Necrosis, the flesh will rot...

The crew of the USG Beagle are exposed to the sinister influence of a Marker Fragment. Necrosis follows Doctor Harvey Grayson and his efforts at surviving the horrors of the Necromorphs and the E.D.F.


In an orchid of synthetic life, among the reconstructed plants I stand and beneath my feet, blades of grass bend. The artificial breeze coursing from a nearby vent causes the leaves to rustle, their excited chatter similar to that of the people who stood around me. They were pointing toward something, all of them had seen it, but I couldn’t. I begin to press my way through the crowd, eager to reach the front, to see what all the commotion is about.

Something hot and sharp halts my progress. Pain soon follows the heat and begins to radiate through my body, from the wound I turn my focus to its origin. Mutilated and bloodied, before me stands a ghoul. Mouth torn agape and eyes bloodshot, the ghoul bore a hideous mien, from its arms came to compound fractures that gave rise to mangled scythes of bone. One of which the beast had thrust into my shoulder, the other hung limp.

They’re gone now, the people have all but disappeared, gore and spilled blood had now come to decorate the garden. I try to escape; the beast lets loose a guttural screech and raises its other grievous appendage to strike me. I close my eyes waiting for the pain to come but all that remains is dark oblivion, an all-encompassing night presses in on me, stifling my screams, for soundwaves cannot travel in space.

I wake with a start, lying in a pool of my own sweat, feeling nauseous, this wasn’t the first time such a dream had interrupted my sleep. The lights flicker on at my command, yet the darkness that had imposed itself on my subconscious lingered. It even found its way to plaguing my conscious thoughts, it had come crawling and clawing until it had torn its way to the surface, now the visage of the creature clung to the shadows that surround me. I simply had to ignore it.

With sleep induced lethargy I rose from my sweat-dampened sheets, I then slid my feet from the bed and lazily wiped the gunk from my eyes. I felt the contours of my mouth stretch as I let loose a goliath yawn, one that tempted me to recline once more, however almost in that very moment the blearing tone of a klaxon erupted from across the room. Absently scratching my head as I checked the digital display on my bedside table, it was four ‘o’ clock in the morning.

Lifting myself from the relative comfort offered by the bed, I shuffled over to the closet from which the noise was coming. With a quick swipe of my thumb the cabinet’s pneumatic door opened, cursing under my breath as I grabbed my RIG from the hanger it occupied. With a slight irritation I answered the call on the holographic display, “What is it?”

The panicked face of a young man was projected from the display onto one of the cabinet’s interior walls, “Um, Doctor Grayson. Doctor Walsh told me to call, there’s an emergency. They’re waiting for you in the operating room.”

Glaring at the projection of the fretting nurse with growing impatience, I sighed heavily before inquiring, “Which one?”

The clatter of charts and the youth’s self rebuking muttering only served to further my annoyance, “Look, call me again in five minutes with the details.” With a heavy hand I abruptly terminated the transmission before the nurse could respond; I now set about beginning my daily routine, which began with removing the RIG from the closet. Laying the outfit down on my bed I stripped myself of my night garb and doused myself in a thick spray of deodorants. I then proceeded to dress in the RIG suit, which wasn’t the most comfortable of outfits but definitely a useful apparatus, not to mention mandatory uniform for everyone who worked on the station.

Due to their integrated health systems the RIG was compulsory on all vessels owned and operated by the Concordance Extraction Company, whether it be a relatively safe working environment like that aboard a Biome class space-station or the perilous conditions on a Planet Cracker. I was one of those few who had experienced both firsthand, I knew both the great discomfort of the Planet Cracker and the comparative luxury of a Biome class, having briefly served on the USG Ishimura before my transfer here. Through some small miracle I had been lucky enough to be granted a billeting on the USG Beagle, one of the few stations of its class in the C.E.C’s fleet.

The zipping of my fly completed the lengthy dressing procedure that came with donning a RIG without assistance, shrugging my shoulders to test the fabric, it was definitely a snug fit. My five minutes were almost up, I walk over to the thin partition that separated the private bathroom from the rest of the quarters and slip behind it, quickly unzipping my fly I make use of the time I’ve been granted. Flushing the toilet, I proceed to the sink, wetting my face in the hope that it would wash away the groggy feeling. The cold water did serve to dispel the mutinous pulls on my eyelids; with a quick jerking movement I pushed the remaining water up my forehead and into my dishevelled hair.

Drying my hands on the front of my RIG, I exited the bathroom and was once more assailed by the ringing of the alarm. I had hoped that the boy’s incompetence would afford me time enough to get something to eat, apparently not. Halting just short of the door, I answered with a heavy sigh, “Yes?”

I was once again graced by the boy’s anxious face, “Doctor Grayson, they’re Operating Room Six. Doctor Walsh said that they needed you there yesterday.”

Not entirely surprised that Walsh’s use of hyperbole was obviously lost on the nurse, “Ok. Tell them I’m on my way.”

The conversation having reached its conclusion, left me to make my way to the ‘Red-Zone’, the section of the Medical Deck where the emergency operating rooms were located. Stepping out from my quarters I began the trek to the nearest tram station, the trams were essential timesaving tools allowing staff aboard the station rapid travel along a deck. Certain members of station’s medical staff were allotted quarters on the Medical Deck to further reduce travel time, thankfully I was one of these high priority doctors, I didn’t even want to think about the commute from the Crew Deck.