• Published 7th Oct 2012
  • 4,423 Views, 215 Comments

Dead Space: Valor in Laughter - Kishin

Giggle at the Ghosties....Make them go away

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Pink Midst: Part 1

USM Valor. 2508.
Aegis VII system. 0910 hours Normal Time
Habitability Deck 5A

Amongst the crew deck's flickering lighting, a spark sizzled through the air, followed by three more. The sparks grew in intensity, and their mysterious origin revealed itself when a ball of energy grew among the sparks and eventual arms of streaking electricity.

From the ball popped into existence a pink equine, and as she plopped onto the empty deck, the ball behind her collapsed and shrank into oblivion.

Pinkie Pie dusted herself off, mind racing with questions. Where am i? (Gasp) I'm on an alien ship, aren't I? Oh my Celestia! I'm going to throw a big, huge, super-stupendous party for them! What were they called? Humans? And why is their ship so drab? Its just gray, white, and blue. No pink ANYWHERE!

She hopped about, undisturbed by the emptyness of the halls or the haunting silence. She came across sore stick-out amongst the sea of metal grey and luminescent blue. It was a poster written in Equestrian with what Pinkie Pie assumed to be a robot printed on it.

The poster had some sort of thick red liquid splashed on some of the corners, but Pinkie Pie concluded that one of the aliens must have splashed on some cherrichanga sauce during a food fight or something.

That robot seems way too similar to the image Lyra showed us back in the lab. The robot has hands and fingers like a monkey's and it's standing up on only two legs, just like Lyra said they would. It must be one of the Humans! But where is everypony?

With a rough tug, Pinkie yanked off the poster with a hoof and wandered off, trying to discover any new friends she could make.

USM Valor. 2508.
Aegis VII system. 0910 hours Normal Time
Outside Stasis Bay C

Outside the beshodden entrance of the stasis bay were numerous bodies, blood stains, and hundreds of shell casings, ranging in designation from Divet slugs to Seeker rounds. The bulkhead of the entrance, glowing with a faint red outline and holo-projecting the words "LOCKED", dramatically parted. The hydraulic vents near the door expelled a red cloud, which expressed much about how many and what inhabitants were in the ventilation ducts polluting the air with blood, gore particles, and who-knows-what.

The left bulkhead jammed on a severed arm, and repeatedly crushed it into the nook of its sliding mechanism. Out walked an individual, wearing nothing other than boots, BDU combat pants, and an olive-drab shirt, stenciled in Ahn, Joon. In his BDU pants, his pocket bulged with a full capacity Pulse Rifle magazine, and he readied a freshly-reloaded Pulse Rifle as he walked into the hallways. In his left hand, in conjunction with handling the handguard of his Pulse Rifle was a bloodied pRIG (or personal RIG), its electronics and wiring frayed roughly where they would normally have to be fused into the human spine in surgery.

He kept a wary eye towards any open vents, and turned onto a path. He wasn't going to survive any of this with just his fatigues, boots, and a pair of skivvies. He needed his Marine-standard issue RIG. And guns....lots of them.

The vid-screens that surrounded him along the pathway blared out an emergency broadcast, and alongside a siren, the broadcast looped:

"This is Commander Cadigan! We have hostiles on board! This is NOT a drill! Hostiles are alien, repeat, ALIEN and extremely dangerous! All personnel have weapons ready and fire at will!"

He would have to report to Cadigan eventually. Ol' Cadigan was always the "man with the plan".

But Joon drifted off towards a direction that would lead to the Habitability Deck. He needed to get something personal from his locker. Joon vaguely thought, Gotta honor the dead and their promises somehow.

He quickly surveyed the dynamic shadows as he hurried towards his destination. He heard faint voices behind him, although no one alive was anywhere near him. Among the fugue was a female voice that clung in his mind, infiltrating its emotions and thoughts until it was entrenched into his conscience. Whispering in his ear of what he had done to her....

The voices followed him where ever he went, and they became distinct enough to hear what they were saying, or better yet, singing. The words of a Unitologist hymn that he hadn't heard since his childhood echoed through the halls, and among the echoes, a female, betrayed and left to decay alone.