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Zivos Station, Sigurd's Cradle
Sergeant Thomson sprinted through the labyrinthine hallways of Zivos Station, short brown hair pasted to her face with sweat. Those things had ambushed her and her men, and she had fled while they were being ripped to pieces. Their agonized screams had followed her as she ran. She had known this job was too good to be true. Just a nice little security job out in the far reaches of the Terminus Systems, guarding a research station. The commander of that particular group of Blue Suns mercenaries, a Batarian by the name of Casik Alaeo, had jumped at the chance to get some easy money, and had accepted Weyland-Yutani's offer without hesitation.
Now, Sergeant Alyssa Thomson thought to herself, we're seeing the fine print of the deal.
A faint hissing sound ripped her from her thoughts, alerting her to the danger and causing her to skid to a stop on the smooth, grey floor. Turning around, Carnifex hand cannon at the ready, she stared down the long corridor. Nothing was in sight.
She knew better than to assume it was only her imagination; another one of the creatures had gotten her with that trick, and was also the reason why her helmet was no longer with her. The thing's acidic blood had caught her by surprise and she had just barely managed to tear off her helmet before the acid got onto her skin. Why the thing hadn't killed her then and there was beyond her. It had been wounded, sure. But she had been alone, with no form of backup. It had disappeared into a nearby vent shortly after the brief encounter. She had been left with the after-images of the ebony monstrosity, and the number "3" branded onto its forehead. Thomson hadn't wasted any time sprinting away from that location.
A drop of saliva hit her boot, her eyes widening in horror as the creature's location dawned on her. Thomson threw herself backwards, firing upwards and emptying her clip into the creature's mass. Only half of them hit their target, the other three rounds chipping into the white bulkhead around it. The alien recoiled, shrieking in pain as the mass-accelerated rounds tore into its chest. The alien dropped down from its position, acidic blood hissing into the deck as it dripped from its body.
Thomson pulled the trigger again, aiming at its eye-less face. She cursed at the empty clicking, remembering she had fired all of the rounds in her panicked frenzy. She only now remembered that the lab brainiacs around the station had called the creatures "Xenomorphs." Why she remembered that now of all times, she couldn't say.
The Xenomorph's tail lashed out at her, slapping her gun to the ground before skewering her hand. A spurt of blood chased the bladed tail as it retracted from the wound it had created. It then placed its hands on her shoulders, keeping her in place. She recognized this one. It had the same wounds as the one she shot when she discovered the acidic blood. And the mark of the number 3 was another distinguishing characteristic.
What the hell is it doing? Why isn't it killing me?
The answer to her questions came in the form of a slight skittering noise from just beyond the Xenomorph, the way she had been heading before her second encounter with it. A sudden epiphany hit her. She hadn't been fleeing from it. It had been herding her somewhere, presumably towards where the skittering was coming from.
The Xenomorph moved slightly to the side, hands still holding her. She had just enough time to see a crab-like spider flying towards her face before her world went dark.
XXX
Unknown Space
As the Xenomorph outbreak on the station was getting underway, the station's staff were able to send out a distress signal. Said signal was being broadcast across all frequencies in the hope that someone, anyone, would be around to help them.
The Clan Elder scowled in irritation as the ship's computer deciphered the message. Waeland Yootani; he had dealt with their kind before. The Yautja's scowl deepened. The panicked screeching of the oomans was grating on his ears. The location of the broadcast's origin was found, and the Clan Elder gestured for the helmsman to make the jump to hyperspace. The Yautja nodded, and input the coordinates.
Despite the oomans' incompetence, his warriors would still conduct themselves with honor.
And despite the overwhelming odds, he had no doubt that they would prove victorious.
XXX
Skepsis System, Sigurd's Cradle
"Shepard, I have detected an anomaly."
Commander Jane Shepard groaned in annoyance. Her fiery red hair matched her mood perfectly. She pinched the bridge of her lightly-freckled nose.
"Okay, EDI. What do we have?"
If it's another Reaper artifact that has an army of Husks around it I swear to God…
"There is a distress signal emanating from Zivos Station, relayed via comm buoy. They are broadcasting on all frequencies."
Shepard released the bridge of her nose, emerald eyes narrowing in thought.
"Can you play the message?"
"Affirmative," the A.I. replied.
Moments later, the audio of the distress signal could be heard throughout the CIC. The speaker appeared to be a middle-aged human male, if the voice was to be believed. Gunfire punctuated the speaker's words.
"Mayday! Mayday! This is Director Dio of the Weyland-Yutani research station Zivos. We have an infestation, and request immediate aid! I repeat: we have a- GAA-!"
There was an audible sound of bones splintering, followed by a blood-curdling screech. The recording cut out. A few seconds later, it played back, the loop restarting.
Many of the crew members turned away or looked down in disgust and horror. Shepard clenched her fists.
"Joker," she contacted the pilot.
"What's up, Commander?"
Mouth set in grim determination, the Spectre gave her answer.
"Plot a course for the Mil system."
"Aye, aye, Commander."
Retrieving the Reaper IFF could wait.
XXX
Zivos Station
Specimen 3 felt an odd sense of fulfillment. It had been tasked, along with its siblings, to expand the Hive. To do that, the Hive required more servants. And so, 3 and its siblings broke out of containment to wreak havoc amongst their captors. Now, many hosts lined the interior of the hatcheries, future generations of Kin gestating within them.
3 had joined its siblings on the hunt for the Armed Prey in the hopes of eradicating the threat they posed to the Hive. The Xenomorph and the small group it was a part of effortlessly surrounded and eliminated the majority of the group of Armed Prey. Only one hostile remained; it had fled destruction while its comrades perished. 3 had pursued.
It could have easily killed the Armed Prey. It was going to, until it felt the presence of a Young One, alone and confused, scurrying through the maze-like hallways. 3 had made a decision then. It would assist the Young One in securing a host. Then, it herded the Armed Prey towards the Young One's location. However, in its resolve to not kill the Armed Prey, it had sustained injuries in its first one-on-one encounter with it. 3 couldn't allow the Young One to be harmed.
That's why it disarmed the Armed Prey when the Young One was near. Then, all 3 had to do was keep it in place until the Young One arrived.
Now, the Young One was safely wrapped around the Armed Prey's face, injecting the embryo into its chest cavity. Its duty done, 3 left the Young One to its own devices. There were still more threats to the Hive.