The ERRV Merciful Indictor was ghostly silent as it sailed through the starry expanse of space which made up Evernus II's orbit. The mass of front-mounted aerials and communication relays desperately cast their voices upon the deaf planet in the hopes of finding survivors, but alas, there were no responses to be found.

"Gather the marines," Captain Hollis commanded without tearing his eyes away from the viewscreen before him. From their current orbital position, the system's sun was just peeking over the planet's horizon in what would have been a beautiful view if not for the circumstances. Hollis stared grimly onwards at the yellow-brown continents as his crew rushed to do his bidding, as if the shrouded planet held the answers to the questions on his mind.

"Briefing, Sir?" his head staff officer implored. Hollis shook his head.

"I'll see to Lieutenant Dober personally. This mission could be sensitive in nature."

"Aye, Sir."

Straight-backed and hands clasped behind his back, Captain Hollis strode from the bridge with his head held high; reminding his crew of their captain's proud and level-headed nature. True to his word, he met up with Lieutenant Dober in Briefing Room 03 and cobbled together some mission files. Soon after the captain took his leave, the room was quickly filled with twelve marines, standing to dutiful attention.

"At ease men!" Dober barked, thumbing a small device in his hand. The marines took their seats and attentively turned to the screen at the front of the room, which was just now flickering to life. Dober took a moment to take stock of the men he had; he knew each and every one of the marines under his control – their strengths, weaknesses, fears and aspirations. He gave a satisfied nod to himself after the once-over. He mostly had greenhorns to work with, but today he'd been blessed with four ranking soldiers and some of the brightest privates on the ship.

Gunnery Sergeant Robert Dutch was the highest ranking of them all, and would be leading the team on this particular mission. Dutch was a bear of a man; tall, broad, muscular and bristling with thick, grey hair. He was gruff, blunt and harsh, but never cruel to the men under his command. He kept morale high in sticky situations by keeping calm, level-headed and forming an efficient plan of attack quickly. Dober had never seen him enter a combat situation without hefting a heavy variant of the standard Pulse Rifle – an M41AE2 – which boasted a three-hundred round magazine and an elongated barrel for long-ranged fire. The downsides of the additional firepower, however, were its weight and the need to replace the under-barrel grenade launcher with a bipod in order to give the weapon proper balance.

Corporal Tara Piotra was Dutch's right-hand man – or woman, rather. She kept her hair buzz-cut to reflect her law-abiding attitude. She was a hard-ass when it came to laying down the rules, and anyone caught breaking regulation on her watch could count their lucky stars if they got off with a mere verbal warning. Despite this, Tara was often cheerful and gung-ho when around people she trusted; always the first to make small talk on the trip down and the last to board the craft back up. She was fiercely loyal and gladly put others' lives before her own, even when the odds were stacked up against her; she brought 'no man left behind' to a whole new level. Her lean body was well toned, leaving her quick, agile and tough – exactly the kind of marine you'd want at your side when dealing with superior alien lifeforms.

Lance Corporal Patrick Sitherland was the easy-going member of the group. When put on the same team, he constantly butted heads with Tara due to their opposing ends of the same spectrum. He saw rules as something with plenty of leeway, and Dober had found himself with the displeasure of chewing him out over the same little things over and over again – such as grooming habits. Patrick always let his shaggy blonde hair grow into a mop which tumbled over his eyes, which he complained could easily be stowed within his helmet pre-combat. He didn't own an impressive body, as he spent every spare moment slacking off with his buddies rather than cramming in extra training like most of the other dedicated marines on the ship. Despite this, he was an excellent marksman and insisted on toting an M42C Scoped Rifle at all times, showing little regard for what kind of weapons the mission called for. In close combat situations, he resorted to using an M4A3 Service Pistol, frustrating his peers to no end when he ended up having never unholstered his rifle for the entire duration of the mission.

Specialist Marty Yabul was the final non-private marine of the group. He was a quiet, reserved man who was substantially smaller than the rest of the marines on board, being short and rather thin. His redeeming factor was the impressive amount of knowledge he held at his disposal and, while not as impressive as Corporal Sitherland, he possessed a steady aim and a reservoir of firearm expertise. He always analysed the mission thoroughly before choosing a weapon best suited for the area of combat, though shotguns weren't his strong suit. He earned the rank of Specialist through his firearms knowledge, making him the go-to guy when gear malfunctions came into play. He was often an object of scorn for the others due to his nervous and fidgety nature, but none could deny his persistent longing to do the right thing.

The eight privates had yet to make a proper name for themselves, but Dober knew them reservedly. Private Douglas Jett, Private Samantha Rhode, Private Mark Edwards, Private Oscar Earl, Private Janet Fisher, Private Klaus Kenovin, Private, First Class, Eugene Whear and Private, First Class, Jacob Harlor. They all trained hard, performed well and were pretty good with standard equipment.

Samantha was one of the more notable figures, as she was well on the way to becoming a top-notch field medic; she'd earned her shoulder patch featuring the Red Cross, but hadn't quite gotten past her first rank yet.

And Jacob… he was a hell of a good soldier, but his personal opinions got in the way of his progression; he questioned his superiors near constantly and always landed himself in mountains of trouble as a result. He had high moral opinions which he ought to contain better. His 'ask questions first, shoot later' attitude made him a poor leader, as that kind of thinking put a squad on the disadvantage when dealing with dangerous hostiles.

"Alright marines, we have a special mission today," Lieutenant Dober boomed, twirling a small 'wand' between his fingers. The smooth, wooden stick was in actuality a remote for the screen which doubled as a useful tool for pointing at things. "The good captain believes we might have ourselves a bug hunt on our hands…" Dober paused to admire the uncertain sideways glances his privates exchanged, chuckling internally. "I understand that the majority of you are greenhorns who ain't seen an alien before, so you'd better listen closely kids. These creatures the white-coats call 'Xenomorphs' are fast, deadly and remorseless killing machines. They have earned themselves the nickname 'perfect organism', when in reality they are anything but! They are vulnerable to excessive quantities of caseless rounds and controlled spontaneous combustion. That's the fancy-ass way of saying 'blow them the hell up!'"

A few quiet chuckles graced the Lieutenant's ears, triggering a pleased smirk to flicker across his face, before he forced himself to press his lips into a grim line, continuing the briefing. "This colony was a Weyland-Yutani investment, full to the brim with labs and lab-coats, as well as a fully-fledged armed and dangerous security force. All communication has ceased, leaving us to believe that the Xenomorphs have broken containment and taken the colony for themselves. Now, I'm sure the execs would be much obliged if you'd be so kind as to avoid damaging any salvageable equipment, but your lives and those of the survivors are your number one priority. Number two priority is destroying the infestation at any cost. Number three priority is re-containing the Xenomorph Queen and any specimens you are able to get your hands on. Succeed in all three objectives, and you lucky bastards will be receiving double salary for the next three months."

With a click of his wand, Dober switched to the next slide on-screen. A 2D blueprint of the colony appeared, scrawled white lettering marking certain points on the detailed layout of every room, door and vent in the building. "As I'm sure you'll all be aware, Xenos tend to be drawn to the warm, moist areas of colonies, i.e. the energy core. This beauty lies in the centre of the colony, and may be heavily guarded depending on how long these guys have been here. There are three entrances which will be breached simultaneously by three squads of four. Sergeant Dutch, you'll be leading Alpha Squad with Specialist Yabul and two supporting privates to the security centre via the North Gate. Your mission is to regain command of the colony so as to control and monitor the Xenos' movements. Corporal Piotra, you'll be taking Bravo Squad through the West Gate to divert attention from Alpha Squad. When you meet up, you'll be accompanying them to the control centre. Corporal Sitherland, you're in charge of getting Charlie Squad through the East Gate and to higher ground on the catwalks, where you will be supporting Alpha and Bravo Squads as needed. Are your missions clear marines?"

"Sir, yes sir!" came the unanimous cry.

"I want boots on the ground in half an hour, so be prepped and ready for drop in ten minutes. Dismissed!"

The twelve marines immediately reported to the armoury, pulling their armour on over their fatigues and snatching their preferred weapons off racks. Magazines were checked, bolts cocked experimentally, scopes adjusted and HUDs calibrated. Then they were off, just as quickly as they'd come, emerging from the shelves of weapons and into the hangar, where a small dropship awaited them.

~~~~~~~~~~()~~~~~~~~~~

Evernus II
1700 Hours
Mission Time: 00:05
Alpha Squad

Sergeant Dutch slipped his helmet onto his head, watching his HUD flicker to life and sync with the others' as the three men under his control did the same. Along with Specialist Yabul, he'd been grouped with Privates Harlor and Rhode, the trio sitting on the seats opposite him, the dropship's aisle separating him from his subordinates.

"Touching down in three minutes," the pilot informed them over the intercom, "I'll be standing by in an isolated location once I've dropped you off; these guys have a knack for getting in your landing gear."

"Thanks for the heads-up, ma'am," Dutch chuckled. He turned to his nervous, fidgeting men, noting how they quickly averted their eyes and stilled themselves under his scrutinising gaze. "I take it you greenhorns have read the files?"

"Yes, sir," they responded uneasily.

"Good. We stay in a tight group and watch all quarters. Stand clear of all vents and maintenance entrances, and try to stay in sight of Charlie Squad whenever possible. We'll be fine as long as we can gun them down before they get close."

"And… if they do get close?" Private Harlor asked hesitantly.

"Then the odds begin stacking against us, so don't let it happen marine! Am I understood?"

"Sir, yes sir. I'll stay frosty, sir."

"Glad to hear it. Now, straps off; we're here." Even as he said so, the howling of the dropship's engines wound down to a quiet humming, whilst the rear hatch slowly swung outwards until it hit the ground. Dutch was the first to jog down the heavy-duty ramp, hefting his weapon at his side with one arm and signalling his squad to follow with the other.

Marty checked his M39 Sub-Machine Gun was firmly attached to his hip before grunting as he took the burden of two large, heavy, black cases upon himself. The two privates brought up the rear, keeping their standard M14A Pulse Rifles at eye level, seeming to be led by the barrel as they swept the area for hostiles. The roar of engines picked up behind them as soon as the last pair of boots hit the desolate, concrete-clad ground, signalling their ride was leaving, prompting Samantha to throw a hesitant and longing look over her shoulder at the receding vehicle.

With nothing but hand signals, Dutch commanded Marty to hang back in cover whilst Jacob and Samantha took up positions on either side of the enormous, heavy gates which barred their progress into the colony.

Even from his vantage point, Marty couldn't see much of the typical colony. The imposing grey structure was enormous, bulky and ugly with too few windows and a thick metal shell protecting it from the elements of the world outside. He could however, spot an exceptionally large dish hanging limply from its tower towards the farthest edge of the colony. He hoped that it wasn't a hardware fault, as he didn't much fancy climbing the flimsy metal structure which touched the clouds above in order to perform a manual alignment.

Meanwhile, Dutch was plugging a small device into the door controls, and with the tapping of a few buttons, a mechanical whine sounded, the doors slowly rolling open to allow them entrance. Jacob and Samantha immediately sprang from their hiding places, beams of light from their gun-mounted torches bouncing off the metallic walls as they frantically scoured the darkness within for any signs of life. Jacob let out a shaky sigh of relief, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He was both excited for and dreading his first encounter with these 'Aliens' – he couldn't tell which emotion was more predominant, but he didn't exactly have a lot of choice, a fact which he was reminded of as Dutch motioned for them to form up as he stepped inside.

Jacob sighed and kept his gun steady as he fell in behind Samantha, who had taken it upon herself to stay glued to Marty's defenceless side. "Private Harlor," Dutch barked suddenly.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get your eyes on a motion tracker – I want to know any and all movements in the area."

"Yes, sir." Jacob dutifully did as he was told, lowering his weapon while he fetched the bulky device from his pocket. He flicked it on, nodding approvingly as the blue screen flickered to life and displayed the familiar cone shape which was bisected by lines at regular intervals. Besides the quiet humming and crackling, the motion tracker was silent. Awkwardly, Jacob manoeuvred himself so he was holding his motion tracker in his left hand and his gun's handle with his right, resting the weapon's fore grip on his left forearm so the two objects were side by side, allowing him to quickly switch from tracker to iron sights. Perfect.

"Charlie Squad, checking in," Corporal Sitherland's voice announced over their short-ranged comms. "We're in position on the catwalks. We got a good view over the middle section of the colony; swing by at any time."

"Bravo Squad, taking up position beneath the catwalks, awaiting the arrival of Alpha," Corporal Piotra updated them.

"We're almost there," Dutch replied, "we just need to make our way through Administration, then we'll be right with you. Sergeant Dutch out."

"Movement," Jacob growled, a meek beep sounding from his motion tracker. There was a skittering in the vents above them, and guns were immediately raised, poised to strike. Marty dropped his cases and whipped out his SMG, following the path of the vent above with his torch beam. The others' bounced around frantically as they searched the area. "There!" Jacob yelled, not looking up from his screen as he jabbed a finger at the vent before him. The beeping had stopped momentarily, meaning their enemy was still. A sitting duck.

Three shrill roars accompanied the blinding muzzle flashes as the vent was riddled with bullet holes, and Jacob's motion tracker beeped insistently when their target resumed moving, hurtling away at full speed. He dutifully kept his finger trained on its position, until the onslaught of bullets caused the vent to tear open and collapse into the hallway.

Crimson blood dribbled onto the floor as a tiny, brown, furry body wheezed pitifully on the floor, a large hole in its side. Marty groaned as he ejected his spent magazine, rubbing his eyes warily.

"Sir!" Corporal Tara Piotra exclaimed over the comms. "Is everyone okay? We heard gunfire!"

"We're fine. It was just a fucking rat," Dutch cursed, tilting his gun to view the ammo counter. "Continuing to the rendezvous point."

"Roger. Piotra out."

The squad regrouped, and Marty retrieved his cases from where he'd carelessly thrown them, allowing them to move out once more. They came up on the Administration office, where new arrivals would be processed, and stepped through the lifeless metal detectors, leading the way with their gun-mounted torches. Jacob paused briefly to nab a PDA through the window of the security booth. When questioned, he shrugged and simply said:

"You never know what useful titbits you'll find on these things." Dutch rolled his eyes and allowed the man to tuck the device into his vest before signalling the group to continue forward.

"Still no Xenomorph sightings," Samantha observed, breaking her silent streak. "Maybe it's a false alarm?"

"Maybe," Dutch humoured her, "but then where are all the people?"

"Maybe they're all throwing a big-ass party somewhere?" Jacob joked, a smirk finding its way to his face despite the grim situation.

"Well, they'd better hope they have been taken by Xenos then – they didn't invite me," Marty remarked with a chuckle.

"Shut it you two; we're approaching the catwalks now," Dutch snapped. The four soldiers stepped through the large doorway and found themselves within a hangar-like area. It was enormous, box shaped, and filled with huge shipping containers. High above was a series of suspended walkways which branched off into maintenance shafts and at least one cargo crane cockpit. Dutch spotted Corporal Sitherland give a single wave, before pressing his fingers to his helmet.

"How's the pest control going sir?" he inquired with a mocking chuckle.

"Haven't squashed any bugs yet, but we did manage to nail a rat," Dutch shot back without missing a beat. Sitherland gave a predatorial grin as he chuckled again and shouldered his rifle. "Now, you guys stay put while we take the control room; I'll update your orders once we've confirmed the Hive's location."

"Understood sir. Hear back from ya soon." Dutch nodded at the man in the walkways above and returned his attention to his squad, adjusting his grip on the heavy-duty rifle in his arms.

"Let's get moving. Schematics say it should be a few sections away from our current position, close to the centre of the colony. Watch out for signs of infestation; we'll be getting close to the core, so running into resistance is a possibility." Corporal Piotra signalled her group to follow along behind the Sergeant as he and his men began moving out.

Once again, Alpha squad found themselves stepping cautiously through dull grey corridors, checking every corner with slow swoops from their torches. This time, however, they had Bravo squad taking up position behind them, crouching with their weapons at the ready every time they stopped to check the area.

"Nothing. Not a human, Xeno, or even a damned rat," Corporal Tara Piotra murmured.

"Stay focused," Dutch advised her, "you never know where these things are hiding. Don't let your guard down, check every shadow and exposed vent. Getting comfy is a sure-fire way to get us all killed."

"Copy that, sir," Tara sighed, reluctantly twisting her torso with her sights pressed against her eye, critically examining every square inch the white beam washed over. Unease was twisting her stomach. Something felt wrong here.

"Schematics say the core is two rooms over that-a-way," Private Douglass Jett pointed out, jabbing a finger at the wall to their right. "The Xenos should be attacking us by now. I have a bad feeling about this…"

Dutch shook his head at the antsy marines and poked his head out from where he was pressed against the wall, allowing him to peek into the corridor around the intersection's corner. He couldn't see any movement, so he quickly followed the action up by stepping out and aiming his weapon down the hallway. A quick sweep revealed nothing but a dead, neon sign reading 'SECURITY and CONTROL'.

Dutch eagerly gave the signal for his squads to form up, relieved that they would finally be able to get a firm grip on the situation, as well as establish a base of operations. The sooner they stopped wandering out in the open and hunkered down for a plan of attack, the better. Privates Jett and Whear walked backwards, bringing up the rear and ensuring nothing could sneak up on their team's exposed backsides.

Meanwhile, Sergeant Dutch pulled out his ID and swiped it over the small terminal beside the door. The pad beeped and flashed green. The door didn't move. Dutch frowned and swiped again. A mechanical whine sounded, and with a start, Dutch realised something was jamming the door, preventing it from opening. It was a sliding door, which meant there must be something caught in the mechanisms. Or…

Or something sticky sealing the door shut. No signs of welding meant it was something sticky, robust and durable once set. Something which made an excellent material for building hives…

"Backs against the wall!" Dutch roared. "Guns up, shoulder lights on! Check your ammo and prep those motion trackers, we have company!"

A low, ominous hissing emanated from all around them, the oppressive sounds cornering them in the tight corridor. "Nail them at range! Don't let them come any closer than the end of that corridor!"

Black forms began spilling in, screeching bloody murder at the invaders, who let loose battle cries of their own as fingers tightened on triggers. There were too many of them, covering every surface, sending sprays of green acid splattering onto the walls and floor.

"Grenade!" Private Jett yelled, tucking the stock of his gun into his armpit as his fingers shifted to the trigger of the under-barrel grenade launcher. A single, rounded projectile soared out with a comical poomf! of released gases. The Xenos must have recognised the small object, for they attempted to scatter a second too late. The marines covered their eyes with their arms as a resounding boom! shook the corridor, deafeningly-loud in the confined space. Private Klaus Kenovin screamed as a wave of green blood soaked him. He fell, writhing in agony, to the floor.

"Whear! Get the fucking door!" Dutch screamed over the shrill cries of their rifles emptying their rounds into the enemy. Whear dropped his weapon and fumbled the plasma torch off his belt, before crouching down in front of the door and flicking the plasma flame on. Sparks began washing the room in strobes of orange light as the Xenomorphs got close – too close. Private Samantha Rhode yelped in protest as her Pulse Rifle bubbled and contorted when it was hit by a stray splash of Xeno blood. She jumped in fright and dropped the sizzling weapon, snatching her pistol off her belt and cracking off shots with that instead.

Dutch quickly wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead, ignoring how it shifted his helmet uncomfortably, as he slapped in a fresh clip. "Whear!" he yelled warningly.

"Halfway there sir!" Dutch gritted his teeth and rolled into a wall to avoid the lashing tail of a Xenomorph. Kenovin, however, wasn't so lucky. From his vulnerable fetal position on the floor, the bladed, bony appendage sliced right through the right side of his chest and hip. Tara suddenly stepped out in front of the group, screwing a small canister into the bottom of a mess of pipes and gauges which was vaguely gun-shaped.

"Down! Down!" Dutch ordered, throwing himself onto the floor and shielding his face with his arms. From there he, and all the others, could only rely on their armour to protect them. Tara held the weapon at her hip and yanked the trigger, releasing a torrent of orange flames which raked across the walls and carpeted the floor like water filling a bucket. Pained screeches filled the air as midnight black limbs flailed helplessly, bony bodies crashing into walls in a primal panic.

No sooner had the flames began to dwindle, when Tara tightened her finger's grip once more, showering the area with fire until there was an enormous wall of flame separating the aliens from the cowering marines. Dutch winced as he felt the heat wash over his already-stuffy armour, the metal heating to dangerous temperatures.

Then the roaring of fire died down to a mere crackle of lingering flames. Tara grimaced and threw down her empty weapon, wasting no time in drawing her M14A Pulse Rifle from its sling on her back and emptying that instead.

"Private!" she snapped irritably as the cautious hisses of humbled Xenos grew closer again. Tentatively, the black creatures were poking their heads out from their hiding places. When no flames licked at their sensitive bodies, they began stalking closer. Slowly, ever so slowly, ready to bolt if more fire appeared.

"Done!" Private Eugene Whear yelled. Dutch stumbled over and shoved his ID card at the sensor. The door hissed open.

"Go go go!" Dutch roared, giving his men scornful shoves to get them staggering through the doorway faster, helping the marines in firing off pot-shots as they retreated from the emboldened aliens, who were sprinting towards them, eager to continue their onslaught. Finally, the last marine was through, allowing Dutch to grab Kenovin's limp body by the collar and drag him inside. As soon as Kenovin's foot was through, Private Jacob Harlor slammed his hand on the door controls, sealing it tight. Half a second later, a heavy thump resounded through the thick metal, signifying a momentous alien had just collided with it.

"Shit!" Tara cursed once she'd regained her breath. "They ambushed us! They fucking ambushed us, man! How the hell did they know to do that?"

"Who cares?" Dutch growled. "We're here for a reason. Let's complete the mission and get the hell out of here. I'll radio the 'Indictor as soon as we get this place up and running."