|This article, Collections, was written by Auguststorm1945. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission.|
Collections is a body of short stories and miscellanea of Dead Space.
- Our hope and deliverance
- Trust in Convergence
- The Crimson Marker
- Salvation from Damnation
- We Must Make It Whole
She turned about, Divet in hand, eyes wide, arm coming up quickly - but still, far, far too slow.
The panel above had already exploded downwards, smashed by the exertion of the thing that crashed through it, smashing down to the ground in a blur, already on the attack: its arcing talon scything down, slicing through uniform, flesh, bone, forcefully disarming its prey in a spray of crimson.
She open her mouth to scream - in pain, in a warning to those she traveled with - but was far too late for either, as the creature's other razor shot forward, brutally smashing teeth as it tore through her opened mouth, shredding her tongue, piercing her throat, exploding out the back of her neck, cutting off both sounds and nerves.
In that instant, the whole of existence stood still for her. No agonizing pain, no physical sensation, not even the sense of loss at her severed limb - no sorrow, no anger, no fear. Only the knowledge that her duty was done, her weighty task completed. Then all went white.
It snatched back its talon with such ferocity and speed that the flesh tore - her head, broken, fell away from its jaw and crashed to the floor - the blue-gray eyes already empty.
She was gone. Her duty completed.
She did not hear their resounding screams.
He couldn't even run.
His right leg was so thoroughly shattered, so utterly mangled, he couldn't look at it without his gut churning, nausea boiling, tasting bile in his throat... He couldn't run.
But he couldn't feel anything either.
It was so ridiculous, lying there, without any real sensation... So he started laughing.
He was going to die, and he didn't give a damn. All those Uni's, believing in "Space Gods"! That was worth a laugh at least. Their wonderful rock had turned on them.
He was still laughing when his spine was severed and the serrated talon exploded out of his chest, spattering the deck and bulkhead in front of him. He kept laughing. He was dead - so what was there to be afraid of?
He smiled widely, even as blood leaked from his nose and spilled at the corners of his mouth, streaking down his face. Even as his own weight dragged him off the brutal incisor that so pierced him, a final elongated chuckle squirmed out as he collapsed on the deck. He died with his smile still spread across his ravaged face.
Amid all the screams and cries, the shrieks and yells, a heartfelt laugh stood out.
- TO: Keller, V.
- FROM: Miller, J.
- SUBJECT: Recent Cargo
- Mind telling me what's going on, Vince? I've been hauling freight for C.E.C. for years, and I've never seen anything like this. Three hundred generation two Security RIGs? Five hundred Divets and Pulse Rifles, and more than a hundred thousand rounds of either ammo type? When did C.E.C. start fielding its own army? If there's a threat to my ship and my people, I expect to be informed of it.