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

Igor could smell blood mingling with the stench of stagnant water. The insufferable odor of rotting fish. The smells crashed over him in a single repulsive wave. His head was splitting and feverish chills ran up his body. He was going to puke.

Right at that moment, a howl pierced the thick cloud cover.

It was neither a cry, nor a scream, nor a growl, but rather a dreadful noise that could shatter the resolve of any man.

The Odradek transformed into a cross shape and pointed toward a space in the sky.

The baby on Igor’s chest jolted around, pressing against the glass, then pushing away to hide.

It was here.

Igor’s feet slipped. The ground beneath him was no longer solid and had begun to stream away. The new, liquid ground coiled itself around Igor’s legs. Numerous pitch-black arms erupted from the water and tried to drag him down by the legs. They groaned with an insufferable hunger. He searched frantically, the ground around him had transformed into a sea of tar. There was no sign of the original terrain anywhere. Like a sea in slow motion, the tar around him swelled unnaturally and collapsed in on itself. The truck was gradually sinking between the waves and the silhouette that had stood atop it had disappeared once more.

The arms pulling at Igor’s legs fought harder to tug him into the churning tar. He chose not to look down at his feet, but rather up above his head. This was the end. The silhouette of a giant human figure towered over him. The head was obscured by cloud and the hands were gripping multiple ropes that were connected to the ground. The shadow yanked on the ropes, ripping up the ground to expose the innards of the Earth.

If he was eaten by that monster, it would cause a voidout. That’s what his manual had told him. Worst-case scenario.

The dead who had necrotized retained a lingering attachment to this world—not just to their own ha , but to all living things—and became stranded here, unable to move on to the world of the dead. And, if the dead, who were made up of a chiral substance like antimatter, came into contact with the living, it caused a voidout. Who the hell could have experienced that and lived to tell the tale in a manual? Igor thought it strange that such thoughts would cross his mind at a time like this.

“Run!” he screamed.

He gathered the last of his resolve. He was so sorry that he had gotten Sam involved in this. Igor ripped the pod off his chest and threw it in Sam’s direction. Then he pointed the gun up at his chin. Just before he could pull the trigger, he was swept off his feet. The enormous shade lifted him into the air, his world turned upside-down for him and the bullet misfired in the wrong direction. He couldn’t keep hold of the gun.

“Run!”

It was no longer a command, but a plea. He needed Sam to escape. If only he could buy him enough time to get away. Igor stretched for the gun, but it was no use. He took the knife from his waist and plunged it into the left side of his chest. But he hit the connection unit for his pod. Once more. He tore open his uniform with the tip of the knife, gouged into the flesh until he scraped up against a rib. And again. His pectoral muscles resisted as they tried to protect his heart from the blade. Again.

The invisible hand swung Igor around as it tried to prevent his suicide.

Igor could see Sam still standing there. He was holding the BB to his chest.

Run. Just take it and run.

Igor heaved a last burst of strength and thrust the knife into his heart. He didn’t feel any pain. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all. It was beginning to fade.

His body and consciousness separated. Death wasn’t like simply flipping a switch, it was a process that passed through phases. There was no such thing as a quick death. Igor’s ka knew that. Which meant that right now, at this very second, Igor’s body was not yet dead.

And with that, the giant consumed Igor’s body.

The dead and the living met.

Then came the voidout.

Igor and the giant both disappeared. The figures transformed into energy with immense speed, before swallowing, annihilating, and disintegrating everything around them. Central Knot City disappeared and Sam Bridges and the BB were consumed by the force of the voidout.

—BB, can you hear me?

There was a voice. Someone was staring. There was a light behind them, so it was impossible to make out who it was. Sam couldn’t ask them who they were. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. His arms and legs were bound. He couldn’t get free. Tears were running down his cheek, but he couldn’t even wipe them away.

— BB, I’ll protect you.

Sam heard a voice and opened his eyes.

He sat up with a start, trying to drive away the nightmare he had just been having, but slumped back down helplessly as he felt a pull. There was a dull pain in his right wrist. He was in handcuffs. The other cuff was attached to a bedframe. He tried to yank his arm free, but all that did was worsen the pain in his wrist. The cuffs weren’t going anywhere. He wiped away the tears running down his cheek with his free hand.

He took a deep breath and looked around. He was in a room that he had never been in before. He had no idea why he was there and he certainly didn’t know why he was chained up. No matter how much he twisted, he couldn’t even sit up.

His exposed arms, back and chest were covered in the handprints of the dead, but these were merely a sign of his repatriation from the Seam. What worried him was the injection marks on the insides of his elbows.

He knew it was useless, but he gave his right arm a shake. The metallic clanging of the handcuffs against the bedframe echoed around the room.

“Oh, you’re awake. So how does it feel? To be back in the world of the living?” a voice suddenly asked him. The man was wearing a long red jacket and was built like a barrel. Sam spotted a cuff on his right wrist.

He hadn’t even sensed the man entering the room. The man approached with footsteps that were far too light to belong to such a massive body. Sam looked up to see a forehead lined with large horizontal scars. They didn’t make his face unpleasant, though. Perhaps it was because of the gentle light that filled the eyes behind the man’s glasses.

“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. Well, a coroner. Originally.”

It clicked into place. His shiny red jacket must have been his medical uniform. When Sam looked a little more closely, he could see something that resembled a stethoscope hanging around the man’s neck.

The man held up his cuffed hand and twisted it in one smooth motion. The action was so quick and natural that it made him look like some kind of magician. The cuff attached to the bedframe opened in response. Sam could now at least get up from the bed, but the other cuff still hung from his wrist.

As he sat up on the bed, Sam examined the cuff and then the man more closely.

“Call me Deadman. I’m well acquainted with the dead. Not like you, of course. Contrary to the name, I’ve never actually died.”

Not flinching under Sam’s stare, the man called Deadman held out one of his hands. Sam ignored it. He couldn’t touch someone’s hand like that. Moreover, he couldn’t think of a single reason to shake this man’s hand. Especially when he was responsible for cuffing a sleeping man to a bed. Instead of a handshake, Sam decided to try removing the other cuff.