Halo: Dementia
- "In the dead of space, no one can't save you."
- ― Story Tagline
| Halo: Dementia | |
| What does it mean to be sane? | |
|---|---|
| Author | Another Poetic Spartan and Leo Fox |
| Date Published | October 17th, 2010 |
| Length | Unknown (Incomplete) |
| Author's Rating | Unknown (Incomplete) |
| [Source] | |
Summary[]
After docking with a derelict ship by the name of UNSC Union, mysterious events unfold on the Andromeda-class Space Station, the Cross. People start to disappear while others start to lose their grip on reality. Panic ensues and communication is cut. The security forces did whatever they could to ensure order but are overwhelmed by the mass of people. Choosing to hole themselves away, they have left the population to fend for themselves. But as panic creeps into the distraught populous, will anyone be left alive? In amongst this chaos, a man by the name of Davin Bower wakes up to find himself alone in his quarters. Suffering from amnesia, Davin fruitfully tries to remember his identity while he explores the seemingly empty space station he's currently aboard. But as he continues his journey, Davin slowly starts to lose his touch with reality as he starts to hallucinate horrifying creatures. But are these creatures real? Or as a result of Davin's slipping insanity?
Prolouge/Insomnia[]
22:01 HOURS -29 NOVEMBER 2546
THE CROSS, INTERPRIDE CLUSTER
IN ORBIT OVER CIRCE
The thralls of slumber could never be avoided.
The though of the approaching darkness, dreams, and possibility of never awaking frightened him as Russo Montressor walked cautiously through the darkened hallways of a ruined building. Weariness had spread through his body early before and he knew that wasn't good. Ever since the event, the days have felt long to him, the long hours digging into his bones. No matter how much Russo would like to welcome the rest he could not allow it. Even if he drifted off, floating away to the comforting sensation of relative safety, Russo would awaken with a pounding heart, sweating brow, and terror. It was a real life nightmare on the luxury station, the Cross.
Russo thought about how many of them were still left and sane. But he didn't know how many people inhabited the station as well as visited it. He guessed it was around a couple hundred, give or take. But that number constantly changed due to the constant new arrivals and leavers. Many times, the freighters came up nearly empty while other times they came packed with visiting families and many well off individuals. But now, he doubted that a fraction of that number still remained but he still hoped. Russo rubbed furiously at his eyes; sleep relentlessly called towards him, its hand beckoning to him.
Even with the fear coursing through his body, he couldn't help but not resist its lull towards a false sense of peace it entailed. "Just for a minute," he thought as he propped himself up against a somewhat cracked wall, he rested his head and his vision slowly blurred in a matter of moments. But his dreams of peace and quiet were not granted to him. Instead, Russo dreamt about the horrifying events that had landed him and everyone else into this place they had once thought was paradise.
Russo didn't know how it happened but he was sure it was several weeks ago or so he thought. He was on duty when he first heard the news that a family had disappeared, only to be found days later in the sewer system, decapitated, their empty eyes filled with terror. He cursed himself for brushing it aside back then. Security merely thought an escaped prisoner had done the act.. but they were wrong. After that, more people disappeared, with them being discovered to either be dead or in a highly catonic state. Murders and other crimes were reported for the next couple of days with security doing whatever they could to deal with the situation. Then on one seemingly calm day, you could say that all hell broke loose. Riots occurred throughout the station, the denizens apparently fueled by a squabbling insanity and rage. Those few who were unaffected did whatever they could to stem the situation. Namely the security force were largely unaffected, with them baring themselves within the administrative building of the station along with any sane person they could find. Isolated, they tried to outlive the situation. However, that quickly changed to something else. Russo was the first too notice the change in Private Forrest's attitude while no one else didn't. It wasn't very obvious but he became increasingly pale, his eyes continued to precariously dart back and forth, as if expecting to see some unknown force to pounce on him. Before this, Forrest declared he wasn't religious but after the event unfolded, he was often found gripping his crucifix, constantly muttering psalms and verses from the Bible, namely from Luke and John. Worried and feeling a sense of dread, Russo reported the ominous change to his commander but he ignored him, stating that they needed every man. Russo continued to fervently argue with the man but it largely fell on to deaf ears. Several days had passed and when Russo was talking to someone, he had suddenly heard a large bang and several large shouts. Thinking it was them trying to break through, he rushed to the origin of the noise, only to be met with the body of their deceased commander, lying in a pool of his own blood near the building gate with a crazy-eyed Private Forrest standing over him, pistol in hand. Laughing maniacally, Forrest declared they had no way of surviving. With that statement, he opened the gate, letting in dozens of them through while he himself was killed by the ensuing mob. Russo and the security force tried their best to defend everyone. But they ultimately failed. Ranks broke. Panic ensued. And everyone fled for their lives. However, Russo didn't leave his objective. He continued to protect people as they fled but then everything black. Waking up in what seemed to be hours, he discovered himself on the floor, surrounded by the bodies of comrades and enemies alike. Standing up, Russo walked towards the ruined landscape, knowing that he could die in an instant.
He awoke from his daydream with a pounding start, sweat on his brow and exhilarated gasps. Instantly getting up, Russo checked his surroundings, afraid something had infiltrated the perimeter while he was "away". I can't trust the surroundings anymore. He thought. For some time now, Russo had started to see things moves with gray blurred figures moving around and following him. On more than one occasion, they seemingly attacked him, only to disappear moments later. Other times, he thought he saw his comrades in the buildings but when Russo got there, it turned out be a derelict item.
"Things don't look that bright." Russo said to himself. "Look, I'm talking to myself. How sane is that?!" Sighing, he made his way through the building's darkened hallway, unsure of what he would find ahead of him.
The vacancy of the building was both disorienting and nerve racking - he had already explored several floors, half expecting to see someone coming towards him. But all he encountered was a variety of janitorial units and ruined office equipment. Walking up the filth ridden stairs, Russo had made his way into floor 4, where storage was located. Turning right, he entered a room filled with upturned chairs and file cabinets and piles of papers strewn everywhere. Motionless, Russo stood in the room, as if he was expecting something to pop out. But nothing did. Just then, an abrupt echoing erupted from the hallway Russo came from. He stopped dead in his tracks, slowed his breathing and listened. Another echoing came again. "Shit. They're here," He thought. Peering his head, he listened again, eventually making out slow breathing. And it was coming closer. The steps it taken were loud and noticeable, its coming obvious.
Russo turned around and moved foward, intent on getting what he came for. Quickening his pace, he looked at the walls for any indication of the storage room. Looking back, he saw faint movement in the dark, coming closer. Quickening his pace, he went from corridor to corridor, continually glancing up for the sign that said STORAGE. To his dismay, weariness started to slowly creep into his body. His body issued a pained growl, his stomach has been empty for days. Its a miracle Russo had enough energy to make it this far, his starvation eating his body away. Only by finding the room, his suffering will come to an end and he will rest in peace. Russo started to slow down, slowed by the pain building up in his body. Fear filled his mind as the thing trailing him came closer and closer. Taking long breaths and ignoring his weariness, he pushed his body at its very limit, using his last bit of energy and willpower to move himself forward.
Making a turn to the right, Russo continued to push forward. When he lifted his head up to see any indication, his heart took a leap. Right in front of him was the room. Its glossy tag beckoning to him. As he made a quick glance to the back, he saw the creature right behind, it coming dreadfully close. It roared and started to move faster, possibly knowing that its prey was close to getting away. Inch by inch, Russo started to come closer, his heart racing faster than before. "I'm so close. Its right there," He thought. Gathering himself, he leapt towards the room, rolling himself upon impact. Grasping the door knob, he immediately slammed the door, locking himself away from the thing outside. Russo stood there, waiting for a response from the creature. As if it heard its thoughts, he heard it shriek in anger outside and slam at the door until it gave up. The noises it did eventually resided and it was quiet again. Breathing heavily, he wearily sat down, a smile slowly formed on his face. Content with his hard earned victory, Russo looked at the containers, making sure he arrived at the correct destination. As he continued to explore the room, he felt something thick and wet fall upon on his face and shoulder. At first, he thought he was imagining it but more kept falling on him. Grimacing, he put his hand on the his shoulder, finding something white and oozy. Fear started to fear his mind and he slowly arched his head to face the ceiling. But as he did so, something had quickly grasped him and pulled Russo upwards, his leggings kicking in surprise. He futily struggled with the disfigured arms gripped around him but he was too week to do anything significant. Realizing his eventual fate, Russo opened his mouth to scream his last scream but to his horror, no sound came out. Wide-eyed with horror, darkness suddenly engulfed him.
UNDER THE CONSSTRUCTION/Retconned[]
20:45 HOURS -16 NOVEMBER 2546
THE CROSS, INTERPRIDE CLUSTER
IN ORBIT OVER CIRCE
Nancy O'Neil stared emptily at the vaulted ceiling, gazing at it for several moments. She moved uneasily around in her chair, taking positions of varying comforts, in hope of finding her "zone". Making a grimace, she sat back in her chair and played with her fingers. "Everyday is just like this. I'm here sitting in this communications chair, bored out of my mind, waiting for transmissions. Hardly anything worthwhile happens on this station." Nancy thought.
She frowned and crossed her arms and stared at the screen in front of her, her eyes taking a glazed expression. Right now, the screen was empty. But it was always like that. Maybe once or twice a month, Nancy would get something but it was usually a false alarm. Normally, Nancy would be out enjoying herself but an co-worker had called in sick and she was forced to come back, skipping one of her valuable days off. "Francine owes for this," Nancy growled, her eyes filled with contempt. Meanwhile, a large dot appeared on the screen, slowly coming closer. An indicator immediately started to blare, calling for her attention.
"What's this?" She thought, suddenly at attention. The image before her did not look that remarkable but it did indicate that it was a friendly.
"This is Luxury Station the Cross. We kindly ask you to stay where you are," She messaged the image. Silence was all that answered. To her surprise, the image seemed to be coming closer. Anxious at what it was, Nancy punched up the image on her screen, gasping. Before her was a
"
"There is this thing on the screen, sir. I can't quite make out what it is. But its coming towards the station." Nancy replied.
"I see. Have it go on the screen. Maybe we can discern what it is."
"Yes sir," replied Nancy. Turning her chair around, O'Neil quickly punched in several commands, and the object immediately materialized on the communications display.
"Activate the scanners and deep RADAR," asked Nolan. Nancy nodded and focused her attention on the controls and screen.
A lone camera swerved side to side, quietly recording the darkened hallway with its activated night vision. The hallway was usually filled with personnel: scientists, soldiers, engineers, and passengers were typically moving about, trying to make it to their destination. But now, the hallway was empty...and silent.
Back on the Bridge, Nancy was watching her screen, as the sensors compiled an image of the contact - which was rapidly becoming a three dimensional image.
"Sir, contact identified! Its a UNSC Frigate, of unknown classification. Its not responding to hails!" Nancy reported to Nolan.
"Very well. Continue attempts to hail the vessel, and notify Lieutenant Commander Sakata of the situation. She'll want to know about what is transpiring," Nolan stated.
Chapter 1[]
2355 HOURS, 16 NOVEMBER 2546
THE CROSS, INTERPRIDE CLUSTER
IN ORBIT OVER CIRCE
Lieutenant Miles Thatcher swung the hammer gripped in his hands, impacting the wrench he had clamped on a nut of a pressure manifold with a earslipping clang. The 24-year old Lieutenant was working deep inside the engineering spaces that made up the bowels of the civilian space station Cross. This specific pressure manifold was a key component of the primary water pumping mechanism that provided water to the "lower" decks of the station. He reached down to the wrench and gave it a tug. It held fast, which told him that the device was as secure as it was going to be. It always amazed him that a single engineering malfunction could disable something as large and powerful as a warship.
Miles Thatcher was one of the few UNSC Navy engineers aboard the Cross. The rest of the engineers were civilians - and earning a crapload more then he was, for doing a hell of a lot less work. Well, it wasn't like he was in the Navy for the money, so much as being forced into it. At least he had a sidearm - which was damned handy when the civilians aboard the vessel rioted - which had happened twice already. He had to go so far as to draw and train his sidearm when the last riot happened a month ago.
Thatcher had not grown up with all the riots from the outer colonies, having grown up in the Inner Colonies, and moving to Earth with his family when he was 15. He enrolled into York University on Earth, working towards a degree in Marine Engineering, with a undergraduate in Physics - and was 5 months from graduation - when he was drafted into the Navy, as per the Draft Act of 2534. Due to his position as an University student, and the need for qualified engineers in warships was growing ever more, the Navy allowed Miles to conclude his education and graduate from University - before being shipped off to a four-month course at Officer Training School on Luna.
Upon graduation, he had been stationed onboard a total of three warships, during a grand total of four battles. He earned the grade of Lieutenant in early 2545. During his last assignment on the UNSC Wales, a Frigate he was stationed on, was gutted during the battle, and Miles and the rest of the surviving crew were forced to abandon ship. Following this close encounter to death, Miles put in a request for a safer assignment.
Not because he was a coward. He didn't exactly fear death - he just didn't want to die. But perhaps someone in the chain of command above him mistook his request for reassignment that way. Whatever the case, this was it. A post on a civilian space station.
Well, it was better then combat - no direly emergency repairs to conduct, with the risk of being incinerated or blown into the inky vacuum of space.
Miles bent down, and unclamped his wrench from the nut, and pocketed both tools in his fire-proof red engineering service coveralls. The young engineer sighed as he stood back up, and withdrew his Engineering TACPAD from his breast pocket. He manipulated a few settings, running diagnostics on the water system, while enabling the flow of water down the pipe. The TACPAD beeped, providing feedback informing him that the system was working again.
Well, that was unusually easy, Miles thought, as he pocketed the small computer, and wandered back down the maintenance shaft, towards the Engineering breakroom, his holstered pistol on his right hip knocking against the side of his upper leg with every step he took.
He'd been on the station for two and a half months now - long enough that the novelty of being on a safe assignment had been replaced by boredom. This assignment was really turning out to be a naval booby prize. Which raised the question of who exactly he angered or offended to get it...
Miles came to the Engineering breakroom, withdrew his identification card, and slid it through the scanner beside the door. The scanner blinked from red to green, and unlocked the door. The Lieutenant opened it, and wandered in, closing the door behind him.
He quickly skimmed the large breakroom, and realized it was empty.
''Thats a surprise, he thought, somewhat surprised. The civilian engineers do their utmost to spend the most time in here as possible. What could possibly cause them to all leave to do their work? he pondered, before suddenly putting two and two together and not liking the results.
Oh hell, someone must have told them to get back to work - someone outside of Engineering... Lieutenant Thatcher concluded in his head. He scanned the room again, and noticed a figure sitting at one of the tables, facing away from him, clad in an olive drab duty tunic and matching pants, drinking from a coffee mug.
Lieutenant Commander Shirabe Sakata. The Commander of the Naval and Marine contingents aboard the Cross.
Miles quickly approached his superior officer, came to attention, and saluted. He waited until his Commander raised and lowered her hand to return the salute, before starting his conversation.
"Ma'am, I was meaning to speak to you about the conduct of the other engineering officers onboard," Miles began, only to be cut off by the Commander.
"Yes, I am aware of the lack of productivity from some of the Officers who have been here longer then yourself - this has been a reoccurring issue. But thats part of the reason why I actually was sitting here - to commend you and to recruit you. I've just been briefed by the Bridge crew, who have informed me of an apparently derelict ship - a Frigate. Scans show there is still power onboard, and that life support is still operational, but the ship has not answered hails," Commander Sakata stated.
Sakata paused to take a sip of her mug of coffee, before she continued. "Since you seem to be one of the more duty-bound engineering officers aboard, I want you to lead a team of engineers aboard to examine the reactor and engineering spaces to see if it can be crewed and taken back to a UNSC-controlled system. I'll be leading a second team to figure out why the Frigate is here in the first place."
0108 HOURS, 17 NOVEMBER 2546
THE CROSS, INTERPRIDE CLUSTER
IN ORBIT OVER CIRCE
The Cross adjusted its course, chemical thrusters changing the trajectory of the vessel by a minuscule amount.
Lieutenant Commander Shirabe Sakata watched through the viewport of the bow docking umbilical, as the unpowered UNSC Frigate slowly approached. Clad in her olive drab working uniform, with a vest of M52B ballistic resistant body armor over her torso, and a set of kneepads, her gaze slowly shifted to the two squads of armed and armored Navy and Marine infantry stacked up along the walls of the umbilical, preparing to breach and clear the apparently derelict ship. Sakata looked down at her half-filled cup of coffee, and idly swirled it, the warm viscosious liquid inside wobbling about inside the short, hollowed out handled cylindrical container, also known as a mug. The Lieutenant Commander put the mug to her lips, and took a sip of the dark black caffeinated beverage, while she contemplated what she and her troops would find aboard the vessel.
This Frigate appears undamaged, she mused. What is it doing so far out of the normal UNSC areas of operation? This is a relatively empty area of UNSC controlled space...from what I know of the war right now, that warship should have been out scouting along the near edges of UNSC controlled space or with a Fleet.
The Cross fired its thrusters again, making course corrections, accounting for the unpowered and uncontrolled approach of the Frigate, so that the vessel would come directly into one of the Cross' external docking stations. Minutes passed, the Frigate drifting the distance between the two ships fairly quickly. As the Frigate came within a few hundred feet of the Cross, large magnetic clamps were deployed by the civilian dockmaster to take hold of the Frigate, and position it appropriately to allow docking.
Lieutenant Commander Sakata felt the umbilical shudder as it started being maneuvered to the Frigate's portside bow hatch. She hurriedly consumed her Coffee, bent over to put the mug down on the ground (she decided she would retrieve it and put it away properly at a later time), and to retrieve her M90 Close Assault Weapon System and CH252 Helmet.
The Commander straightened up, slotted the CH252 helmet over her head, and waited for the Heads Up Display on her ballistic goggles to pop up. The umbilical shook as it sustained a controlled collision with the Frigate's port bow. Sakata looked up, and read the Frigates name and number - only just visible now, as it was so weathered.
UNSC Union. FFG-163.
The umbilical finally came to stop, and the Lieutenant Commander walked down the umbilical, counting the troopers. She reached the end of the clear docking device, ensured that there was a good seal between the Cross and the Union, but that the pressures between the two ships remained unequal, before quickly briefing the UNSC servicemen and woman gathered in front of her.
"This is the UNSC Union. Hull number FFG-163. There is atmosphere aboard her, and the reactors are offline. Beyond that, we know nothing. Team one, you're with me. We're going to the bridge, to look up the logs, check the hangers, and find out where the crew went. Team two, you are with Lieutenant Thatcher. You'll be checking out Engineering, and checking the armories and vehicle bays. Keep in contact with your teams, and don't get lost. Lieutenant Thatcher, keep in contact with me, and report anything you find. I'll keep you in the loop, as well," Sakata concluded.
"Aye, ma'am," Lieutenant Thatcher said seriously.
"Team one, we're going in first. Flashlights on," the female officer ordered, as she turned around, equalized the airlock pressure, and opened the umbilicals hatch. She took a few steps forwards, and keyed a standard UNSC authorization code, and the Frigate's hatch slid open with a hiss, revealing the deep, dark abyss inside.