This is a co-written between myself and 'Christoman' of Deviant Art.

The story takes a different look at the universe through the eyes of a rogue hive male and the first son of the lead character from A Lethal Pact, Syn. It is pretty much based in the same 'universe' as A Lethal Pact, with a few variations to suit Christoman's character, Flinch Spacey, those who have read my works will know of the references in this piece.

It may not be what some readers would expect, it was certainly a first for me, but I like the way this is planning out, so we will absolutely continue it. Flinch Spacey takes the normal 'role' of a Xenomorph and pretty much turns it on its head and sets it on fire, and as for the Yautja character, he is the son of Syn'kra-va'al, enough said!

Enjoy, and please feel free to comment / offer critics where applicable.


Prologue: Past… Present… Future?

A'ka'an-dra hadn't always embraced his heritage as perhaps he should have, but being born into the O'ka'an faction of the Dark Blade Clan did have certain advantages. Though his blood Elders had always given him firm, fair and consistent guidance and a healthy upbringing, they set quite high standards. Both his parents, Syn'kra-va'al and Ju'lyn-zal (more privately known as Cassandra), were still regarded as the most elite Operatives the Yautja world of O'ka'an had to offer. From a very young age, A'ka'an-dra's father, Syn'kra-va'al, had earned the widely respected epithet, Thei-de Ka'antyra or 'Deaths Whisper'.

Such a reputation was matched only by his mother's wit and vast knowledge; albeit, the power of thought was not her only ally. Both Master ranked operatives were unnaturally gifted in their own unique ways. For decades, many whispered behind the turned back of a would be ally, rumors of superstition… unsanctioned power… unnatural advantage… Believing he had at first been part of a cursed blood line, these gifts had furthermore been passed onto their first son, A'ka'an-dra.

As a male of two hundred and twenty six, A'ka'an-dra was merely coming into his prime, and much like his father, had trained his body from a very young age to the very limits of physical ability, and then beyond. As he had grown and pushed past barriers, both mental and physical, only then had he discovered the abilities passed onto him were nothing to be taken lightly. He had heard many a skeptical rumor through other Yautja while he was growing, training, some intended, some otherwise. But when the first time came for him to embrace his legacy, it would change the Yautja male's life forever…

As had been expected by many, the very day following his braiding ceremony, A'ka'an-dra had been officially drafted into the ranks of the Dark Blade Clan. Though he had spent his entire life prior to coming of age training both mentally and physically to surpass his parents, this precursor did not make things any easier. Thankfully a strong mind had helped to discard much of the rumour and speculation that preceded him wherever he may have been. As an underling, A'ka'an-dra had often sought comfort from the words of the ancient Blade Master, Bre'ta'ak, who had selected and trained his father, Syn'kra-va'al, centuries prior.

With only one goal in mind, the wiry young male had pushed through the trials and tribulations to become a fully fledged Covert Operative. Over the next few decades, A'ka'an-dra had driven himself to new limits, discovering more of his hidden talents as he aged. When alone off-world, or on missions, A'ka'an-dra would often deliberately force himself into life threatening situations to condition his powerful frame. In time, the first son of Syn'kra-va'al had soon decided that the O'ka'an faction of the Dark Blade Clan could no longer provide him the challenge he desired. His parents had both known this day would come, A'ka'an-dra was much too powerful to contain, not in a physical sense, but more in essence, he knew what he wanted, and he would stop at nothing until he was satisfied.

There was little more than his blood clan bonding A'ka'an-dra to the planet of O'ka'an, and even then he knew that he would return home when opportunities presented themselves. That being so, the promising young Covert presented himself, with great recommendation from several other major Ruling Bodies, to the Council of Leading Yautja as an independent 'specialist'. The Council, located upon Yau'te Prime, was known as the political centre of the greater Yautja systems. It was these Elders A'ka'an-dra would now serve, no subsidiaries, his missions came directly from the Council, to him. With no boundaries, other than the great moral instilled by his parents, A'ka'an-dra was now free to take on any challenge that presented itself, and missions from the Leading Council were always aplenty, especially for a Yautja of his caliber…


'… Another noisy Yau'te cantina, awaiting another intelligence contact… Perhaps another drink…' A'ka'an-dra thought to himself with a smirk. Although he looked lighthearted enough, his razor sharp mind was cataloguing everything his senses were taking in.

The Yautja specialist's mother, Ju'lyn-zal, had always drilled into him the great need of developing a reliable network of intelligence contacts. Well, as reliable as one could hope for in the industry of a covert operative. Though following his mothers own mental prowess was a challenge for any being, A'ka'an-dra was far from being naïve enough to believe anything he heard, especially from an informant or contact…

"My apologies, 'Shadow' my duties kept me from the time I promised…"

A'ka'an-dra looked up from where he sat as a familiar voice spoke loudly over the babbling of many other Yautja that populated the cantina. The specialist blushed slightly at the use of the name 'Shadow' but accepted the forearm offered to him, greeting the newcomer in the traditional Yautja manner. In his other hand, the guest balanced two C'ntlip bowls rather precariously, offering one to his associate. The pair sat together, A'ka'an-dra analyzing everything about the male that now accompanied him at the small corner table. Although his senses were sharper than most, A'ka'an-dra's ability to scent characteristics, above and beyond many others proved more useful than one could imagine. He accepted the C'ntlip bowl without further hesitation and took a short draught before he spoke.

"I do sincerely hope you have something else for me, Ba'nu-ka?"

"Of course, when have I let you down?" he replied, his nervousness becoming instantly obvious upon his scent

"Would you like me to recall just how many times you have let me down…?"

"Point made…" Ba'nu-ka took a big mouthful from his drink before placing it back down upon the table and holding up both hands, feigning innocence. "Directly to business then…"

The pair leaned closer to speak, as to make sure they were not overheard, to a random glance, it may have looked rather suspect. But if one was to cast an eye around the large bar room, there were at least a dozen other suspicious looking Yautja doing very much the same thing. An associate to several Elders from the central Yau'te Clan known as 'Ku-rel', Ba'nu-ka was not much older than A'ka'an-dra, but like most who actually knew the name Shadow, knew very well what the younger male was capable of. Ba'nu-ka cleared his throat.

"As it stands, my superiors have a task much suited to your unique abilities. Though I must mention, it is in the Edridion system…"

"Many opportunities there are in the Edridion system, Ba'nu-ka; Edridion Prime is a literal haven for any being of any species who wants to make a living, illegally. Upon my last visit, the bounty boards were teeming with contracts."

"Eight hundred thousand credits..." Ba'nu-ka quietly replied, taking a sly sip of his C'ntlip

"Eight?" A'ka'an-dra's eyes widened, it was quite a rare occurrence for the well trained operative to actually show emotion.

"That is quite the reaction I was hoping for." Ba'nu-ka smirked

"What are the details…?" asked A'ka'an-dra, almost dreading the answer, if the Ku-rel were offering that much, there had to be a reason

"Higher Elder Gu'n-ka is travelling to Edridion Prime for the annual Power Sled racing finale, as you may well know; he takes great interest in… ridiculous carnage."

A'ka'an-dra thought for a moment, working over possible scenarios inside his head. After a short mouthful of C'ntlip, he stared right into Ba'nu-ka's eyes.

"Who is threatening to kill him…?"

"How do you do that…?!" the older of the two shook his head in disbelief

"Common sense… None would pay an amount as much as that for a simple escort. Answer the question." A'ka'an-dra replied shortly

"Xa'antu…"

"Fantastic this is, the largest union of bad bloods spanning this galaxy, and you want me to step in front of them…? What of your own warriors? Surely they are capable enough."

"The remaining members of the Ku-rel Council think it prudent to have a Yautja of your capacity close by. You know the problems we have had with the Xa'antu in the past, and now they are close to ruling Edridion Prime, it is not farfetched to think they would strike at such an opportune moment."

"A simple solution I have…" A'ka'an-dra drained his C'ntlip bowl as he got to his feet, looking back down at his contact. "Prevent him from going. It will be cheaper and less hassle."

"No one tells Gu'n-ka what to do… He has been attending the Sled racing for countless decades, never missing an event. That is not an option."

"Then just hope the Xa'antu do not wish him dead…"

"Will you at least give it some thought…?" Ba'nu-ka called after him


"Life is your prey, attack it as you please, and your reward will be satisfaction…"

These words were the fundamentals of a Xenomorph whose actual experience with living was only a recent contribution to their life. Flinch Spacey was just the kind of hive male, who would try to build a solid second floor on a wonky first floor. Always replacing his deepest thoughts with irrelevant fiction he concocted from pop culture that he had picked up from numerous worlds, many of which he had forgotten, or was trying hard to.

Though he lived largely in the moment, there was certainly something to be said for his former years… A lot like sticking your hand into a blender really… Makes a right mess of everything and you are left wondering what the hell happened….

He was born of a loving Queen into a world made especially for his kind, but this world taught him a valuable lesson. He became an example to all captive Xenomorph who live long enough to see reality…

"Seeking to put one's self above all life is not a bad thing, if you make something out of it".

Flinch, being a firm believer in whatever doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger certainly lived by these words, to the best of his abilities, none the less. His hive, controlled by a Industrialized Yautja Collective known as the 'Hecuzer Clan', in many ways, created him, molded him into what he is to this day. Being a male, a Hive Guardian, he was of no particular use, so he was used, for lack of a better word, as a training dummy. He became the victim of extreme physical abuse, not to mention the intense psychological scars he was duly rewarded from the clan's leader, Mal'to.

But even in the darkest moments of his life, Flinch managed to show his resolve. His captors learnt just how clever he was. After ambushing and killing several key scientists, he managed to escape the research compound singlehandedly. Though upon learning of his rapid self segregation from the Hive Mind, Mal'to mercilessly slaughtered the Matriarch in a cold blooded attempt to lure Flinch back to the Hive, knowing he was still susceptible to the whispers of the others that called him back. However, knowing what had to be done, Flinch blocked his thoughts to the Hive Mind, fuelled with the design that one day, he would kill every single one of the Yautja that had brought peril to his Hive.

The death of his mother is one thing that the Hive Male struggles to this day to accept, a Xenomorphs mother is variable god, and the day a Xenomorph has to find out that their god can be slain, is a day not many live passed. With sanity intact at least…


Now free from the oversight of the Hive Mind, not to mention, the abuse of the Hecuzer, Flinch makes his own path, lives life to the fullest extent, and makes a few bucks on the side when he can. Though on the flip side, the Hecuzer Alpha, Mal'to, sees Flinch's escape as a great dishonor to his clan as well as his bloodline. He placed a bounty so large on his head that Yautja hunters from many worlds, as well as mercenaries, bounty hunters and every other scumbag heard the call.

Flinch's rough nature and aggressive humor is a thing all who meet him take away with them, exasperated rumors had even spread about some of his adventures as well. To the point where he has become more of an urban legend, fighting along Predator / Human hybrids, surviving a Civil Wars, and a Yautja kill counter few Xenomorphs could only dream of. But his fame was far from its peak, yet alone far from being a legend; his name normally came up in more recent time, when drunken bounty hunters spoke of making quick credits, with no questions asked.


"The Capital Power Sled Track on Edridion Prime had an eerie silence in the lead up to its final race of the season. During closed hours, the wind danced and twirled through the artificial valley created by the two massive viewing stands that loomed either side of the track, kicking up small dust storms. While in the stands themselves, the dust from the track blew against the heavy wire fences like waves striking a rugged shoreline of some desolate Cliffside beach."

Flinch rested his back against the wall beside the main entrance of the stadium, with one leg crossed lazily over the other. The attending staff had already left for the day; they had no doubt been exceptionally busy preparing for the season finale, a huge event that would start shortly after first light the following day. In his right hand he held a small pebble from the large, well travelled dirt roads leading into the stadium, gently tossing and catching it with persisted timing. His long brown duster jackets flaps hung motionless from the lack of wind in his current, semi sheltered spot. The hive male had a strange look on his face as it gave the impression he was expecting someone.

"And they say I'm an untrustworthy bastard…" he mumbled to himself with a slight snicker.

"… I say so too, Parasite…"

Flinch shook his head chuckling, letting the rock fall to the ground as he instinctively shifted his weight to his trailing foot, ready to pounce, reducing his victim to waste at the first sign of trouble. He opened his outer jaws slightly to get a better look at the figure that had just rounded the corner of a nearby building and was making its way toward him, a proud, overly confident smirk plastered all over its ugly, misshapen face. Edridion Prime was home to countless species' of scumbags, like God's own personal turd collection. This one happened to be a male from the race of meta-humanoids known as the 'Zabrak'.

"You sure know the perfect time to show you ugly face around here, Zabrak" Flinch replied.

"The names Wil, Mr. Spacey…" the Zabrak replied with a raised eyebrow.

The two exchanged a quick handshake before keeping a distance and getting down to business, Wil seemed insulted by Flinch's lack of respect in his posture, laying casually on a wall grinning. Wasting no more time, the hive male swished his tail around to scratch the side of his head.

"So is it a yes? You're boss willing to do business?" Flinch asked as he folded his arms, his tail still moving independently

Wil slowly gave a smile as his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, giving a look that almost certainly said he knew how this was going to end.

"The boss will do business with you, but you gotta be prepared to pay up when your sled loses, understand…?"

"Yeah yeah, I got it all here, all cash, all untraceable…" Flinch replied with a subtle, yet cheeky smirk on his face.

"You got the cred? That's good. That means you get to walk away from this deal not minus any teeth Bug…"

Flinch let his inner jaws emerge, wearing a proud grin on his face before snapping them threateningly at the newcomer.

"Maybe try cutting something out that won't shed any tears on your behalf" Flinch added.

Wil slowly pulled a long cigarette from his left sleeve and a lighter from his right, as he lit it Flinch tilted his head at the smell. Without taking his eyes from the Zabrak male, he could smell the chemicals from the burnt jooba weed, a common alternative to cloned tobacco in these parts. He hissed in disgust at the smell that insulted his fine tuned senses.

"You know what, I won't bother, those death sticks should do my job just fine" he said as he gave a soft, almost mocking chuckle.

"You got one chance Spacey, to make it or break it in this system, if your tip off doesn't get it up, we expect full payment. Immediately, no excuses from either of those mouths." Wil sneered taking a long drag on his cigarette. "We all heard about you, everyone knows about you… How you hustle people outta cred, then bail before they can catch you… Cowardly… Not a smart move for one as wanted as yourself."

"Perhaps…" Flinch shrugged once, "Then again, maybe all you criminals are just as fucking stupid as each other, no matter where I end up… Certainly as ugly, that's a no brainer…"

"Ain't no place you can hide around here Bug, you fuck us, and we will scale the universe to find you, don't you doubt that for a second…" Wil spat, his voice slightly distorted in part to the cigarette in his mouth. He took one more long drag of the chemically altered jooba weed before flicking it to the ground at Flinches clawed feet and casually walking off down the deserted roadway.

"Really…?" Flinch looked to his feet for a second, "Didn't your mother teach you any manners…? Shit stick! I was talking to you…!"

Without warning the Zabrak spun around, reaching for his weapon. Even though he was a rogue, Flinch still possessed a great deal of the frighteningly aggressive speed that his kind were known and feared for. He was on Wil in a flash, both hands clasped around the Zabrak's throat, his razor sharp claws digging into the skin around its neck.

"Go on… Take that pistol out and see what happens…" Flinch hissed with malice, his tail suddenly flicking up from nowhere, the razor sharp point hovering mere millimeters from Wil's right eye ball. He snapped his inner jaws menacingly. "And tell your boss, the next time he wants to try and intimidate me, send someone whose face doesn't look like a mutated cheesecake…"

Flinch shoved the Zabrak away, and pointed up the road with both his right hand and his tail blade.

"Now scuttle back on home to your Daddy, shit stick … And don't you fucking look back…"

Flinch kept his cocky grin on as he laid back against the wall, folding his arms with a satisfied growl. Though as Wil disappeared from sight, he felt an anxious rush rising in his chest, he turned to the wall and laid his head against, taking deep breaths as a feeling of fear crept up his spine.

"Oh fuck me" he said in a wheezy voice. "If that sled doesn't make a podium finish…" he left the sentence hanging, not wanting to admit the outcome to himself. "Common luck don't let my ass down this time…"