Hey everyone! Welcome back to Dead Space: Ordination. If you're new here, I started this back in 2017… and it stalled for quite a bit. Still, very I'm passionate about this story and hope to see it grow and continue just like my FNaF tale.

This rewrite isn't too different from my old version, but there are some changes. The biggest one is that the original Curtis was kind of bland, and I tried to make him more interesting for this. Hopefully it's not too info dump-y, as well. And if you're wondering about the "OC X Stalker" in the summary… well, you'll see at some point! I'm very excited for that aspect, though there's plenty I'm hyped to write about. Also, I've done a ton of research on the lore of Dead Space and think I have a very good handle on it, even the stuff that no one cares about.

There're still some unanswered questions, of course, but I'll cross those bridges when I get to them. Thanks so much for checking this out, and I'm excited to experience this with all of you!

Oh, and one more thing. If you're a fan of the series, you already know to look at the names of the chapters…

Earth Orbit

CEC Shipyard EH-145-K

7 Days Pre-Outbreak

Curtis stared down at Earth, slowly rotating beneath his feet.

It was so different up here. The mega-cities and metropolises held such charms, like the scent of fast food wafting through dark alleys or rain momentarily parting omnipresent smog, that couldn't be found anywhere else. For those looking to escape, the only way out was up. Not that he particularly wanted to leave, especially as he again glanced down through the glass. The United States Sector just spun into view, evening falling across it. The Eastern Seaboard was nothing but a beautiful string of lights stretching hundreds of miles up and down the coast… including his home.

Oh, c'mon, he thought. You've only been off-planet a couple hours. You shouldn't miss the North Carolina Hubs yet. Besides, the packed space station was a city in its own right. Loud, smelly and belligerent. There was nowhere else he'd rather be, and he needed to savor the few minutes remaining.

After all, the mission lasted six months! That was the longest he'd ever been away from Earth by a long shot. Small-time miners like him usually worked two- or three-week stints in the asteroid belt or Titan mines. A three-month stay in Mars Capita was the closest he'd come to that.

"Attention, ladies and gentlemen," a perky synthetic voice said over the station's intercoms, snapping him out of his ruminations. "The next shuttle for the USG Ishimura boards in five minutes. Please have your identification ready!"

Upon hearing the ship's name, his homesickness evaporated. He could and would do this. Hesitation be damned; he was going to tear open a planet and save humanity, no ifs ands or buts. Confident, he cut through the crowd like butter and made it to the correct queue. It was already packed, with a line of people practically out the airlock. Well, waits were one thing he didn't like about the city. Impatiently tapping his foot on solid metal, he brought up a holographic screen from the projector mounted on his RIG's chest, scrolling through a map of the Ishimura again. It was an enormous ship, bigger than –

"Move it, jackass."

Curtis' temper flared, and he was about to shoot back when he realized everyone in front of him had boarded and he was holding up the line. "Sorry," he spat, stalking up to the flight attendant.

"Name, rank and RIG number, please," she said, obviously not impressed with his behavior. That only made him angrier, but he forced those emotions back down. The last thing he wanted to do was get in trouble before the ship even departed.

"Curtis Mason, Class 5 Miner, RIG number 492770."

Joylessly, she passed some kind of scanner over him, doubtless checking his genetics to make sure he wasn't some kind of imposter. It sent a shiver down his spine; the CEC must have kept a really tight lid on things, considering he rarely dealt with this before. "Next!"

Sighing, he stepped forward into the airlock before slowly turning around. Through the window at the far end of the corridor, the same one he'd stared out earlier, he saw the outline of Earth framed against the sun. God, he would miss it. He always did.

…

Things weren't exactly comfortable on the shuttle. He was used to pressing shoulder-to-shoulder with unknown individuals on public transport, but the fact that they were in space somehow added another layer to the experience. Couldn't explain why, though. Well, it'll only take a few minutes. And then the impulse drive rumbled to life, and they were off.

Curtis mostly spent the flight over checking out the women. Perverse? Probably, but they'd be gone half a damn year! Couldn't be expected to work all that time, and it was a while since he'd hooked up. Even with all the Ishimura's amenities, space was cold and empty. He knew from experience that sleeping with someone alleviated both those problems.

The one who stood out the most was a cute blonde sitting a little to the left of him. She seemed almost as nervous as him, though she tried to hide it without much success. Honestly, he might have introduced himself were it not for the muscular, ponytailed mountain of a man sitting between them. I'll talk to her if I see her onboard.

Speaking of onboard, the craft jolted as the guidance tethers kicked in, creating a strange vertigo he never quite got the hang of. Nobody vomited, at least; a good sign. The trip was even quicker than he expected. A minute later, the shuttle settled, and its rumbling engines faded away.

"We have arrived at the USG Ishimura," the same artificial voice again said over the intercom. "Please make sure you have your belongings. Further instructions have been forwarded to each individual RIG. Have a pleasant day!" The voice crackled for a moment before popping out of existence. The doors slid open, whirring as they did, and everyone stood up.

Curtis' heart pounded in his chest. Finally, after imagining this fanciful pipe dream for years, he was here. Like those stupid ads for Lightspeed bars said, it felt like a rocket in his stomach. By the time he emerged from the ship into the artificial hangar lights, he practically drooled.

For a moment, the glaring lights blinded him, but when his vision returned, he realized this would be worth it.

A huge hangar stretched before him, the largest he had ever seen on a spaceship. It amplified the voices around him so that loud became absolutely deafening, a constant roar. It was more like a city than he expected. Oh, I'm gonna like it here, he thought, feeling his smile stretch from ear to ear.

A few hundred people were already present, most of them filtering to the far end of the room as their shuttles flew back through the blue-tinged sealant grid and into the vacuum of space to the CEC orbital platforms for another batch of crew. He joined them, not even feeling in control of his own body. Rather, euphoria seized him, and he pulled up his holo-screen while following the designated path. Doing so while walking was generally discouraged, considering the screen obstructed one's view, but he wanted – no, needed – to see the whole ship right now!

It looked like most people, including him, needed to go to the Crew Deck for bunk registration. Awesome. I'll do that and then maybe there'll be time to –

Clang!

Before he registered the noise, he was flat on his back, groaning. A fire burned in his head as he writhed on the floor. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened; he slammed right into a wall. There was a reason people didn't walk and read at the same time, and he'd forgotten it in his haste to sightsee. Fuck me.

With his back still against cold metal, he felt two massive hands on his shoulders. Opening his eyes, he saw the ponytailed man through a blurry filter.

"Are you all right?" the enormous man asked with a surprisingly soft voice. Or maybe the raucous din just made it seem that way. Several other people gathered around, all except him amused by Curtis' plight. Frustration again flared within his chest. He realized deep down that it was immature, but he didn't want to be seen as weak. Not seconds after arriving!

"I'm fine." Curtis rebuffed his assistance, staggering to his feet and bracing himself on a guardrail. Thankfully, the others moved on with the flow of people now streaming past. He sucked air through his teeth; damn, his head hurt!

"You're bleeding, you know." Just as the man said this, a thin stream of blood trickled down his temple and spattered the floor.

Yeah, that's real fucking helpful. What he said out loud was a bit more polite, however. "Ugh… do you know where Medical is?"

"It's four stops away on the tram system. Do you need help – " Before he finished his sentence, Curtis already left, dripping a trail of blood across the corridor.

…

"Welcome to the Medical Deck," that same damn sappy synthetic voice said. Maybe it was just because he was profusely bleeding out the head, but it suddenly seemed really, really annoying. Must have been the standard CEC artificial "intelligence", considering he'd heard it all day – the space station, the shuttle and now the Ishimura itself.

He didn't need to push his way through people, at least; they understood where the man with a bloody tissue pressed to his forehead was trying to go. Thankful, he stepped onto the ominous platform. If there was any doubt about his location, the words MEDICAL DECK printed into the floor didn't leave much to the imagination. A second later, the tram car's door slipped shut and the vehicle blasted off to the next leg of its eternal journey, sucking some of the gray fog that filled the tunnel along with it.

For the first time in a long while, Curtis was alone. That unnerved him. Not even the sound of engines comforted him, as the ship was still stationary.

Putting aside unease for the actual pain, he set off down one of the halls. According to his holo-screen (which he now stopped walking to read) this was the way to the emergency room. He didn't think the wound was life-threatening – by the Marker, he hoped not – but he was no doctor. He was just there to dig up ore, the one thing in the galaxy he was good at.

"Hello?" he called as he walked down the hall. It echoed against the metal before slowly fading away. A knot grew in his stomach. While he knew the Clogger wasn't going to jump out of the shadows and stab him to death, the lack of sound and smell made the walls press down on him. He'd lived in cities all his life: the North Carolina Hubs, Mars Capita, the Sprawl. They operated endlessly, as this ship soon would, and the fact that he might have been the only person on this deck was a genuinely alien experience, a little stranger than leaving Sol, even.

Wait a second… only person on this deck? He sighed, leaning against a wall. Short-sightedness struck again. He couldn't receive treatment if the doctors hadn't arrived! Whatever, he was already here, and it didn't sound like Crew Deck check-in was urgent, so he supposed he could loiter a few minutes.

Another flare of pain made him groan; some things were best worried about when not hemorrhaging out the head. A minute later, he reached a large waiting room. Damn, where do I go from here? "Hello?" he again called with no response but his own voice whispering back.

Still, better that he was there for a cut rather than some of the other injuries a space miner could sustain: getting burned by engines or crushed by an asteroid or bombarded with radiation or lacerated by machinery. There were a million ways to die in space, but fortunately, Planet Crackers were outfitted with the best curative technology in the galaxy. The Ishimura was definitely a safer work environment than the cheap Magpie haulers he'd worked in the past. Right as he thought that, a small blurb about the morgue being renovated popped up on a holo-screen, and a chill passed through him.

"May I help you?"

Caught unaware, Curtis whirled around to see a woman in a white medical uniform standing in one of the doorways, staring at him with concern. When their eyes locked, his brain sputtered, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. Wait, she's that lady from the shuttle! The same realization seemed to dawn on her, but she ignored it for more important matters.

"That's a serious cut. Come with me," she said, beckoning to him.

Not needing to be told twice, he followed her down a short corridor punctuated with images of smiling physicians who extolled the wonders of the Ishimura's state-of-the-art medicine… with the CEC logo slapped in the corners, of course. Soon, they emerged into what could only be the ER, with cots and IV drips set up for particularly bad cases. The place was spotless white, unlike the rest of the ship, which was as dark and stained as any 62-year-old craft should be.

She walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a small gray cylinder that was very familiar in his line of work. Returning, she handed it to him and said, "Rub that around on your forehead. Should heal in a few hours." Breathing a sigh of relief, Curtis dipped two fingers into the cyan gel and lathered it about, relieved by the cooling sensation. He had no clue how Med Packs worked, but who was he to question science? Meanwhile, the doctor was busy booting up some complicated-looking medical doodads.

He had half a mind to just leave, considering she was obviously busy, but with the pain fading, he realized what an asshole he was to the guy who tried to help him earlier. Didn't want to make the same mistake again. And, if he was being honest, he still thought she was pretty cute. "Thanks for helping me. I worried no one would be here."

To his surprise, she frowned and shook her head. "So was I. This equipment needs checking, after all. The rest of the medical team is stuck in quarantine; the only reason I got through is because I'm the Senior Medical Officer."

Curtis didn't know exactly what that meant, but it sounded impressive. Impressive enough that he probably didn't have a shot with her. Kind of disappointing, but hey, there were hundreds or thousands of other women aboard. "So you're the head doctor around here?"

"Exactly. Not as cool as it sounds, though. It means I do the most paperwork and get a little plaque on my desk. It's not like I'm EarthGov's Surgeon General." She turned away again. "I'm overwhelmed. I've never been in charge of something this scale before."

"Same here. If it makes you feel better, I've never even left Sol before."

A little intrigued, she asked, "Really?" to which he nodded. That was uncommon in this age of interstellar travel. The journey excited him just as much as the destination. "Huh. Everybody I know has been out at least once or twice. Trips are getting more affordable."

The throbbing in his skull slowly subsided as the seconds passed. If the doctor wanted to talk for a little while, that was fine with him. Might as well wait for the Crew Deck crowd to thin a bit. Besides, he wanted to make friends this trip… and knowing the SMO might prove a fortuitous connection. If he ever did get in an accident, maybe she'd give him priority.

"I never found the time, but I've wanted to for a while. So here I am."

"And you get paid for it," she replied with a smirk, on her knees fiddling with some pharmaceutical device.

Should have seen that coming. "Fine, you got me." He raised his hands in mock surrender, which made her roll her eyes. "But the Ishimura's the most famous spacecraft in history. I wouldn't be a real miner if I didn't serve here at least once."

"Miner, eh? What's your specialty? Processing? Ore extraction? Working the gravity tethers?"

"Dabbled in everything, but extraction's my favorite. There's nothing like breaking open billion-year-old rocks and seeing what's inside. Plus it's more fun to navigate a zero-gravity environment than stand around a conveyor belt." Before long, he'd launched into a detailed monologue. His profession was the only topic he felt knowledgeable enough to discuss in any detail, so he got really into it. Not like he had anyone else to tell all this.

He did try to cut it short, though, wrapping up after a few minutes. By this point, the agony vanished completely, leaving him much happier. "I guess I'm just happy to have met someone who's new to the ship; I get the impression most people here have worked planet cracks before."

"So am I," the doctor responded. "But I'm excited. My boyfriend's done engineering work on the Ishimura before, and he couldn't stop talking about what a great ship it is. That's what made me take the position. In other words, I'm not interested." Curtis immediately deflated, and his face grew hot. She knew the whole time exactly what he was doing and how to stop it.

"I – I'm sorry!" he stammered, his face cast toward the floor. "I really didn't mean to offend you or know you were with someone! Please forgive me!" Admittedly, he was never great with women… or people, for that matter, but it wasn't usually this apparent.

She was about to reply when the door they'd previously entered through opened, revealing a rotund man in the same type of uniform the doctor wore.

"Am I interrupting anything?" he asked with an accent Curtis couldn't quite place, shocked to see someone already injured.

"No," she answered. "Are you here to see somebody?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. Would you happen to know the whereabouts of Dr. Brennan?"

"You're looking at her."

"Splendid!" The man walked over, and they shook hands. "I'm CSO Terrence Kyne. I wanted to stop by and introduce myself; the Chief Science and Senior Medical officers typically work in tandem."

Curtis breathed a silent sigh of relief; ashamed as he already was, he didn't need to get chewed out, and this made a good distraction. Better to just cut his losses and leave. Filled with embarrassment, he slunk toward the door. It was pretty much ideal. Though brightly lit, "Dr. Brennan" faced away from him, and the floor was some kind of stain-resistant laminate rather than metal, so his footfalls didn't make quite as much noise.

"Could I get your name, rank and RIG number? I'll have to file a report about this."

Of fucking course. Just wanting to leave, he spouted out, "Curtis Mason, Class 5 Miner, RIG number 492770," before placing his hand on the blue hologram in the door's center. It slid into the ceiling, and he flitted out of the room. He suspected he'd have to get used to stating those three facts a lot in the next six months.

…

"Where am I?" Curtis mumbled as he rambled through the halls, utterly lost. Earlier, being alone both terrified and thrilled him. After his encounter with Dr. Brennan, though, those feelings merged into one of annoyance. Not at her, of course – he wasn't (or hoped he wasn't, at least) one of those assholes who measured a woman's worth by how likely she was to sleep with him. No, the blame lay squarely at his feet for flirting with someone he'd just met.

To be fair to himself, though, such behavior was the norm on most gigs. Most miners, whether EarthGov sanctioned or illegal Magpies, weren't exactly known for subtly. Such direct conduct was usually expected, if not encouraged.

But this was a Planet Cracker. Not just any Planet Cracker, either: it was the USG Ishimura!

All of humanity depended on the minerals and ores extracted by it. The people aboard were a different breed, far more professional than the uneducated two-bit spacers who trawled the Kuiper Belt… which included him, much as he hated to admit it.

Why did the CEC even hire me? he thought, pausing for a moment to see if he could spot any landmarks. Not to complain, but it seemed odd to receive an offer when he wasn't distinguished in any way. There were literally thousands of people in the same situation, harvesting the few remaining resources of Sol. While not as mineral-abundant as the colonies, that was offset by easy access to the largest market in the galaxy and low set-up costs. Well, thank Altman I'm here. I shouldn't be questioning this… and where the Hell is the tram?!

This place was a fucking maze. The map on the ship-wide Transnet server confused him even more; he'd never worked on a vessel with so many levels (about 100 arranged vertically), all divided between different "Decks" which intersected in several places. Plus, the Locator system wasn't yet online. Exasperated, he stomped down another hallway at random, this one looking no different from all the others.

With the pain gone, though, and his irritation fading slightly with time, he could actually appreciate the technological wonders around him. While the ship was more than six decades old, its craftsmanship was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The vid logs didn't do it justice. Even that simple corridor looked hewn from solid metal. With the angular, powerful design, it was a mobile mountain. From small cracks and dents in the walls, the cold air blowing against his skin, it felt practically alive. That could be said about a lot of ships, but this one was special.

Heh, if I'm this enamored with the hallways, I'll have to check out the Mining Deck! He practically salivated at the thought of getting to bounce asteroids around a room the size of a football stadium! But he'd have time later. Right now, he needed to find –

He did a double take upon seeing the sign: glowing green with a tram emblazoned on it and an arrow pointing to the right. "Finally," he said, feeling like a desert nomad who'd just come across an oasis. Rounding the bend, he found himself back at the station he arrived at. Still completely empty. However, he paid more attention without the blinding agony.

A dark, spooky tunnel ran infinitely in both directions into dark oblivion. There were also some plush benches, a dichotomy that amused him. Besides those, it wasn't too different from the subway stations he rode in the Hubs. Well, and the lack of people. Again, that would change once operations were underway.

He walked over and settled into a comfy seat. The near-total silence was occasionally broken by strange sounds far above or below him. Again, the unnerved feeling returned. There was just nothing alive except the ship itself.

A howling echo pulsed through the chamber as the tram screeched in. The sudden noise would have scared most people, but Curtis felt thankful. Without hesitation, he boarded alongside several other people. With that, they took off down the winding tunnel.

…

That's more like it, Curtis thought, enjoying the company of several hundred of his new closest acquaintances as he worked through the crowd. This time, there was no attendant, meaning he didn't have to recite "Curtis Mason, Class 5 Miner, RIG number 492770" yet again. No, he got his living arrangement spun straight to his RIG, and, to the CEC's credit, everyone's assignments seemed accurate. It couldn't have been easy to send a thousand different bunk numbers to a thousand different people.

Therefore, he reached Sleep Block A, bed 127 B within a reasonable amount of time, his home for the next six months. Most people had already come and gone by that point, allowing him to navigate without much difficulty. I've seen worse. The bed was pretty comfortable, and there was a shade he could pull down to block the ambient light. Plus it didn't reek… yet. Hundreds of sweaty miners milling about would soon make the room far less pleasant, so he'd enjoy what time he had.

Needing to rest a moment, he sat on his bunk and pondered everything. Earth would soon be light-years behind him, and an entire universe lay ahead. Much as he wanted to remain levelheaded, the prospect both elated and horrified him. Maybe it was old hat to these interstellar travelers, but he was about to see promises and dangers from distant stars for the first time. It held potential. Whether for good or ill was too soon to say.

Maybe we'll meet some aliens, he thought, lying down. That'd be the day!

A few minutes later, his stomach growled. Time meant little up here, but he realized it'd been several hours since he last ate. Normally, he'd hold out until his assigned mealtime, but those only began once they reached their destination. The ship must have departed soon, so now was a good time to find some grub. Stretching, he rose and moved toward a pub he spotted on the way in.

He quickly reached it: a small bar overlooking the Crew Deck's massive main lounge with a sign proudly proclaiming that all its produce came from "Ishimura Farms". That was hilarious to him, especially the farmhand in the old-timey spacesuit, although people from the colonies might not have understood the irony. Here was the action! He slid onto a stool and looked out the windows.

There was Earth, a green-blue orb silently hovering as spacecraft zoomed back and forth like wasps. He was no poet, yet something always moved him about the sight. People called him and old soul, and maybe he was. The 26th Century was amazing, but sometimes he wouldn't have minded living in the old days, where there may as well have been nothing up here. Curtis, you are strange.

The bartender came over, and he ordered a glass of Kirkwall whiskey, his favorite. There'd be more to come. I'm going to get fucking wasted. Drinking on the job was probably the worst thing a miner could do, so he'd remain completely sober once the crack started. For the next few days, though, there was little else to do, so why not get hammered? The rest of the crew seemed to agree, seeing how many raucous bodies crowded around various tables with drinks in hand.

He looked around, scanning various posters and holo-screen advertisements on the walls. There was one for the Z-Ball court, of course. Might join a few games later, he thought, sipping on the dark, sour liquid. It'd help me readjusted to a Zero-G workspace. Might also introduce him to some friends. But probably not. Never had any before.

Other than that, there were several schlock movies that the CEC must have gotten the rights to screen in the Ishimura's theater, such gems as Shaolin Monk Vs. Space Ninja, Hot Duo and Rancid Moon, which Curtis was a big fan of – he remembered going to see it as a teenager and laughing his ass off at the awful script and excessively gory special effects. Also Kitty Kitty Bang Bang, which had been stuck in development limbo for several years. We'll see about that. Plus all the ones on the on-board streaming service.

Then something else caught his eye, far less garish than the other displays.

Unitologist Opening Prayer – 1 Hour Prior to De-Shock

Begin or Continue your Relationship with the Marker

Featuring a Special Announcement from Captain Benjamin Mathius

Feeling a pang of guilt, he eyed the drink in his hand before reluctantly putting it down. Unitology didn't have a problem with alcohol itself, but with drunkenness… as well as all things that harmed the body. I should check that out.

Many of the expeditions he'd participated in catered to Unitologists, but given that this was the Ishimura, he expected something spectacular. Maybe it'd get me into the faith, too. For a long time, Curtis toed the line. He wanted so much to believe in the religion, to be part of something bigger than himself. There was great beauty in it… but something within him refused.

It might have been that he was a natural skeptic. Or perhaps the steady stream of Unitologist terrorist attacks weighed on his mind. Regardless, he wanted very much to learn more. Why not? I might meet some people. Suddenly feeling more observant, he instead ordered a SUN cola.

The intercoms crackled to life, and a few people cheered before anything was said. Curtis' heart seized up for a second. The time had come.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Mathius speaking," said a husky male voice, probably quite along in years. At least it wasn't that damn robot. "We are completing final checks now. Everyone is aboard and accounted for. In just a few moments, we'll be departing for Aegis VII." Another round of applause, and this time he joined in. So close!

After a few other miscellaneous announcements, the Captain wrapped up with, "And to the more spiritual members of our fine crew, there is a Unitologist prayer meeting prior to de-shock. Trust me, you won't want to miss it." That last sentence held something Curtis couldn't quite place. The best he could come up with was… hunger.

With that, the system clicked off. All there was left to do was wait and brace himself. Having never entered shockspace, he wasn't sure what it'd feel like.

"Aw, great," the man sitting next to him slurred to no one in particular.

Though probably just drunken annoyance, Curtis found himself compelled to ask, "What?"

"The Captain's a fucking Marker-Head, that's what. I swear they're all over this ship." An angry heat sprang up in his gut, and he felt his hands clench. Even if he hadn't converted, people like this pissed him off. Sure, some anti-Unitology sentiment might be OK – Hell, it was good to think critcally! But insulting a man he'd never met for his faith… it angered him.

Of course, he couldn't do anything about it. He wasn't about to start a fight over this. No, the best thing to do was leave him alone. And that's just what he did, walking over to another seat and planting himself in it right as the floor began to gently rumble.

Engines online.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Earth shrank in the windows. He suddenly felt very alone. And he hated it.

Then, in an instant, the universe he knew vanished, and in its place was a turquoise void, a beautiful torpid aether. Shockspace. It took his breath away. He'd seen pictures, vids from school in science class and plenty of films. But being there for the first time actually made him cry a little. He was so, so small, so unimportant compared to this. Then again, that feeling wasn't exactly new. Right then and there he decided he'd attend the revival or whatever it was. Unitology was all about finding meaning in togetherness, becoming part of a big, glorious One. Right now, he needed that.

Taking some complimentary peanuts, he just sat a while, staring out into the aurora and pondering his place in the universe. The day's toll began to catch up with him, and he leaned back, letting the colors wash over him. Though the place was quite loud, he was used to ignoring that. Before he went under, he thought, I made the right choice by coming.