Death Stranding Novels & Stories

"What do you mean by Someone?" "I don't know, okay. We just have to leave." "You must be joking." Ezra spoke trying a little bit not to laugh. "He's not joking, Ezra, Mr. Daniels is dead and we don't know what to do." Emma took the walkie talkie from Alec, shouting into it. "Wait, you guys are serious." Ezra said, doubting the reality of it. "There's a huge tree trunk stuck to his chest, so yes, he is dead." Joseph came on.

, Age 54 I scroll down, reading the narrative through a haze of dread. Subject was last seen near the Morrison Estate docks at approximately 18:30 hours. Witnesses reported seeing him board a small motorboat alone. Boat was found capsized 200 yards offshore. No body recovered. Coast Guard search suspended after 72 hours due to severe weather conditions. Subject declared legally dead in absentia on March 1, 1991. I pull up the coordinates and cross-reference them with the deed Isla is hunting—the land-grant Patrick Bennett purchased, the inheritance Claire signed away.

Through the churning maelstrom, he watched the escape pod shoot out of the bay and into the infinite, crushing blackness of the ocean. It didn't make it far. Less than a hundred yards from the sinking hull of the Acheron, the immense pressure of the deep sea found the weakness in the fractured viewport. There was no fiery explosion, just a dull, resonant thud that vibrated deep in Dante’s chest. The ocean instantly, violently crushed the pod into a twisted knot of titanium. Julian Sterling, the architect of Tartarus's destruction and the last fanatic of Genesis Island, was obliterated in a microsecond, taking the weaponized data drives down into the trench with him.

"The pressure is too high for a dual launch, Jade. The pod won't clear the tube with two. You carry the code. You save them." "No! Caspian, please!" "I love you, Dr. Sterling," he mouthed through the glass. He pulled the lever. The pod was violently ejected, the G-force pinning Jade to the seat as she watched the Acheron Station implode in a silent, distant crush of light and bubbles. The station—and the man she loved—were swallowed by the blackness of the trench. Chapter 42: The Surface of Grief The escape pod breached the surface of the Atlantic like a breaching whale, tossing and turning in the grey, storm-tossed waves.

"It was you... you threw her out... but we lied to you..." "Lily was already dying... We injected her with an overdose of the Camorra experimental virus... Even if you hadn't thrown her, she wouldn't have survived..." Clang. The branding iron fell from my hand, sparking against the stone floor. Two hours later. International waters. A raging storm. A massive salvage ship pitched violently in the waves. I stood on the deck, letting the rain batter my rigid body. I stared unblinkingly at the black broken body bag the deep-sea drone had just retrieved from a reef crevice.

Ivy’s POV "I need your help”, I said immediately the call connected after the third ring. “Why are you calling me at this time of the night?” a thick and distorted voice said at the other end of the call making it obvious that he was sleeping by the time he picked the call. I decided to call Caleb and talk to him about how I am feeling because he is still the only one that seems to understand me on this island. “I have something important to discuss with you”, I said hurriedly as I walked toward the door that leads to my room.

"We are going to burn Sterling Corp to the ground with the truth." "It's a suicide run," Jack warned. "The ice bridge to the rig is unstable." "We are already dead men walking, Jack," Sebastian adjusted his armor. "Lead the way." (End of Chapter 76)

The burning skeleton of *The Leviathan* sank into the Pacific with a low, hissing groan that sounded like the final breath of a dying era. By 0800 hours, the black smoke from the harbor had merged with the gray morning fog, wrapping Blackridge in a heavy, protective shroud. The naval destroyer was gone, its multi-million-dollar hull broken against our concrete reefs, leaving the coast entirely under the unyielding law of the road.

The air vibrates with thunder, each clap shaking the very water around me. I struggle to stay afloat, coughing and spluttering, trying to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before me. Another ship, claimed by the Cursed Gulf. Another sacrifice to the Sea of Storms, destined to rest at the bottom with countless others. The mast, now broken, drifts by against the tide.

My wings were gone, my power was a memory, but my legs still knew the path through the refinery’s guts. We burst onto the surface of Lagos just as the countdown hit 00:45. The sky was a bruised, terrifying violet. The Atlantic was retreating from the shore, the water being sucked back into the horizon—a "Tsunami-Warning" that the earth was about to buckle. Three miles out, the silver wreckage of the Celestial Pillar was glowing with a blinding, radioactive white. I saw him. A white speck moving across the surface of the water, running with the speed of a "Void-Wolf." Dante didn't stop at the hull. He dived into the gaping wound of the ship’s reactor core.