In Shield-7's near-earth orbit—
The dark star sea spread quietly, dotted with starlight and numerous vessels' running lights.
That Emperor-class battleship, which was a massive behemoth for the Dead Space universe or most universes, hung suspended in the void like a slumbering steel beast that could awaken at any moment.
At this time, warning lights suddenly illuminated inside the hangar, several mechanical arms slowly moving, pushing a Luna-class transport toward the magnetic levitation launch track.
Accompanied by low hissing from plasma valves and heavy physical airlock doors opening level by level, faint white light poured down, illuminating the transport's white and blue paint scheme.
Hum—!
Engine startup roars echoed through the magnetic levitation track.
The next instant, the transport spat blazing exhaust flames, suddenly breaking free from the hangar, cutting through the void toward the distant Ishimura.
The Ishimura still drifted on its silent orbit, like a motionless corpse, its broken hull shrouded in dark shadows, seemingly ready to disintegrate at any moment.
The transport steadily approached, guided by navigation systems, finally landing on the Ishimura's hangar runway.
Hiss—!
Accompanied by a low metallic grinding sound, the Luna transport completed docking, then bay doors opened, pressure valves emitting "hiss—" sounds.
Step, step!
Immediately, heavy footsteps rang out.
Over fifty auxiliary troops clad in CMC power armor poured from the cabin, their heavy armor gleaming with cold, hard steel texture under the dim light.
Their shoulder guards and breastplates bore Imperial insignia, their steps steady and powerful, instantly adding murderous atmosphere to the Ishimura's silent hangar.
Moreover, these soldiers were not ordinary recruits—their origins were rather special.
They all came from Universe-18, the StarCraft universe.
They were soldiers conscripted by the Empire during the integration of Universe-18, systematically trained and injected with Inquis serum, enabling them to wear CMC power armor symbolizing heavy firepower.
Though still vastly inferior to Astartes superhuman physiques, within auxiliary troop sequences, they were undoubtedly trustworthy blades.
Just as this group of auxiliary troops completed simple formation, a figure slowly stepped from behind the bay doors.
"Listen up, you little bastards, you all heard the Primarch's orders."
A hoarse voice with a hint of irreverence rang out, yet contained undeniable authority.
The tall commander walked through the crowd, standing before the formation, already drawing a cigar from his hand, skillfully lighting it. Firelight flashed in the dim hangar, then smoke curled upward.
He raised his hand to push open his helmet's faceplate, revealing that resolute face bearing a rebellious smile.
This commander was none other than Tychus Findlay, Jim Raynor's close friend, former fierce general among the Rangers, now one of the commanders of the Imperial Martial Legion's auxiliary forces.
"Search the entire corpse ship! Check every corner, don't let me miss any stragglers! Don't miss any survivors either."
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
Uniform, resounding responses echoed throughout the hangar, CMC armor's external communications making this momentum even more imposing, reverberating beneath the dilapidated steel dome.
Tychus took a deep drag of his cigar, smoke slowly exhaling from his nose, his distinctive voice seeming to smile yet not smile, carrying stability tempered by blood and fire:
"Hey, that's right, the Empire wants clean and efficient work."
In fact, the Imperial Martial Legion had "borrowed" these veteran forces from Universe-18 during its early establishment.
Strictly speaking, the Imperial Martial's first batch of auxiliary soldiers were precisely the continuation of former Ranger Marines.
They had once fought Zerg and Protoss in another galaxy, their will forged by blood and fire. Now they wore Imperial insignia, becoming new cornerstones of military strength.
Naturally, those former Ranger commanders also naturally became leaders of Imperial Martial auxiliary forces.
Tychus Findlay was among the most representative.
He was the type of commander who seemed casual yet could inspire unwavering loyalty at critical moments, deeply understanding how to drive these CMC power armor-clad warriors to maximize their firepower and discipline.
Next, airlocks leading to the Ishimura's main body were opened by technical engineers, emitting harsh metallic grinding sounds.
Then Tychus led over fifty CMC power armor-wearing auxiliary troops, stepping into the Ishimura's corridors.
The "thud thud" sounds of magnetic boots colliding with decking were particularly clear in the silent ship compartments, like striking new rhythms for this long-slumbering massive vessel.
Corridors still reeked of scorching and decay, bulkheads damaged in many places, obviously torn open by tremendous internal forces.
Brown bloodstains splattered bulkheads, dried into thick patches, with broken engineer suit wreckage scattered throughout, enough to imagine the chaos and carnage of that time.
Air still carried scorched scents, as if countless souls had been instantly incinerated here, leaving only congealed traces.
"Sector search!" Tychus's voice echoed through communications systems, "Advance by squads, watch every corner. Survivors—even just one—must be brought back."
"Yes, sir!"
Auxiliary troops responded in unison, then dispersed according to orders.
Heavy CMC power armor seemed clumsy in the dimness, but their individual system sensors constantly scanned, helmet screens showing red grid light patterns flickering across walls and floors.
However, they could capture almost only static coldness.
Necromorphs had completely lost activity the instant the Marker was sealed by Sui Meng. What now lay scattered on floors were merely rigid, twisted corpses.
Their forms were grotesquely horrifying—some still maintained half-human, half-aberrant postures, limbs extended, mouths rigidly opened in agony, others simply frozen in lunging positions yet devoid of any life.
Auxiliary troops advanced among these remains, footsteps and helmet filtering sounds interweaving, increasingly highlighting surrounding deathly silence.
They walked while checking compartments, some pushing open half-closed metal sliding doors to find floors covered with scattered tools, workbenches overturned—apparently when mutation suddenly struck, entire ship compartments were swallowed by fear and death.
"Damn..." one auxiliary trooper cursed quietly, "These people had no time to resist before being torn apart, or rather... self-mutilation?"
Tychus exhaled thick smoke, cigar ember flickering in darkness.
He didn't reprimand, instead responding coldly: "Keep your eyes open, soldier. This ship recorded humanity's most sobering lesson. Remember, the Empire gave you strength not to flee, but to face this kind of hell directly."
His words echoed through channels, stabilizing the oppressive atmosphere slightly.
Just then, slight vibrations came from deep within the vessel.
Not enemy attack, but signs of power systems restarting.
Engineering department technical engineers and Imperial Martial tech-sergeants had completed energy node repairs in the ship's core engine compartments.
With a "rumble—" of low-frequency vibration, the heavy steel giant seemed to awaken from slumber, energy flowing back through conduits, circuits lighting up one by one along bulkheads.
Dark corridors were immediately illuminated by cold white lights, like dawn's first light dispelling night.
Those bloodstains and remains that seemed terrifying in darkness appeared more real, more brutal under illumination.
Without shadow's concealment, all carnage ruthlessly presented itself before soldiers' eyes—
Severed limbs sprawled across passages, claw marks on bulkheads deeply embedded in metal, as if people had desperately tried to escape, ultimately dragged back into darkness.
"Lights on?"
One auxiliary trooper murmured quietly, relaxation in his tone.
"Don't let your guard down, you little bastard."
Tychus exhaled thick smoke, suppressing the oppression equally surging in his heart, "Lights just let us see clearer—this place's horror hasn't diminished one bit."
While speaking, he forcefully patted a nearby recruit's shoulder guard, nearly making the nervous young man stumble, yet refocusing him on his helmet's auspex radar and weapon in hand.
As illumination restored, auxiliary troops' sectoral searches gradually deepened, horrific scenes appearing one by one along the way.
Some found rows of dismembered laboratory staff in bulkhead depths, their ID badges scattered in pools of blood. Others opened compartment doors in residential areas to find entire dormitories stained red with blood, all crew members swallowed by terrifying forces in an instant.
Reports continuously came through communication channels from various squads:
"Sector Three has no survivors, found over twenty remains."
"Sector Six residential compartments cleared, situation identical to previous."
"Engineering section confirms no life signs, only numerous damaged equipment and wreckage."
Each report fell like a boulder on everyone's hearts.
Tychus listened silently to completion, slowly exhaling his cigar's last puff before speaking quietly: "Continue searching. Even if only one person remains alive, bring them back to the Empire. Remember, this isn't just orders—it's responsibility."
"Yes, sir."
Next, Tychus led a ten-man auxiliary group to a compartment sealed by security blast doors.
Then one soldier used individual systems to hack the blast door's control terminal for decryption.
Before long—
Hiss—!
Security blast doors opened amid harsh mechanical grinding, heavy door panels like wounds cut by blades, revealing still-dark, narrow space within.
The instant compartment and corridor fully connected—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Rapid pistol fire suddenly exploded, muzzle flashes bursting in darkness.
Bullets violently struck the breastplates of two charging auxiliary troops, sending up blinding sparks.
Clang! Clank!
Dull metallic echoes reverberated in the compartment, merely leaving scratches on CMC breastplates.
Those two front-charging auxiliary soldiers were completely undisturbed—their CMC power armor could withstand light weapon fire.
They paused momentarily, then raised bolter rifles, muzzles flickering with intimidating red targeting lights.
Accompanied by heavy voices, they shouted in unison:
"Drop your weapons!"
What followed were hurried, panicked shouts.
"Wait! Stop! Don't fire!"
A female voice rang out in darkness. Stepping back, a figure emerged from several survivors huddled in corners.
She moved quickly, throwing her pistol toward the deck, raising both hands, voice slightly trembling:
"I'm the Ishimura's security chief, Alissa Vincent! I'm human, not one of those monsters!"
As her words fell, the compartment's extremely tense atmosphere gradually eased.
In the dim space, several terrified survivors huddled together, faces pale, clothes ragged, bearing various blood traces.
Through their eyes, one could see numbness and wariness after enduring long despair and fear.
Alissa walked before them, her short red hair disheveled and stained, but those eyes still showed determination and coldness.
Her shoulders trembled slightly, jacket cuffs still bearing congealed bloodstains.
Even so, she still tried to straighten her spine, using a tough posture to mask inner exhaustion.
Tychus strode in, heavy metal boots stepping on the compartment's steel plate flooring, producing dull "thud, thud" sounds.
His helmet faceplate reflected cold light, making him appear like an unshakeable iron wall.
He didn't speak immediately, merely studying the woman before him with appraising eyes. After a moment, he spoke in a deep voice:
"Ishimura's security chief?"
Alissa took a deep breath, steadying her tone to respond:
"We've been trapped here... don't know how long. Those monsters came wave after wave, we're nearly out of ammunition and supplies. Seeing you appear, I finally dare believe we still have hope."
Tychus nodded slightly, raising his left hand in a gesture, signaling soldiers to lower gun muzzles slightly while remaining alert.
He trusted no surface words. He understood the mutations within the Ishimura—even if these survivors before him seemed normal, it didn't necessarily mean they were absolutely safe.
Just then, a report came through his earpiece from engineering department technical engineers, accompanied by low energy humming in the background, reporting the situation:
"All personnel attention, a search and rescue craft identifying itself as 'Kellion' is approaching our sector, trajectory pointing directly at the Ishimura. Identity and purpose unconfirmed. Recommend preparing interception."
Hearing this, Tychus didn't respond, then lit a new cigar, clenching it in his mouth. Then he exhaled smoke, raising his hand to open public channels, using his characteristically rough voice to order:
"Command, please respond, this is Tychus Findlay. We've found survivors aboard the Ishimura, confirming security chief Alissa Vincent's identity."
After brief silence, response came from the other end: "Received. Imperial Martial cruiser groups are adjusting fire control arrays. If Kellion continues approaching, will initiate interception.
Your primary mission remains ensuring survivor safety and confirming Ishimura status."
"Understood." Tychus nodded, then refocused attention on the compartment, gaze falling on Alissa again, slowly speaking:
"From now on, you and your people are under our protection. Stay honest, follow procedures, understood?"
Alissa nodded gravely, complex light flashing in her eyes.
She knew these heavily armored soldiers before her were completely different from federal forces they knew, but at this moment, only compliance could possibly bring true hope for survival.
Compartment lights flickered slightly. As power systems gradually restored, the long-silent Ishimura was finally pulled back to life's edge.
And in the distance, that gradually approaching Kellion was like a new "shadow" looming over them.
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