Three years have now passed since he was rescued from the executive shuttle. Three whole years. And he can't remember a single thing.


It's been three years since they followed the Master. Three long years since they joined him. Three years of running amok in secret, but now the Marker's calling, and it's time once more for them to come out to play.


A nightmare is about to befall the Sprawl.

And it will be crazy.


"Holy shit it's Isaac Clarke!" squeals a strange man as said Isaac struggles to wake up. "Uh, *coughs loudly* I mean, 'I have him," he changes his tone as he radios over to:

"Right...good work Franco," a female voice responds. "Just be careful, he's been out a long time."

"What the-where am I?" Isaac starts, just barely coming around.

"About that..." Franco says. He fishes around in a pocket a moment, then curses loudly. "Shit! I can't find my cue card!"

"What?" Isaac's now even more seriously confused.

"Ah well, don't worry about it. All's I know is some serious shit is going on, and, and..." the man's voice turns back to it's higher pitch, "-and I am just SUCH a huge fan! Will you sign my-UGH!"

"Wait, how do you-WHOA!" Isaac cries as something jabs through Franco's chest, barely missing his (Isaac's) nose. A second later a fairly large, bat-like (and horribly familiar) creature draws itself further up his back and slams it's proboscis deep into his forehead before dashing up into the ceiling vents above. As that poor prick turns into a vulgar depiction of a living nightmare right before his eyes, the 'beast' draws itself closer and roars in his face, which oddly conjures up this thought for our, erm, 'hero'.

"Oh hell no!" Isaac head-butts him away. "I just met you!" Now sobered up from that harrowing incidentt, Isaac turns to the doorway to run, only to see the chaos of the hallways. Slashers are everywhere, and as the new one he just knocked down begins to get back up, the same woman that was talking to Franco now calls for him to run.

"No shit bitch!" he yells as he bolts down the hall, trying not to think about how the hell he'll get up should he fall being as he's still in a straightjacket.

As Isaac's running the very real gauntlet, the slashers that have just come into being pursue him, but not all for the same reason. There are those that simply want to hack him to shreds, and then there are those that, well...

"It's the Master!" shouts one, pointing a claw at the sprinting man.

"Really?!" cries another, giving chase with a roar. "Wait, Master! I wish to join you!"

Still more perk up at the thought of joining their 'Master', and thus chase him down in a frenzy that would make even someone like the veteran Clarke wet themselves in terror. Of course, there's already others of the 'non-believer' type that are after him like all manner of hell, but that kind of behavior just won't stand with the 'truly devout'.

"Not on your life, swine!" roars yet another slasher as it pounces on one of Isaac's unruly pursuers, tearing it apart with the same brutal ferocity that all slashers are known for. "NO ONE harms the Master!"

"Get 'em, Marty!" shrieks one of the infectors as it's proboscis pierces yet another unfourtunate skull. "Show those heathens who's boss!"

Fuck! He just hit a dead end. Wheeling around, he can already see their horrible shadows across the walls, and knows he'll be lucky to cross to the other door without being attacked. Which, in his frantic and reeling mind, brings up another question: How the hell can I open a door with a straightjacket on?

Eh, but somehow it works so best not question it lest it stop and truly fuck him over.

He dives across the way to an open door, the open door, passing yet another slasher as it stands off to his side. It's arms open wide and it bellows to the ceiling, and Isaac remembers all too well that this is exactly the kind of stance these things take when they're about to grab him. Diving out of its reach and sprinting away as best he can, he can hear the others tearing after him. Just a little bit further-come on! His breath's starting to burn in his throat. There has to be somewhere he can get to-There! There's a door just ahead that's about to close. If I can get through that I should be clear! With everything he has, he lunges through it, only to be brought crashing down by a slasher that latched onto his leg. It swings an arm and its blade jabs into his side, before the door slams shut and annihilates it. Panting and shaking, a very rattled (and now wounded) Isaac Clarke manages to push himself up, now more acutely aware of his deteriorated health.

On the other side of the door...

"Awwl," the slasher that tried to grab Isaac pouts, hanging it's head. "I only wanted a hug...OW!"

"What the hell were you thinking?!" snaps another of the newly bred, cuffing the former.

"I was thinking that I could use some love right about now!" it howls out, snarling at the latter.

"Ugh, that's what I get for infecting the emotionally disturbed," sighs a prowling infector on its way past those two. The rest of the mob (fresh from having slaughtered those that would do harm to their 'Master') all come to a halt before them as well, clogging up the whole hall.

"What was the problem now?" asks one of the multitude. The other two think a moment, then:

"He hit me." the slasher with the hug-dependency issue points.

"Hey!" the one that hit him barks, sounding a little embarrassed. "He-He-! It stutters as one of the others tuts him.

"Tch, tch...that's not very nice y'know." someone scolds, and the addressed hangs it's head for being told off, having forgotten why it was mad at that first one to begin with.

"Now say you're sorry."

"Aw, man..." It sighs. "Fine, I'm sorry..."

"Hug?" the clingy slasher inquires brightly.

"What the-no! I said I was sorry now leave me alone!"


"It's Clarke, take him down!" shouts a man in full combat-RIG, wheeling around to open fire with his pulse rifle. Caught off-guard by the sudden unexpected assault, Isaac makes to duck behind some manner of hospital junk when his attacker gives a yelp and vanishes up into the ceiling, in a way that by no means looks, 'healthy'. His partner runs over and aims his gun into the gaping hole his buddy just disappeared in, when a long, fleshy-something catches him in the chest and hoists him up as well. Isaac, having just bore witness to that crazy shit, is hesitant to go past, but after a few minutes he realizes it's probably safer to walk by then just stand still. Certainly wouldn't want to present an open target...

Shooting at the Master is a frowned upon practice, my friend... the necromorph in the ceiling forces it's thoughts into the mind of the hapless second man it caught as it proceeds to 'take care of business'. Just as it sees it's Master going past, it decides to offer him a gift, in the form of:

"Oh my GOD that is fucked up!" Isaac yelps loudly as the bloodied torso of a man splats on the floor beside him on his way past. "Seriously, WHY must my every waking moment be filled with the kind of shit that only a surgeon should see?! I'm an engineer for fuck sakes!" he gripes as he moves off.

He liked it, thinks the necromorph still hidden in the ceiling ventilation, pleased with itself.