Hitori Nojima: Death Stranding: The Official Novelization, Volume One

Fragile squinted into the distance, caught in a memory. Her eyes misted like she was holding back tears, but there wasn’t a trace of a wrinkle on her young face. She put her glove back on, concealing the timefall-marred skin beneath the black suit that protected the rest of her body.

“I can’t help you with that.” Sam didn’t know what she expected from him. No one could get back the time that had already passed or been lost. “I make deliveries. That’s all.”

Fragile opened her mouth as if about to respond, but she was cut off by a static-buzzed voice calling out from Sam’s codec device.

Perfect timing. Sam picked up his baggage, hoping that she would get the message.

“Headed into town?” Fragile picked up a small piece of baggage with a single hand. Her other hand was holding an umbrella. It was a slick, angular thing made of hi-tech black and clear panels, looking more like a star or crystal formation than any umbrella Sam had ever seen. “Watch yourself. Those things never stay gone for long,” she muttered, as if to herself, as she twirled the umbrella between her fingers. Sam nodded silently and left the cave. At that moment, a scrap of paper slipped out of his breast pocket to the floor. As Sam rushed to pick up the scrap, Fragile’s voice came from behind him.

“The timefall fast-forwards whatever it touches. But it can’t wash everything away. The past just won’t let go.”

Sam hid the scrap of paper from Fragile’s view. It was an old, faded photograph showing a much younger looking Sam, along with two women. He looked awkward, but one of the women was smiling. The other woman’s face was blurred, almost impossible to make out on the blotch of faded paper where the drop of timefall had landed. Sam didn’t need a photograph to recall her face, though. It was a face that he could never let go, but would never get back.

“I’ll see you around… Sam Porter Bridges.”

Sam folded the photo and slipped it back into his pocket before turning around to find that Fragile had already vanished.

CENTRAL KNOT CITY

The man’s image vanished as if by magic, leaving Igor Frank with a memory of the man’s scarred forehead and the luster of his red jacket. He knew it couldn’t be true, but he swore that he had felt the warmth radiating from the man’s body and smelled his sweat in the air. The man’s optical 3D form had felt so real. The hologram had stood there, breathing in and out, staring straight into his eyes to pass along the order as if the projection was truly alive. Ironic, then, that the man’s workname was Deadman.

Igor left his private room and ran through the lifeless hallways of the underground Knot City. Only minutes had passed since the hologram of Deadman had delivered the news.

Despite his calm voice, the eyes behind his spectacles had lost some of their composure.

The hologram of Deadman lowered its head. The surgical scars across his forehead were soaked in sweat.

Igor flashed Deadman a look. He knew there was no time to waste. He only had a few hours. And there were very few Corpse Disposal Team members. If Igor was even slightly delayed, it was very likely that he could kiss goodbye to everyone in the city.

Igor gestured toward some equipment on the wall and asked if he would need it. Deadman nodded silently. This wasn’t going to be a straightforward disposal. As Igor put on his uniform and picked up his equipment, Deadman spoke again.

So, there was still someone worth a damn on this continent? Someone who could actually do something good for this dead-end world?

With that, Deadman’s hologram disappeared.

The noise and vibrations of the truck’s motor resonated through Igor’s body. On his left, the driver kept one hand on the wheel while wiping at the sweat on the back of his neck with the other. Igor instructed him to stop the truck before the front gate. He had worked with this driver many times before. Igor’s job was transporting corpses from isolation wards to the incinerators. Every day was like walking a tightrope. If he put a single foot wrong, he wouldn’t just be risking his own life, but the lives of everyone in the city. Normally, he at least had the gift of time, but not for this job. There wasn’t a second to spare. If he was just the slightest bit late, the corpse would go necro and cause a voidout, wiping out the whole city.

The truck slowed down as they approached a figure. Igor could barely make out the man’s features through the glare of the distribution center lights behind him. He seemed to be a match for the man in the profile, though.

The truck rolled to a halt and the hydraulics hissed as metal groaned against metal, lowering the cabin closer to the ground. Igor exchanged looks with the man outside. Faint frown lines were etched between the man’s eyebrows. Igor thought that it was because he had seen the Bridges mark on the outside of the truck. So, this is the savior who is going to get us out of this mess.

Igor opened the door and climbed down from the cabin. He strode forward and held out his hand.

“Igor. Bridges Corpse Disposal.”

Their supposed savior averted his eyes from Igor’s hand. Igor realized that the man wouldn’t take his hand, but he kept it held out regardless. “Sam Porter Bridges, I presume.”

The man’s face twisted in a wry grimace, which Igor took as a yes.

Igor remembered the notes on Sam’s profile: a freelance porter who suffered from DOOMS, he had been a member of Bridges up until around ten years ago. Ever since his time in Bridges he had displayed symptoms of aphenphosmphobia and couldn’t stand physical contact with others.

“What happened?” Sam may have refused to shake Igor’s hand, but at least he met his gaze directly.

“Look, gotta get a move on. I’ll explain as we go. Come on,” Igor said, turning back toward the truck’s trailer. Sam’s footsteps followed behind him. “Come and take a look.”

Igor climbed up onto the trailer and gestured toward a piece of cargo fixed to the center. It was around the same length as an average human male, a big, lead-colored chrysalis.

“He’s got a date with the incinerator,” Igor explained.

Sam climbed up onto the trailer, and inspected the dead man in the body bag. “How long since he flatlined?” Sam asked, fixated on the body. It was clear Sam understood the peculiarity and urgency of the situation.

“We don’t know the exact TOD, but I’d say it’s been upwards of forty hours.”

Their eyes met. “He wasn’t quarantined?”

Sam’s voice was a mixture of anger and confusion.

“He wasn’t sick. This was a suicide.” The word alone brought back the details from Deadman’s briefing and Igor was brought face-to-face with the weight of their mission.

“Oh… Jesus,” Sam muttered, staring at the body.

“We’re just lucky we found him at all. We got him on ice ASAP, but who knows when he’ll go necro.”

As he explained the situation to Sam, Igor couldn’t help but feel like he was covering for the dead man. Dying undetected and undiscovered and eventually going necro meant turning into the ultimate weapon of destruction. Unless you were a baby who was blissfully unaware of the concept of death, there wasn’t a soul on the planet who didn’t know that. Suicide no longer meant killing only yourself, it involved other people now, too. To put it bluntly, suicide was an act of terrorism.

“Where are you taking him?” Sam’s voice sounded somewhat reproachful.

Brushing it off, Igor booted up the device on his wrist. The device projected a map in front of them. “Closest incinerator is to the north.”