A/N

So, recently (at this time of writing) there was an interview with Eurogamer describing the intended gameplay and plot of Dead Space 4. A game that we'll almost certainly never see, and even if by some miracle we do, won't be done by the original developers. Can't say I'm overly happy about that. :(

Anyway, drabbled this up, based on said statements.

In the Dead of Space

Watching the slavering monstrosity scampering down the corridor to meet her, Ellie Langford realized something – she was no longer afraid.

The realization thankfully didn't prevent her from cutting said monstrosity in half with a beam of plasma, nor did it stop her from bringing her foot down on the creature's head. If anything, the realization made the job easier. She'd killed dozens of these things over the years. Still, there was always the fear, deep down somewhere, that this could be it. That this could be the moment when her luck and/or skill gave out. But now…it no longer mattered. Very little seemed to matter now. Even the knowledge that the USG Vicarious was likely holding more of these things didn't seem to matter. The flotilla would survive, or it wouldn't. She and her companions would survive, or they wouldn't. The Vicarious would have the supplies they needed, or it wouldn't.

She and her team continued on down through the corridor. There were no words spoken between them. No jokes, no banter, no anything that normal, psychologically sound humans did. Of course, none of them could be called "psychologically sound." The psychologically sound didn't drift through space in a flotilla cobbled from worlds ranging from Scorpio 6, to Shanxi, to Shalanx III, to Earth itself. The psychologically sound didn't wake up in the middle of night cycle screaming. The psychologically sound didn't space themselves rather than face another hour in the twilight of humankind. Heading down the corridor, she glanced through one of the observation ports – the darkness of space glanced back at her.

It didn't take them long to get to the bridge. It took them only slightly longer to dismember the necromorphs there. Necrotic flesh spilt coagulated blood, staining the deck as surely as their experiences had stained their souls. No word, no cry, no wail, at least, from any of the living. They were past that. Past the need, past the desire. The only words spoken were when she walked over to the comms station.

"Team One to Torchbearer, bridge is secured. Proceeding to download inventory."

"Roger that Team One. Torchbearer out."

The words were simple, for they had been uttered countless times. Just as this procedure had been gone through as well. Her team would take a log of the ship's inventory. If it was deemed acceptable, they'd risk descending into its bowels, stripping the hulk of whatever they could, and return to the flotilla. In the rare event that they encountered a ship crewed by the living, they'd make them a deal – join, or be dead. Morality had long since fallen to the wayside.

"Langford."

She glanced at her second – John…or James, she couldn't remember. His surname was Ho-Lee.

"Hmm?"

He showed her a diagram of the ship, pointing to its ShockPoint drive. It was still operational.

"The Aggretsuko could use that," he said.

"Think we have the time?"

"I think they have the need, and it's worth the risk." He paused. "It's your call."

No, James. It was definitely James. She forced a smile. "Alright James, get a team down there. Same drill."

"Of course." He went back to the terminal. "And it's John, actually."

"Oh."

She didn't kick herself. Kicking yourself was what you did when you could engage in the luxury of self-deprecation. And besides, she'd only worked with John once before. She'd used to work with Nina Johnson as her second, but she'd had the misfortune of having the upper part of her body separated from her lower half, and losing her head before being "avenged."

Avenged. In a different world, in a different time, the word had a nice ring to it. On Tau Volantis, she'd dared to hope that the citizens of Titan had been "avenged." But that was before Earth fell. Before the colonies fell. Before every human world had fallen to a tide of rotting undeath directed by oversized marbles with enough tentacles to defile the entire human race. Now, "avenging" or the mere concept of "revenge" were antiquated. Only the living heard the screams of the dying, and of those long dead. The living were more concerned with saving their own lives rather than avenging those long departed. A place that had to be better than this one, because Ellie had long come to believe in Hell.

She was living in it. They all were.

She found herself drifting. Mentally, as she thought of days that, while not good, were better than this. Days where she could feel solid ground beneath her feet, and live in non-artificial gravity. As she drifted mentally, she drifted physically as well. Towards the wall of plexiglas that separated the bridge of the Vicarious from the depths of space. As she drifted, she rested a hand against the window. Squinting through the gloom, seeing the flicks of the flotilla beyond – no Noah's ark, just a collection of smaller boats scavenging what they could. Knowing that every ship they came across was a potential trap set by the Brethren Moons.

"Langford?"

Was it from need, or spite, she wondered? Letting some ships escape Earth with 'sleepers' onboard? They had Earth (now a rock as dead as any planet-cracked world), and whatever life might remain in the galaxy, it was no threat to them. Or was it from need? The way an animal would hunt and devour its prey even if it wasn't hungry?

"Langford?"

She turned around, seeing John there. "Hmm?"

"We're on our way down." He paused, looking awkward. "We…ah…"

She nodded. "I'm on my way. Just…give me a moment."

He didn't smile – no-one smiled anymore. He just nodded and turned around, letting her gaze once more on the darkness beyond the window.

She got it. She'd survived necromorphs twice. Billions had failed to survive them even once. If they took comfort in her company, who was she to object? After all, despite her hopes, despite the occasion that her nightmares would be replaced by dreams, or rarer still, memories...well, who else could claim to have seen and done what she had?

Are you out there?

No-one. Not anymore. All that was left was her. A few thousand on a fleet falling apart at the seams. And ever dimming light in a universe gone dark. A universe that, from what she understood, had always been dark. Humanity had just been allowed to keep the lights on for longer than every other species that had fallen to the moons.

For a moment, she stood there. Looking into the darkness. Into the dead of space.

The next, she turned around to join the team heading down to C deck. To inspect the ShockPoint drive.

To exchange one darkness for another.