Chapter 1

Hello everyone! This is the first chapter of my first story here on . It's nothing special, just a nice, character driven story about a guy who falls in love with a Xenomorph. There will be some gay smut (As explicit (or not) as will allow. Please have mercy on me, senpai censor), and I suspect that that is what a good portion of you are here for. It won't be in this chapter though, so you'll have to contain yourself. I'll mark the chapters it is in. Special thanks to XenoInLove and AmorousXenomorph for pioneering this kind of story, and I totally recommend their work on this site. Go check em' out (There's smut!).

Here's the obligatory part where I state, for the record and the law, that I am not making money from this and that I do not own the Alien franchise. But these are my original characters and story, so the Force of Copyright is on my side there. Also I bet Giger would be totally fine with explicit smut based off his work, since he intentionally put sexual themes in his art to begin with.

As a small lore note, this series will be treating the first two movies as canon, along with the original printing of the Aliens: Outbreak comic from Dark Horse comics. Why? Because I like that continuity better, and it's my personal head-canon. Some other comics may also be referenced, and if they are, then consider them canon.

In effect, this means that Ripley, Newt, and Hicks returned to Earth after Aliens and went on with their lives, as detailed by the original print of the comic.

And it goes without saying that if you don't like it, then don't read it. It's not my fault if you have terrible tastes in literature :P

As always, I love feedback, so let it rip! On to the story!

*Manual insertion of space here because Fanfiction won't let me just put a normal space here because formatting sucks*

It was supposed to be a routine mission. That's what corporal Meyers had said in front of them in the briefing room. It was just a quick drop to secure a Weyland-Yutani medical research installation. Nothing too special. Just another day in the Revolutionary Navy of the Outer Rim.

Private George Canner bounced in his seat as the landing shuttle hit another bubble of turbulence. There was a storm over the landing site, but they couldn't wait for it to subside. They had to secure the planet and move on to keep the offensive going.

"All right marines," the corporal said from the back of the troop compartment, prompting twenty pairs of eyes to turn towards him, "let's go over the plan one more time. We are going to land one click south of the compound, and move in on foot. It's a low-security target, so there shouldn't be any armed resistance, and security measures will be minimal. We will fan out, and enter the main facility from multiple points, keeping contact with our radios. When we bust in there with automatic weapons and appropriate bravado, the egg-heads will surrender before they even know what hit 'em."

"Then we search the base, and prep the inhabitants for military evac by shuttle, which will be arriving and landing at the shuttle pad within the compound in exactly…" Meyers checked his military issue wristwatch "fifty hours. Remember, each inhabitant gets one bag of belongings, and they should be advised to take basic living materials instead of luxuries; otherwise they may find life in an internment camp disagreeable. Am I fully understood?"

"Yes sir!" The marines chorused.

Technically they were supposed to say "Yes comrade corporal", but this wasn't some ad-hoc militia that had been ballooned with revolutionary zealotry like the Army, these men and women had been soldiers long before the revolution, and it would take a lot more than yet another conflict to change their view of the military dynamic.

The corporal retook his seat next to George as the shuttle hit another rough patch, causing them to jolt in their seats and the private's stomach to turn over. He gagged and bent over in his seat, willing the nausea to go away. A hand landed on his shoulder, and he heard the Meyers say "You alright there George?"

"Yeah." He gagged again, "Just a little air-sick. Flying in atmosphere was never my strong suit."

"Don't sweat it. Everyone gets sick on their first drop. Whether it's civilian or combat, getting butterflies is always a part of your first time. We probably won't need a medic for this mission, so do you want to sit it out? If you're not going to be in good shape I can always let you stay in here and go back to the ship."

"No comrade corporal!" George said, sitting up as straight as he could and managing a weak smile through his green complexion, "This will pass the moment I step off the transport! I have to do my part to help the revolution, and that means deploying whenever, wherever, no matter the conditions!"

"Damn revolutionary committee keeps sending me stupid zealots." Meyers grumbled. "Brave zealots, fighting zealots, but stupid all the same." He was smiling beneath his grim complexion though, and gave George a pat on the back.

"Corporal." The navigator's voice crackled from the intercom, shot through with static interference. "The storm's electrical properties are interfering with our navigation and communications systems. They should be fine once we reach the lower atmosphere and get under the clouds, but you won't be able to communicate with the Hermes once you're down there. Do you want to scrub the mission and wait until the storm subsides?"

"There isn't time for that. We're needed elsewhere, and we don't know how long this storm could last. This installation isn't a military target; we won't need reinforcements. Just drop us off and send the evac shuttle down to come pick the base staff up as scheduled. When they have departed, you come back down and pick us up. Simple as that."

"Yes sir. Are you sure you want us to leave as soon as you and the troops have deployed? What if something goes wrong and you need evac? You won't be able to recall us once we've left." The navigator persisted.

"What if something were to happen to this shuttle?" Meyers countered. "You know as well as I that a storm like this could fry the shuttle's components with a single ill-placed electrical discharge. Then where would we be? Your orders are clear."

As if to emphasize the point, lighting cracked just beyond the shuttle's bulkhead.

"Yes sir." The navigator conceded.

Rain began to pound against the craft's thick windows as they descended, and showed no signs of letting up as the surface approached. It got darker too, until the marines couldn't even tell that it was in fact mid-day. It wasn't grey, like storms on Earth or the civilized colonies; these clouds were massive, thick, and pitch black.

"Beginning final approach." The navigator announced. "Radar systems functioning within acceptable parameters."

'Oh good.' George thought dryly, 'At least now if we're going to crash we'll have a few seconds to think about it beforehand.'

"Prepare for ramp-drop." The navigator said calmly, as the pilot took them in low. "The rain has turned the ground into sludge, corporal, so we can't land properly. We're going to have to hover about a meter above the surface and have you jump from the ramp."

"Acknowledged."

George tried looking out the window behind him, but the glass had fogged up, and in between that and the rain pounding against it he couldn't discern anything outside.

A mechanical clank sounded from the loading ramp, then a steady whir started up as the ramp began to open, exposing the marines to the chaotic gusts of wind that shook the craft at near-constant intervals.

"Prepare to move out!" Meyers had to shout to be heard above the roar of the storm. "Turn on the comm-link in your helmets!"

George switched his on, as did the rest of the marines. They then did a quick roll-call to confirm that everyone's was working

"You are go to disembark corporal." The navigator announced.

Everyone stood, picking up assault rifles and shouldering backpacks filled with ammunition, rations, and in George's case, a wide variety of medical supplies. As a medic, his only weapon was a large caliber revolver that fired mini-flares and explosive rounds; safely holstered at his hip.

George and Meyer had been sitting at the back of the craft, and were thus the first in line to jump. The ramp had been lowered fully, and the pair made their way to the edge, doubling over against the wind, a line of heavily-armed troopers standing behind each, ready to follow their lead.

Corporal Meyer looked over at him, mouthing "Ready?"

George glanced below them. Thick wisps of fog skated over the windswept muck that they were disembarking into, as rain pounded it in sheets so thick they were almost solid. The roar of the weather was deafening, overpowering even the engines that kept their craft hovering above the surface, and the wind-chill combined with the seeping wetness of water soaking into his combat uniform stripped the warmth from his flesh.

'No.'

"Hell yeah!" He shouted, putting on a face so happy and brave that he must have looked utterly insane. Without waiting for his mind to betray him, he jumped.

In that sickening moment between when his feet left the ramp and connected with the surface, it was impossible for him to tell whether time was moving very slowly or very quickly. As George perceived it, it did both. Perhaps that was part of the reason he was so heavily jarred when he finally did hit the ground, although he didn't really lose momentum until he was already ankle-deep in the mire.

He heard something splash down beside him, and looked over to see the corporal already trying to slog his way forward.

Meyer looked over at him and beckoned to follow, before resuming his ordeal.

In the time required for George to take this all in, he had sunken in up to his knees. He swore under his breath and tried to take a step forward. The mud stuck to his pants, weighting them down as it tried to suck his foot back under. Physical prowess had never really been his thing; his slime frame, even after months of intensive training, seemed unable to put on any real muscle. That was, after all, why he had become a medic in the first place. He much preferred working with his brain than with his brawn.

Not that any amount of intelligence helped when he was trudging through mud that went up to his thighs, while being buffeted from all sides by the nastiest weather imaginable.

More splashes sounded behind him, and he looked over his shoulder to see the twin lines of marines disembarking in their wake, each making the same jump and then forcing themselves through the marsh to follow him and the corporal, holding their weapons above their heads to keep them out of the mud.

"Together we are strong and mighty." George whispered to himself, before the wind whipped away his pride and forced his mind to concentrate on the task at hand.

Between the rain and the darkness, he couldn't make much of their surroundings. The only things he could see were the occasional reed stalk protruding from the muck and a few sparsely wooded rises off in the distance to his left.

His hands were already frozen to the bone and he was soaking wet, but he doubted if he'd been on the surface for more than a couple of minutes. Glancing over his shoulder again, he watched as the last marine disembarked from the landing craft, and continued watching as the ramp closed up again and the shuttle rocketed away into the storm. He couldn't help but mouth "See you again soon" as the ship disappeared into the clouds from whence it had come, narrowly dodging another lightning bolt on its way up.

'I hope, anyway,'

Turning his attention back to his own present situation, he continued slogging forward after the corporal.

They spent perhaps half an hour struggling through that mire, and even when they climbed out of it, shivering and coated in a layer of oily mud, the ground still squished unpleasantly wherever they went. They tried to fan out, but had to stay close to keep from getting separated in the darkness, and couldn't use their lights for fear of giving away the element of surprise.

There was no real cover, just a few barren bushes and sparse trees every dozen meters, making effective concealment impossible. With that in mind, it was a relief to the entire group when they spotted a dense pocket of foliage ahead through the lashing rain, and Meyer ordered them to make for it and use it as cover.

George was still by the corporal's side after all this while, and they entered the brush together, the private first with Meyer following behind, as George was less likely to get stuck with his smaller and nimbler frame. Even still, he had to physically shove his way through the bushes in some places. This culminated in him bracing to force past a particularly prickly shrub, only to find himself falling forward onto his face when it turned out to be much thinner than expected.

Scrambling to get back to his feet, George hit something hard with the top of his helmet. Something hard which made a metallic clang as his protective headwear bounced off of it.

Standing back up, he stood in stunned silence for a moment, before turning on his mic and saying "Guys, I found something."

"What is it?" Meyers demanded, forcing his way through the underbrush to join him.

"See for yourself." George said, as the corporal stepped into the narrow clearing.

Before them lay the remains of a convoy of vehicles, most of which were military grade. The thing that George had hit his head on was in fact the open door of the leading truck, which had apparently flipped while in motion, been rammed by the trailing car, and then rolled over onto its back. The front grille and wheels looked to have been heavily corroded by some acidic substance. By looking around, it was clear that a crude, if well-worn road had been carved through the center of the clearing. It was that road which the vehicles had been traversing when the wreck occurred.

Aside from the leading car and truck, there were about half a dozen other vehicles of various shapes and sizes, all of which were suited to traversing rough terrain.

"Private Canner and I have discovered a derelict convoy in the center of the foliage patch. All personnel are to converge on my position immediately." Meyers ordered into his mic.

One by one, the other members of their expedition emerged from the tree line, until everyone was accounted for.

"Permission to use our flashlights, sir?"

"Permission granted. The woods are thick enough here to hide the beams. Investigate the wreckage. I want to know when this happened and why."

"Well I can tell you approximately when it happened sir." One of the marines said, shining his light at the underbelly of the overturned truck. "It happened within the last three or four days."

"How do you know that, Private Barns?"

"Look." Barnes said, focusing his light on the fuel tank. "There's a nick in the tank, and there's a tiny trickle of petrol coming out of it. If this had happened a long while ago it all would have escaped by now."

"Fan out and search the wreckage for survivors and information. I want to know what happened here." The corporal ordered.

George began looking over the remains, trying to suppress his unease. Something wasn't right here. There were bullet holes in the glass of the windshields and doors, but they appeared to have been caused by people inside shooting out. The only exceptions to this were windows that seemed to have been punched in, as the shattered remains were all over the seats of the vehicles.

But try as they might, the marines could only find a couple of bullet holes on the exterior of the vehicles, as though there hadn't been any sustained or purposeful shooting at them.

The vehicles themselves were also fully, if haphazardly, loaded with ammunition, guns, food, and survival gear, but it looked like they hadn't been touched since the incident, as though the attackers weren't interested in them.

There was also a marked lack of bodies. There was blood in almost every vehicle, but no actual remains to speak of.

The marines reported all of this to Meyers, each revelation leaving him with a more and more befuddled look on his face.

"What's you're analysis sir?" George asked, after they had examined everything.

"Some kinda ambush, by the looks of it, but that doesn't seem quite right. If the attackers weren't shooting at the convoy, then how was their attack effective enough to apparently wipe out or capture every single person in it? We can know that the attack was successful, because if the ambush had been beaten off, the vehicles behind the crashed truck could have just gone around; there's enough space to squeeze through. And what were the attackers after? The people themselves? Certainly not supplies; they left all of those as they were." For the first time in the short while that George had known him, Meyers looked to be at an utter loss.

"Well." He said, regaining some of his commanding composure, "I don't have any answers to this mystery, but I know where we can find some. Let's continue on to the lab, as before."

They pushed back into the undergrowth on the opposite side of the road, and continued toward their objective. They only made it another hundred meters though, before another marine radioed to the rest of them "Hey, did the blueprints of the complex we were provided with say anything about an outer wall surrounding the compound?"

"No." George answered, happy to finally be useful. He had a photographic memory, and had studied the blueprints extensively in preparation for the mission. Brains over brawn.

"Well that's a problem, because I just hit it."

"What?!" Corporal Meyers demanded.

"I've just hit a wall sir. It looks like it's a solid wall that goes around the compound, but I can't see much of it through the brush."

"I don't see anything." George said, before promptly walking right into it. "Ow! Scratch that, I see it now…"

The wall was camouflaged to look like the woodland around it, which in conjunction with the darkness worked to make it almost invisible. But it was there; big, solid, and right in the middle of the way.

Corporal Meyers swore. "We don't have the gear to climb over it, so we'll have to find a way in. Everyone to my left, follow the wall around your way and see if you can find a way in; we're going to do the same thing on our side.

A chorus of yes sirs and affirmatives followed this.

The wind howled overhead and the rain was still coming down hard, but at least the foliage shielded them from the worst of it.

George pushed through more underbrush, with Meyer following close behind.

'This was supposed to be a simple mission.' The private griped to himself, 'Just a little civilian evac. A perfect first drop to write home about. Just my luck that everything gets upset like this.'

Unbeknownst to him, his luck was about to get a lot better and a lot worse.

Following the wall around the compound, George and Meyers eventually broke through the underbrush onto the same crude road from before, which emerged from a large gate in the wall. The two massive steel doors that flanked the opening stood wide open; obviously the convoy was in such a hurry that they had neglected to close them up as they left.

"We've found our way in way." The corporal radioed behind him, as half a dozen marines emerged from the woods in their wake.

"We've found a way in too." One of the marines radioed back. "A large tree's been blown down against the wall; we can climb up it and drop down into the compound.

"Do it. It could gain us an extra element of surprise. My group is going in through the main entrance. Stay in tight formation, use flashlights, and remember that we're most likely dealing with some very frightened and paraniod scientists, not armed soldiers. Use words, not bullets."

'Sweet, I can do that!' George thought.

"Yes sir!"

"Same goes for us too." Meyers said, addressing the six marines in front of them. "Assume a standard tactical advance formation. You four, move to the opposite side of the gate, you two, with us."

They got in position, and at Meyer's signal, advanced into the compound two by two, each pair coving the other as they moved forward from cover to cover, the howling wind concealing what little sound they made. The interior of the compound appeared deserted, and not a single light shown from any of the buildings. When they reached the first building, a large, white, square one which was labeled "Dormitories and living areas", they moved in to flank the main entrance from either side. Meyer signaled again, and George and the marine opposite him moved to open the doors.

To George's surprise, he found that the door was already open a crack. Pushing on it prompted it to swing inward with relative ease, without so much as a squeak from the hinges. He reasoned that the large building sheltered the door from the wind, which prevented it from slamming.

He shone his flashlight down the hallway, and was met with the deserted remains of some horrific battle. Blood streaked the walls, and empty weapons laid abandoned on makeshift barricades.

"What the hell happened here?" The other marine murmured, flicking a switch on the wall to turn on the overhead lights.

It was just like the convoy though, in that there were no bodies to be found anywhere. Not even so much as a severed finger remained. They began to slowly make their way further into the hall, investigating the scene.

George heard the leader of the other group radio in to Meyers. "Sir, we've entered the main research building. We found-"

"Let me guess," The corporal interrupted, "blood, barricades, and no bodies?"

Out of the corner of his eye, something caught George's attention. It was a sickly green stain, coving a corroded section of wall.

"Affirmative. You got the same over there?" The marine in Meyer's headset asked.

"Yep." The corporal confirmed.

Gears were beginning to turn in George's mind. He reached down, and plucked a twig from the muddy, soaking mess that was his pants, and poked the green stain with it. The end of the twig sizzled.

He flashed back to his time in medical school, during a session of his compulsory class on exobiology. The instructor had been talking about a certain species that was unlike any other alien organism yet discovered. A certain species that Weyland-Yutani had a long history with. A certain species with green, acidic blood.

"Hang on, one of my men is reporting movement." Meyer's marine said.

"Oh no…" George murmured. With panic beginning to overtake his senses, he whirled to face the corporal and said "Get those marines out of there now!"

Meyer gave him a look of complete non-comprehension.

George frantically pointed at the green patch on the wall. "I poked that with a twig, and it sizzled! I learned about it in med-school, I'd know it anywhere! That's xenomorph blood!"

The corporal froze for a split second, and that's when it happened. The deafening chatter of automatic weapons fire blasted through the comms, accompanied by a female marine screaming "BUGS!" Someone else shrieked and then flat-lined.

"Retreat, retreat now!" Meyers shouted, "We have to re-group at the main gate!"

Some marines affirmed their orders, some just kept screaming and shooting.

As George and the group turned to leave, a floor panel erupted further down the hall, and a domed head began to emerge. It didn't even have time to see what hit it before it was blown away by concentrated automatic fire.

Another floor panel broke outward, this time right underneath one of the marines. This xenomorph was a lot quicker, and knocked the gun out of the woman's hand before she could pull the trigger. Then it disappeared back beneath the floor, trying to drag her with it. Meyers jumped forward and grabbed the woman's hand, trying to pull her back out. She looked up at him forlornly.

"It's been an honor sir." She pulled the pin on the grenade hanging from her belt, and let go of Meyer's hand, letting a sly smile slide over her face as she was roughly pulled under the floor. "Fuck you, you alien son of a bitch!" She screamed. Then the grenade went off.

The floor under George, Meyer, and the other marines bowed upward with the force of the explosion, then collapsed, sending them and hundreds of pounds of debris tumbling into a subterranean passage.

George was sent head over heels, and was knocked dumb for a moment when his head hit a thick metal pipe. He saw stars, and fell down again on his first attempt to stand back up. Shaking his head to clear it, he heaved himself off the ground, and quickly took in his new surroundings. He was standing in a narrow concrete passage, which he guessed to be a utility and maintenance tunnel, based on the pipes and cables that lined the cold grey walls.

Glancing around to try and figure out where Meyers and the others went, he found himself faced with a chain link utility gate. On the other side were Meyer and his comrades, looking around just like him.

"Meyer! I'm over here!" He shouted. He figured that after the explosion trying to be stealthy was utterly pointless. "Here, I can climb over this, just give me a moment!"

A cacophony of hisses and screeches filled the air, as more xenomorphs approached through the intact portion of the hallway above them.

"There's no time!" Meyers shouted back, "Run for it; try to get out of the complex! We'll do the same!"

George didn't need to be told twice. He turned tail and sprinted away down the hall as machine gun fire broke out behind him. He took several twisting curves at top speed, then emerged into a room filled with ventilation ducts and large fans. On the far side was a thick steel maintenance door. He made a beeline for it, and was infinitely relived when he turned the handle and the door squealed open on its rusted hinges, albeit requiring a few hard tugs on the handle as motivation.

George stepped through into what looked to be an office space, then stopped. He could hear something. A low, quiet scraping sound. Fearing what he would see, he turned around and looked back into the room he had just left. In the center of the room's ceiling was a large ventilation duct. A small trickle of dust fell from it.

Finding himself frozen with trepidation, George could do nothing but watch as a gleaming black head emerged from the vent and turned to gaze at him with an eyeless face. With a flick of its wrists, the xenomorph did a smooth acrobatic flip and landed on the floor, legs spread in a wide stance to absorb the impact. It was totally silent, and wickedly beautiful.

Even as his heart pounded in his chest, he couldn't help but be fascinated by the creature. It resembled very closely the photographs and illustrations in his exobiology textbook, with a few small differences. Its head, while still elongated, seemed shorter and more practical, while the creature's fingers and toes appeared to lack the talons of its kin. As a matter of fact, they looked rather harmless, if overly long, without even so much as fingernails at their tips.

The xenomorph hissed menacingly, cutting George's train of scientific observation short. As if in answer to one of his previous observations, long, black, wickedly sharp talons emerged from the tips of its fingers.

'Ah, I was wondering where those were.' George thought to himself. His mind was in a stupor. Less than ten meters in front of him was the perfect killing machine, and he was just a medic. He briefly considered reaching for his revolver, but he knew that the alien would be all over him long before he ever got it out of the holster.

The xenomorph, apparently tired of posing like an action figure, screeched and leapt forward at him. This shocked George out of his stupor and he slammed the door right in the xeno's face, hearing a resounding thud as it made impact.

He tried to step back, but his legs were made of jelly, and he fell flat on his ass. Still not content to stay so close to the door, he scooted his way back until he was leaning against a row of filing cabinets. There he stayed for about a minute, catching his breath and waiting for the pounding in his ears to subside. When finally it did, he grasped the cabinet and pulled himself to his feet.

He did a quick 360, and found the exit door; a thin, wooden, office one, which was standing open. He was underground, so there were no windows, but the entire facility was lit with dim emergency lights.

He took one last glance at the door he had entered through, just in time to see the handle twitch.

'Oh, fuck me…' George thought, right before the handle violently twisted and the door flew open so fast that it left a dent in the wall.

The xenomorph leapt at him again, screeching with unbridled rage.

'You aren't getting me this time either!' George took hold of a filing cabinet and pulled as hard as he could, sending it crashing down on top of the surprised xeno and briefly pining the bug underneath it. It was close though, and he winced as the creature's claws whipped past just a few centimeters from his face.

Without wasting a second, he spun around and made a sprint for the door, fumbling for his pistol while craning his head to keep track of the xenomorph.

The creature reacted quickly, getting his feet under the cabinet before it could pin it down fully, and then lifting with its legs and kicking the cabinet aside like it was just a tin can, sending it crashing into the far wall.

George sped past door to the office and slammed it shut behind him. Finally managing to get his gun out of its holster, he twisted his torso to try and get the creature in his sights.

The xenomorph didn't even open the door this time, instead bursting right through it with a resounding crack, sending particles of wood spraying everywhere.

George squeezed the trigger of his revolver, grinning with satisfaction as the gun cracked and kicked back solidly into his hand.

The xenomorph was too quick though, and leapt out of the bullet's path faster than the human's eyes could follow. The bug screeched and kept coming, dodging George's next shot with practiced ease.

The human kept running as fast as he could down the hall before rounding a corner and crashing right into a burning hot pipe that jutted out from the wall. He did a full 720 degree spin, stumbled a few more meters, then crashed to the floor on his back, powerless to do anything but watch as the xenomorph smoothly slid to a stop a few meters in front of him, the newly emerged talons on its feet leaving wicked gouges in the floor.

The alien stood there, without advancing. In fact, it seemed to be smiling; black lips peeling up into a menacing and sadistic grin. The creature's body language all but said "I have you now!"

It was so human, George marveled. Too human for its own good, at least. As the xenomorph basked in smug satisfaction, the human glanced at the pipe that he had run into. His face was still smarting from the burn he had received from touching it, so whatever was in there had to be hot.

He squinted. There was a label on the pipe, a warning sticker. He was too dizzy and too far away to read it, but he could make out a caricature of a steam cloud on the label.

George looked back at the xenomorph, who was still gloating, but was now looking like it was readying itself for the killing blow.

'Fuck it.' He thought, and raised his gun. The xenomorph hopped to the left to avoid the bullet it assumed would be coming its way. 'You're still right where I want you motherfucker.' George aimed at the pipe and pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked back as a high explosive round slammed into the steam pipe at the speed of sound, penetrating about a centimeter before exploding, and the pressurized steam did the rest. The scorching vapor tore through the hole that had been created and hit the xenomorph with the force of a train, knocking him against the wall and singeing its otherwise impervious skin.

As George regained his footing and limped away, he heard the alien screaming in pain, in a voice that was much too similar to that of a human's for comfort. A small part of him even felt compelled to go back and try to help, but he knew that was a stupid idea. He had no idea what the creature would do if it got its talons on him now, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it would be long, drawn out, and very, very painful.

As he rounded the next corner though, he ran into a problem. The hallway ended rather abruptly in a steep drop off into a huge cylindrical space. Looking around quickly, he determined it to be a water reservoir, or at least the remains of one. The top was open to the air, and the bottom was filled with water, though he couldn't tell how deep it was. The wall on his section had partially collapsed, explaining the sudden drop off. He briefly wondered if he could climb down, but quickly dismissed the idea as being too dangerous; the collapsed section of the tank was covered in twisted, jagged metal, and the slope was much too steep to safely navigate.

He heard enraged screeching behind him and whirled around, bringing his revolver up and cocking it. The xenomorph was just a black blur in his vision, dashing out of the hall so fast that George never had a chance of hitting it. It didn't stop him from trying though, and he pulled the trigger, missing by a wide margin.

The alien landed on the wall, stuck to it, then adjusted its stance and sprang at George with all the force it could muster. Both sets of jaws were wide open, long teeth glinting in the low light. A scream of pure rage and hatred spilled from the back of its throat

George tried to dodge, but he was just too slow. He felt the xenomorph's inner jaw brush past his ear a split second before the rest of the creature's body slammed into him, knocking them both off the ledge and out into empty space. The alien had unwittingly imparted most of its momentum to George, resulting in him flying a lot further than the alien did.

It was just like when he had first been dropped off here, perhaps as little as an hour ago, George reflected. Time seemed to be moving both very slowly and very quickly. He momentarily took in the sights. He was falling back-first, so he could see the open sky. The clouds were still present and it was still raining, but it looked a little lighter now, and the rain seemed to have let up a bit.

The xenomorph was still screaming, now in fear and surprise rather than anger.

George wished it would shut up; he wanted to die in peaceful quiet.

His last thought before he hit the water was 'I wonder if Meyers and the rest of the team made it out ok'.