for some reasons I have a feeling Anna’s wearing a pretty wicked grin right now.
[The Corvinus Virus.]
She texts curtly, as if that explains anything.
“Elaborate.”
[You forgot to say–]
“Please.”
I immediately add the instance I see the first half of the sentence.
[Here’s a little history lesson: Bitten by a vampire-bat and a rabid wolf, Marcus and Williams Corvinus faced divergent fates. The latter, hindered by the disease infecting his veins, was denied the power of transformation. In stark contrast, Marcus retained his human form without a proper transformation. However, everything changed when he consumed his brother's blood, triggering a startling metamorphosis that rendered him a hybrid creature, dominated by vampiric qualities.
He, much like the Lycans, can take the form of a monstrous Winged Form at will.]
“So what I’m hearing is I need to become a hybrid?”
[Not necessarily. Your transformation’s different than them, or have you forgotten the two chemicals you were injected with before ingesting the pure Corvinus Strain?]
Wide-eyed, a startling realization strikes me. “You mean–”
— [Kaleidoscopic Polaris] —
Groaning, Isaac Clarke scrambles to his feet, his helmet weighing heavy on his head as he battles against a mounting headache.
Within the confines of his Engineer Suit, a blinding yellow light flashes relentlessly, accompanied by a maddening chorus of incessant beeps that threatens to send him spiraling. Memories fragment surge forward, mercilessly knocking him down once more. With urgency, the concussed engineer tears open his helmet, revealing eyes shadowed by an eerie darkness as he succumbs to a wave of nausea, retching in distress.
He doesn’t know how he still draws breaths, though maybe it's just his imagination…
Maybe he too has been turned into the wretched abomination Julius has become. “JULIUS!” The name strikes a cord in him, causing Isaac to leap to his feet, eyeballing his surrounding in search of the strange young man, finding him leaning against the wall with arms crossed. “Yes? Were you dreaming of me or something?” Human, mischievous emerald eyes sweep over the engineer and like a stack of potatoes, he drops.
“Sorry, but I don’t swing that way.”
“Julius, I thought–” Isaac starts.
“It’s the Marker. It caused you to hallucinate.” Seeming completely at ease, the youthful man pulls a chocolate bar from his bag, munching on the delicious-looking snack of a brand Isaac doesn’t recognize.
“Wa- Want some? Here, have a snickers.” Chewing on a mouthful, he fetches a second and throws it which Isaac easily catches. “I gotta say though, those were some mean-ass punches you were throwing. Do you have prior training in martial arts?”
“None… And I’m sorry, I–” The engineer says apologetically, embarrassed by his own antics. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. You aren’t yourself when you’re hungry.”
Julius smirks, sending him a meaningful look.
“Besides, I already got my revenge.”
“The concussion I suffered–”
The blonde interjects, shrugging. “In my defense, you wanted to test your Plasma Cutter on me. I… Politely decline.” The growing headache hammering his skull says otherwise, though in all fairness- “It was deserved.”
Isaac concurs, peeling the wrapping to reveal a tantalizing chocolate bar that makes him salivate. Only now does Isaac realize just how starvedhe is. Legs weak, the pangs of hunger prompts the engineer to disregard all manner, wolfing down the bar with both hands.
“Chew properly, you’re going to choke.”
Julius gently chides, a knowing and unamused look crossing his face.
The same his parents would give Isaac when he did wrong, the famous ‘I’m not angry, I’m disappointed’ look.
The next few seconds pass in relative silence, with the only sources of noises being their constant chewing. “Those can be dry. You want something cool to wash it down?” Although a bit confused, the engineer nods nonetheless, watching as the strange man turns his back on him, fiddling with plastic cups he, again, pulls from the backpack he carries everywhere.
He does find it odd how much items are apparently inside, considering its flat and empty appearance, but he doesn’t question it. In the end, it doesn’t matter how Julius is doing what he’s doing, as long as he remains a friend instead of a foe. “God… I’m starving. Do you–”
“Here.” Even more snacks spill from the Mystery Backpack, visibly exceeding its carrying capacity. “Chew properly. Nobody’s gonna steal it from you. Take the time to really appreciate the flavor this time.”
“… You’d be good with children. Any particular reason why? Any kid?”
Immediately, Julius shakes with an awkward smile. “I have a daughter- a lovebird which is basically an extremely temperamental toddler.” Throwing on a traumatized look, he shudder. “God forbid should mating season roll around. That little dinosaur’s gonna destroy your finger and shit on your personal items out of sheer spite.”
“Sounds fun.” Isaac snorts sarcastically.
“It is.” Julius bobs his head, an unexpectedly sincere and happy smile playing on the corners of his lips. “She's about 50% menace; 30% antisocial and 15% a jealous, fussy hassle. But when she does respond to your affection, it’s generally always worth the wait. You may think I’m exaggerating, but I’m telling you there is no greater feeling of achievement than watching a prey animal willingly ask for chin scratches.”
Chuckling, Julius adds. “Her absolute favorite, by the way…”
Silence descends again as they sip on their cups of iced coffee. “So Isaac Clarke, from what I can understand, you’re on this accursed ship because of your girlfriend, Nicole is it?”
“Yeah…” He mutters low-spiritedly. “What if she’s–”
“DON’T!” Isaac shouts defensively, visibly agitated by the thoughts. “Just- Don’t. She’s alive, I know she is. I just know!”
Then, in a futile effort to reassure himself, he lowers his voice, “She’s a doctor, she’ll do the smart thing.” Before raising it again. “It’s this guts’ feeling between soulmates. You wouldn’t get it. Not until you have fallen in love.” Brows creasing, offended, Julius changes the subject in an effort to lighten the mood, “How do you know I’ve never fallen in love? I could have a fiancée waiting for me back home for all you know.”
“You could…” Isaac replies, crestfallen. Perhaps deep down, he too realizes there are truths to Julius’ concerns, sadly acceptance’s a long and winding road. “But you don’t.”
Sensing the awkwardness practically oozing from the blonde, Isaac makes an attempt in his place, diverting the subject. “What about you? What’re you doing on the Ishimura? And don’t give me the bullshit story you gave Kendra… I'm aware Deep Space Anxiety’s a thing, but no crews will hire someone so young.”
“Well, I could be an intern.”
“Then you’d be safe in an Institute somewhere on Earth or Humanity’s many colonies where your progress can actually be judged, not an Unitology-affiliated mining ship. I’m not stupid, Julius.”
“Maybe I’m older than I look.” The young man shrugs.
“Maybe you are…”
Crossing his legs, Isaac hums. “Tell me the truth, are you an alien?”
Eyes narrowing, the blonde says in exasperation. “What gives you that idea?”
“Your sketchy background which, if I may add, is filled with holes; the hundred of superhuman feats I’ve seen you do with relative ease; the way you fight the Necromorphs like you have done it all your life… Then there is that damn backpack filled with all kinds of goods. You're either an alien, a high-ranking member of the Church of Unitology or Earth Gov. with access to cutting-edge equipment, but I doubt it. You’re too… Incompetent, no offense.”
“Some taken.”
“Or–” The engineer drawls. “You’re a wizard. Which is it?”
Without a second of contemplation or hesitance, the blonde blurts. “I’m a wizard.”
“Hardy-Har-Har…”
— [POV Shift: Julius Campbell] —
“See?” I roll my eyes. “No answer can nor will satisfy your curiosity, so bother asking? Even if I tell you I’m an alien or a governmental agent who’s purposefully acting the fool, can you really believe the words coming out of my mouth?”
“I want to.” His answer stumps me, “You’ve saved me thrice now. I owe you my life, and since we are gonna have to work together in the foreseeable future anyway, might as well make the effort to get to know you.”
But I quickly recover, jokingly saying. “All you need to know is I’m on Humanity’s side and value individuality too much to fuse with the rest of the rabble. Look at me, I am way too attractive to become a piece of a fleshy glob. Godhood be damned.”
“It communicates with you?”
Just then, I realize my mistake. We all know about the Convergence, but nobody really knows what it is, none except me. “That’s what the Marker wants? To combine the corpses into a glob?” Since things have gotten to this point, I no longer see a reason to keep it from him, clarifying. “A Brethren Moon. That’s what the Marker calls the final stage in their evolution. They are the reason Space’s barren, they are the answer to the Fermi Paradox. They send probes in the form of Black Markers to planets with the suitable environment for sentient-life which activate after the chosen race reaches a certain threshold, which is typically–”
“Space travel?”
“Not quite.” I shake my head. “Energy. When a civilization reaches a point in which it’s consuming more energy than it's able to generate- when they’re most desperate, the black Markers will awaken with promises of an limitless source that can be used however…” Trailing off, I level a gaze at Isaac who finishes in my place, his expression frozen in horror. “And since they’re desperate, they won’t see the signs until it’s too late.”
“Indeed.” I confirm.
“What are our chances?”
I chuckle dryly, averting my eyes.
“That bad, huh?”
“It’s pretty dismal. The Brethren Moons are all small planetary-sized, and we have nothing to effectively fight off their corruptive influences.” Not to mention the Markers have been through this song and dance possible millions of times against alien species who were likely far more advanced than we are… “If we want to win this war, we need planetary weapons and cannot have dissent amongst our ranks.
Our best bet would be to wipe out Unitology first, then prepare for their arrival, and make no mistake, they’ll come. It’s only a matter of time. Worst case scenario, we can create seeding banks which will activate after the threat has passed to ensure the continuation of Humanity. Add knowledge about the Brethren Moons in the archive so future generations will not get blindsided like we were.”
“And then?” Isaac questions, hopelessness etched into his features. “Then we prepare and hope for the best, I guess?”
“Our future seems bleak, isn’t it?”
I want to be truthful with him, unfortunately I cannot allow Isaac to lose morale either. Plus there’s always a way, perhaps I can ask Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark to study the necrotic radiations my body is generating passively, at least according to Anna it is…
Maybe ask for their help to develop orbital superweapons under the pretense of asteroid prevention? If those solutions don’t work out, I can always throw Compound V at the problem. The people here may not be compatible with the serum, but they’ll certainly have some uses for it, to develop their own variant perhaps? I still have like 50 caches stored. In any case, it won’t be a waste if it’s going to save billions.
Let’s just hope Humanity doesn’t fight themselves to extinction before the Moons arrive in that case. “Don’t worry. I may not be able to completely ensure Humanity’s victory, but I have… Things that may prove invaluable to our continued existence.”
“Things?”
I repeat cryptically, putting a spin to my tone for dramatic purposes. “Things.”
On cue, maddened howls reach our location, notifying us of another group of Necromorphs converging towards us. The lightheartedness we have barely cultivated vanishes, replaced by seriousness as a new type leaps out from the dark- ugly than ever. The other variants all possess vaguely humanoid shapes, but this… Aside from the skull, there’s nothing remotely human about it.
The skull's lower jaw has been detached, and what appear to be tentacles hang from its mouth, flicking constantly.
Sporting two massive arms jutting out from its back, each ending in a large bone-like scythe, which is most likely used to slash and rend the living in the same manner as a Slasher does. How do I know this, you ask? Well– “A- A little help, Isaac?” I ask, wrestling with the creature who has me pinned under its massive frame, its pus-filled sacs jiggling over my face.
It has stricken me that popping the disgusting growths might just kill it, but I don’t want to be bathed in what’s probably toxic substance with acidic property. The smell asides, being melted to a puddle doesn’t sound appealing at all.
The violent urge in me rises as it continues to try and bite me, its massive scythe-like appendages blocking my path of escape. Having had enough, I growl, allowing the necrotic influence to course through me oncmore. The effects are instantaneous, the Necromorph quickly losing sight of me, as if made blind to my presence. It rises, lumbering towards Isaac who’s tearing through a small horde of Slashers.
I take advantage of the distraction and crawl towards a nearby power conduit, using it to electrocute the Necromorph from behind. The creature convulses and screeches in pain as electricity courses through its body, temporarily incapacitating it. Seizing the opportunity, I grab one of the scythe-like appendages and yank it free from its back, slashing at the sacs violently which causes them to explode- yellow liquids bursting to reveal limbs similar to the Divider. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
The smell’s hundreds times worse than a landfill. Realizing I won’t be able to avoid getting covered, I abandon all caution and rush towards them with the severed limb in hands, annihilating everything that dares to approach in a whirlwind of violence. The surge fades, leaving me both drained and famished. The necrotic radiations increase my overall ability- durability mostly, but it also dehydrates me to a dangerous point. All the nutrients have gone to restructuring my body as well, requiring at least thrice the calories my Lovebird Form needs.
The ugliness is a major turn-off also, despite what he and Deimos may say, those two don’t have a lick of sense when it comes to human standard of beauty. Call me vain or whatever, but it’s undeniable being attractive makes life a lot easier in certain aspects. I am not denying there are disadvantages, yet the pros outweigh the cons by a landslide. “What are you waiting for?” I mumble to the Marker whom I am sure is observing, switching from my Necrotic Form to normal to pull aggro.
“Come get me, motherfucker!”
More of the Undead spill into the room, as though moving in response to my challenge.
Pulse Rifle blazing, I enter the intense battle- starting by gunning down the creepy crawlies first. They are the bigger threats. A Slasher’s attacks can be avoided or blocked, but these smaller Necromorphs have a habit of scuttling around the battlefield and circling behind us. It is a huge pain to deal with when dozens of the bigger variants are laying siege. Eventually, the firefight abates alongside the dwindling number of Necromorphs, while neither Isaac nor I look any worse for wear, having grown accustomed to the Necromorphs’ tactics.
“Looks like the Engineering Deck is no longer a suitable place to rest our feet…”
The engineer bobs his head. “Let’s go. We have taken it easy long enough.”
Bloody helmet snapping into place, Isaac checks his ammos. “The quicker we get the Ishimura and its escape pods running, the quicker we will be able to get off this damn place…” Suddenly, sounds of wet appendage lashing at the air reach my ears. I’ve failed to locate one Lurker, which must have hidden behind whilst its brethren engage in a battle against me. Thankfully, I’m able to react in time but apparently, it’s not necessary.
A loud hiss erupts behind me, following with a horizontal flash that slices the Lurker in half. “Two more times before we’re even.”
Isaac smirks.
“Thank–”
I start, managing to catch a glimpse of a crawling arm sneaking up on the distracted engineer.
My Kinesis Module activates instantly, grabbing hold of the Lurker’s severed tentacle and sending it at the Necromorph at Mach 5 which ruptures half of it, causing bloody chunks to splatter everywhere. “It's not gonna come back from that… Probably.” I pause, smirking at Isaac who seems relieved he will not have to wrestle a deceased somebody’s arm. “And now you’re back to square one.”
