Marcus didn't have to wait long. Soon, the rhythmic thud of approaching footsteps echoed through the flight lounge. His keen hearing picked out four distinct sets, just as the original narrative dictated: the protagonist Isaac Clarke, and his accompanying crew members, Hammond, Daniels, and Chen. Johnston, the crewman with the injured leg, had been left behind on the crippled Sanctuary shuttle.
"Engineer Isaac Clarke," the cool, synthesized voice of the Ishimura's main computer chimed, "welcome to the USG Ishimura."
With a slow, deliberate groan, the previously sealed hatch began to retract. Isaac, unmistakable in his signature engineer's uniform, stepped through first. Behind him, Hammond, Daniels, and Chen followed, weapons gripped tightly in their hands.
The very next second, the lictor, which had been waiting, became terrifyingly visible. It shimmered into being, its razor-sharp claws pressing instantly against the throats of the armed Hammond and Chen. Thin trickles of blood already appeared on their skin; a fraction more pressure, and both men would be decapitated. Simultaneously, Marcus, with a flick of his wrist, sent his Psychic Flying Knife streaking through the air, knocking the pulse rifles from their stunned hands. They clattered to the floor, useless.
It all happened too fast. The four newcomers, still reeling from the crash landing, hadn't even begun to process the situation before they were completely disarmed and incapacitated. It wasn't until they felt the cold press of the terrifying lictor and saw the other looming shapes that they truly reacted. Hammond and Isaac, the more composed of the group, instinctively moved to retrieve their fallen pulse rifles. Daniels, without a moment's thought, spun and bolted back towards the now-open hatch.
"If I were you, I wouldn't think about resisting or escaping," Marcus remarked, his voice surprisingly calm, almost leisurely, as he remained seated in a dim corner chair. "Otherwise, my little pets might get agitated and tear you to pieces."
Hammond and Isaac, frozen mid-reach, felt the chilling threat at their throats and ceased their movements instantly. As Marcus spoke, a venomthrope slithered from the ventilation duct above, intercepting Daniels before she could reach the exit. Unarmed, Daniels had no choice but to comply, her eyes wide with terror. She had no doubt that the monstrous creature before her could shred her to ribbons in a heartbeat.
Marcus waved a hand, and his tyranids, who had been lurking in the shadows, emerged to form an impenetrable circle around the bewildered group. The lictor, meanwhile, sprinted towards the Sanctuary shuttle, still docked just outside the hatch. To the silent, grinding teeth of the captured crew, Johnston, who had been left behind, was soon dragged unceremoniously into the flight lounge by the terrifying creature. Johnston, who had been struggling fiercely moments before, went utterly still at the horrifying scene within the lounge.
Once everyone was present, Marcus dispatched two Tyranid Warriors to the Sanctuary. Their mission: to protect the ship's singularity core. This was a crucial preventative measure, designed to avert the original plot's outcome where a Necromorph destroyed the core, trapping the Sanctuary on the Ishimura.
"Who... who are you? What are these monsters? And what has happened on the Ishimura?" Captain Hammond, recovering from the initial shock, bravely voiced the questions burning in everyone's minds. Though in Hammond's eyes, Marcus was simply a strangely dressed man with an unfamiliar weapon, at least he spoke. He was, mercifully, someone they could communicate with.
Marcus rose, casually strolled over to Hammond, and bent down to pick up the two pulse rifles that had fallen earlier. He didn't immediately answer Hammond's barrage of questions; instead, his attention was fixed on the weapons in his hands. After a brief inspection, discerning the pulse rifle's basic firing mechanism, Marcus summoned a Hormagaunt. He then raised one of the rifles and unleashed a volley of bullets at the creature. The rounds pinged off the Hormagaunt's chitinous carapace, barely leaving more than a few deep indentations and thin trickles of black blood.
Marcus pursed his lips. As a military-grade weapon, the pulse rifle's stopping power was severely lacking. It was, in fact, inferior even to an industrial Plasma Cutter. In the Dead Space game, it was infamous for taking multiple bursts just to fell a single Slasher.
He casually tossed the pulse rifle aside. "My name is Marcus," he finally stated, removing the helmet he'd been wearing to reveal a human face. A collective sigh of relief escaped the five individuals surrounded by Tyranid Warriors. At least, beneath the helmet, was a person, not some monstrous alien.
"And I need to correct your statement, Security Officer Hammond," Marcus continued, "these aren't monsters. They are my Warbeasts." The Hormagaunt, which had just absorbed the pulse rifle fire, had already healed its minor wounds and now bounded back to Marcus's side, surprisingly docile, like a loyal dog. Seeing the ferocious creature behave with such obedience, the group found Marcus's words difficult to swallow. They'd seen genetically modified species before, but those were always uncontrollable, savage beasts. These "Warbeasts," however, clearly obeyed Marcus without question.
Hammond, ever sharp, immediately picked up on a crucial detail. "How do you know my name? I've never seen you before."
Marcus merely chuckled, not answering.
'I've played these games before...'
"As for the Ishimura," he said, gesturing towards the security control console in the lounge's compartment, "Engineer Isaac can go check it out." Isaac was equally surprised by Marcus knowing his name but, following Hammond's silent nod, he hesitantly moved towards the console. At this point, Isaac hadn't yet endured the ship's horrors; he wasn't yet the "strongest engineer in the universe." As he navigated past the predatory Tyranid Warriors, he was visibly nervous, his eyes fixed on their razor-sharp claws and the strange symbiotic weapons they wielded. The Warriors' crimson eyes, however, remained locked on Isaac's slow progress, transparent mucus dripping from their mouths—a chilling display, though under Marcus's strict command, no attack would come.
Reaching the security control console, Isaac quickly pulled up the Ishimura's damage report. The ship's structural diagram immediately appeared on screen. Sections that should have glowed pristine white were now overwhelmingly covered in stark red warning signs. Isaac was stunned; he had never imagined the Ishimura could suffer such extensive damage. After a moment's hesitation, he began to report:
"The communication and navigation systems are completely faulty... the engines have shut down... the hull armor has been impacted in many places... and the tram operating system is completely stalled—"
After delivering the grim litany of errors, Isaac obediently returned to Hammond and the others. "The Ishimura is a Planetcracker," Hammond exclaimed, a mix of disbelief and horror in his voice. "How could it possibly suffer such severe damage?" They all understood the immense value of a Planetcracker; it was almost inconceivable for such a gargantuan vessel to be in this state.
Just then, a faint scuttling sound came from the ceiling above them. The lictor instantly extended a claw, and just as before, it snagged and pulled out a Necromorph, pinning it firmly to the ground. The restrained creature thrashed violently, emitting terrifying, guttural roars. Compared to the grotesque but clearly alien Tyranid Warbeasts, the Necromorph, with its distorted, yet still recognizably human, form, triggered a profound uncanny valley effect in Isaac and the others.
"What is that?!" Isaac stammered, staring at the Slasher, clearly identifiable by the torn remnants of an Ishimura uniform still clinging to its grotesque body. His girlfriend, Nicole, was still on this ship. If the ship was full of these things—