Aliens: The Second Survivor
Chapter 1: The Day the Rescue Came
He lived on a perilous three-way edge of instinct, paranoia, and routine. Instinct kept him moving. Paranoia kept him in the know. Routine kept him sane.
He had survived for two years after the infestation happened. It took two years for rescue to come. The day had been part of his paranoid routine.
He hid in a hub in the service shaft. It was where he lived. No bigger in space than the space below a dining table. His alarm was his old cellular. He always had it go off at 7:30. He woke up, yet didn't shut it off. He let it shut off on it's own. He'd also modified it to only go off once.
Removing himself from the bed he'd set up, which was a mat with a pillow and blanket on top, he got dressed for the day.
The only thing he'd needed to put on was his survival jacket; he always slept in his clothes. The jacket contained everything he'd need to be able to venture out beyond the shafts. It held his security controls, a couple of throwing knives, and his all-access key-card.
He was 17, and lived the past two years on a daily routine he'd come up with. At the meeting points to his hub, he'd set up cameras for both. However, the entrances weren't under surveillance. His solution for seeing if the coast was clear, was to use a video-equipped toy spy-car. Using his monitor on the remote, he guided the car to his desired exit.
Seeing the coast was clear, he brought himself to the exit, leaving the car there and checking still.
Upon reaching the exit, he took the spycar and remote and placed them in an inside pocket of his coat.
It was rather large, made of leather, and had tons of pockets. He chose it for another reason. He could easily slip out of it if one of the Xenos grabbed him. Though he had several other names for them.
The Enemy. The Controllers… He'd had dozens for them. Most of them were written in his journal. However, being out in the open, it was not time to look back on what was in the Safehouse( his name for the shaft hub) and time to focus on what is out here.
He'd needed to grab breakfast. He always had stashed canned food in different places. The nearest one was on the floor below, ten meters to the left, hidden behind a loose panel.
He was on the second floor, and the one below was the ground level, home to the entrance of this part of the facility.
He knew they came around there within the hour during the local Tuesday. He was certain that was today, he kept a calendar.
Making his way to the stairs, he slid down the banister. The best way to move was fast and with a purpose. He never wanted to waste time getting from point a to point b. Time-wasters got killed, brought back to the hive, whatever they did when they caught you.
He moved towards the panel, making certain to constantly watch his back. Constant vigilance was reinforce with slight paranoia. He'd seen his friends get taken back because they didn't look back. It was also the basis for one of his survival mottos.
He moved towards the loose panel he'd hidden the cans behind. He would take it to the Safehouse, if it weren't for the fact he'd need to feed himself if it was found.
To open the panel, one just had to knock the panel in the right place. Knocking the upper-right spot really hard, he opened the panel. And found a sight that was unexpected
It seemed most of the food he'd stashed in there went missing. He'd had 50 cans yesterday, and today there were only 23.
"Crap!" He yelled. He was startled by his own echo. Checking around his back, he found that nothing was sneaking up on him. Then he checked above and below. Still nothing.
He sorted through the cans and took two. Replacing the panel, he then started walking back to the stairs when he heard the sound.