Hicks and I went back into the lab to see no one had really moved. My gaze settled on Spunkmeyer; with the rips in his jacket, I could easily see the bandages beneath, and they were starting to become soaked with fresh blood.

Hicks nudged me in Ripley's direction. "Apologize, OK? You don't need to write her a book. Just say you're sorry for being a dick."

I sighed. There was still a part of me that didn't want to apologize, but I knew Hicks was going to rip me a new asshole if I didn't. Frankly, I didn't see why Hicks was taking Ripley's side. Was he just being polite? I think he was just being polite. If he legitimately likes her, I pity him. Carlisle was at least a nice person, and not unbearable to be around.

Gorman and Apone were discussing the minute details of the plan to blow up the derelict ship containing the eggs. I could also hear Bishop's input about how if there are hundreds of eggs, the derelict could be a significantly larger hive, with more aliens than we can handle.

"If that's the case," Gorman said, rubbing his face, "we'll need a lot more explosives. When we get back to the dropship, grab some pulse rifles, start equipping them with grenade launchers. Suit up the smartgunners, and I want some timed charges loaded into the APC."

I had a feeling of dread sitting in my stomach since we landed. It was gradually getting more and more nauseous. My last mission, and it could be one where some of my friends and teammates get killed. You could say that about any mission we've been on, but, dear God, this is the worst we've ever done.

I waited until Gorman and Apone turned their attention to Ferro, and then I approached Ripley. "Hey, I don't know if this is the best time right now, but . . . I'm sorry about earlier." I bit my tongue, strongly resisting the urge to explain myself. Getting the apology out was more important.

In the few times we've made eye contact throughout this task, this was the least hostile look Ripley gave me. I think I did a good job at not looking pissed off, but I know that I have tendency to just look mad all the time.

"Do you act like this every time something doesn't go your way?" she asked.

You're kidding me, right? "No," I said. "Not every time. I act like this whenever I think my teammates are being led into a death trap."

"Right. I'll remember that next time."

"Look, it's not like you're wrong. I don't want to see these . . . things get to Earth or anywhere else with a dense population. If . . . this is the only way we can prevent that, then, fine. I'll go along with it."

With not much change in expression, Ripley nodded. "Thank you, Drake."

I figured that was enough, and turned away.

Hicks had observed the whole thing, and I couldn't tell if he was accepting of it or not. I think he was just trying to be a neutral party, but there was something else. I just couldn't pinpoint what. He didn't say anything as I walked by him, and I could see him staring down at his boots.


"We can't fly if Spunkmeyer keeps bleeding."

Dietrich, like Hudson, looked like she was on the verge of an emotional explosion. "I can't give him stitches in here. I don't have the right equipment, and we can't fly back to the fucking Sulaco."

Ferro clenched and unclenched her fists. "I don't think you have a choice."

"The most I can do is change the dressing, and put a thicker bandage on him. That's it. You certainly can't fly if he's loaded with painkillers."

"She's got a point," Wierzbowski muttered.

We had to stay there until Dietrich finished with Spunkmeyer. Not even five minutes had passed when a shaky Hudson got to his feet, and gestured for me to follow him. We went out into the hall, flamethrowers slung over our shoulders.

"We're gonna be stuck in here, man," Hudson sobbed.

"Alright, seriously? Don't start crying," I sighed. "You've been through shit like this-"

"This is worse. This is so much worse, man. Remember that time I got separated from you guys in Romania? This is worse."

Reluctantly, I hugged him. "I know. We shouldn't be here for much longer, OK? Now, stop crying before I slap you into next week. You really wanna act like this in front of Ripley and Gorman?" I shook him. "Shame on you. You want me to tell Miranda you're being a big baby here? You think she's gonna wanna marry your hairy ass after this? Absolutely not." I cuffed him upside the head. "Quit being a bitch, Hudson. Neither of us can afford to let our fucking emotions take over now."

He was still holding onto me. I think he knew I said all that out of brotherly love. Giving an irritated sigh, I patted his head. When this is over, I have a feeling he'll do what he did after being poisoned by the silver flower; he'll repress every memory regarding this. He'll lock it away in his brain and even he won't know where to find it. I know that might damage his relationship with Miranda in the long run, and I don't want to see that happen.

"Think past this, buddy," I whispered. "You're gonna go home. You're gonna sit on your ass for the next four weeks while the USCM draws up your papers. Then they're gonna call you down, talk to you, ask you if you want another contract, and you'll probably say no, sign the paper, pack your shit, and leave. After that, you'll ask Miranda to marry you, right?"

Hudson nodded.

"Yeah. And you're gonna ask me to be your best man, and you and her are gonna argue over how the wedding is going to look, and blah, blah, blah. All that fun stuff. Am I right?"

Another nod.

"OK. Let's get back in the lab. Pretty sure Dietrich is done with Spunkmeyer. Let's get this show on the road, kick some ass, and go home." I roughly patted Hudson's shoulder. "You good?"

"Yeah, man."

We went back into the lab to see Dietrich applying the finishing touches to Spunkmeyer's new bandage. "This should hold up until we go back to the Sulaco. He'll be alright for the trip home, but he needs stitches; I didn't think those scratches were that deep, and we can't let them get infected. Who knows what these aliens have on their claws."

I noticed Newt was seemingly struggling with her expression. On one hand, she remained blank. On the other, she looked like she wanted to be upset. I didn't deny that she had seen so many people be killed at the claws of these creatures. She was probably thinking that it was pointless to get emotional over Spunkmeyer.

If she wants to get upset, she should. I knelt in front of her, whispering, "He's not going to die, OK? He's gonna be fine."

Shyly, she nodded. Aside from when I gave her food, this was the first time Newt had responded to anything I said. I can tell she's still not sure about me considering I did almost shoot her. At this point, I didn't think there was anything else I could say or do that would prompt her to trust me; that was something she had to do on her own. If it didn't happen, it wasn't my fault.

You would think children have less control over their emotions than adults. It takes an extremely traumatic event to get them to suppress their emotions as much as I have over the years. It becomes harder to express yourself the longer you close yourself off. It becomes harder to trust people. I didn't start forming bonds with my teammates until two years after I joined the units. That's how hard it was for me to open up. Even before my incident with the silver flowers, I just couldn't talk to anyone, aside from Vasquez. You'd think that having such a close relationship with one person would mean we could talk about anything and solve problems together. No, that's not the case at all. She has her own issues. When the both of us are suffering, we can't come to a solution together. We don't know what to do. We continued to become strained the longer it went on, and it wasn't until I found an outlet in Hudson when we started to figure things out again.

I just wish I knew how to convey that to Newt. Like when I got into my unit, I had made a bad first impression. I swore not to make that mistake again, but here I was, making that same fucking mistake.


We waited a few minutes to see how Spunkmeyer's new bandage held up. As Dietrich said, it would be good until we got back to the Sulaco. He'd be in cryo for the trip home anyway, so the doctors on Gateway would give him the proper stitches and medication.

On the dropship, we were given our weapons back, and starting taking out every explosive the ship carried. Frost helped everyone get grenade launchers fitted on their pulse rifles, while Vasquez and I checked each other over once our smartgun harnesses were on.

Just in case, everyone kept their flamethrowers. Crowe was methodically unscrewing and refilling the fuel canisters on everyone's weapons, while Wierzbowski screwed the canisters back on, and handed them back to their owners. Hicks was by himself, loading new shells in his shotgun and clipping extras to a bandolier across his armor. Newt watched from a safe distance, on Spunkmeyer's lap.

I didn't think anyone would be hungry because of how nerve-wracking this mission was, but we did expel a lot of energy in the processor, and we needed to replenish ourselves as well as our weapons. Much to my surprise, Hudson was being rather slow when it came to eating. He had no appetite at all, and I felt bad for him. Sighing, I sat next to him, and took a flat marble cake out of my ration pack to wave it in front of his face. "Hey, you gotta eat, buddy. Apone's gonna rip you a new one if you don't." I put the cake near his mouth. "Come on. I know you want it. Just don't bite my fingers off."

Hudson gave me a dirty look, and plucked the cake from my hand. I think I caught Newt smiling at us from the corner of my eye.

Wierzbowski approached us and leaned against the APC with his rations. "You two OK?"

"Anxious," I said. "You?"

"I didn't know it was possible to be so nervous and tired at the same time. I feel like I could take a nap right now, but I also can't."

I nodded. "This fucking ship Ripley's talking about must be pretty big if there're hundreds of alien eggs in it. If it was a little thing, no problem, but a big one?" I shook my head.

"She does have a point, though. We don't need these things getting to a more civilized place." Wierzbowski took a sip of his water.

I took a breath. "Well, if this is what it takes to protect our homes, and our . . . our future children . . ." I looked at both Hudson and Wierzbowski. They're not fathers now, but that might change. Hudson has been open in the past with Miranda about kids, while Wierzbowski really hasn't touched the subject with Eliza. He's never told me why. I know Vasquez and I are going to have kids. A kid. Vasquez was firm on saying she only wants one, and I understand. Doesn't matter if it's a son or a daughter; we're only having one. "Let's do it," I finished.


On the flight to the derelict, I was silent while observing the rest of my teammates. I was really queasy and my heart was pounding. Honestly, I'm not sure how else to describe the feelings in that dropship on the way to the derelict ship. I could tell from everyone's expressions that we were nervous and unsure, even though we did trust Gorman.

Gorman was trying to distract himself by watching our vital sign monitors. I don't think he doubted the plan he formed with Hicks, Apone, and Ripley, but I think he was worried about the casualties it could produce. No one wants to be the guy sending notices to families that their Marine's been killed. With me, there would be no notice. There would be nothing.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Drake?" Gorman asked, glancing at me. "Your brainwaves are very active."

"Just thinking about what we're doing," I said.

"You've been snippy with everybody." Gorman returned his gaze to the monitors. "Is it because of that little blue mark on your ID papers?"

"The little blue mark" refers to a simple blue circle under my medical synopsis on the first sheet of my identification documents. Basically, it means I have a mental health condition. "Partly," I replied. "How come you didn't talk to me about it when we came outta cryo, or when you met us on Gateway?"

"I've dealt with blue marks before. Most of them had been receiving treatment for years, and it doesn't effect them as badly. Frankly, I wasn't sure how to approach you about it, because you seem like the type that doesn't let people, or at least, strangers, in."

I nodded a little. He wasn't wrong. "I've been trying to manage that, too. I'm sorry if I gave that off."

"OK. Is there something . . . you'd like to talk about?"

"If we had the time, Goddammit, I'd tell you my whole story." I gave a weak grin. "Maybe we can chat over a beer when we get back to Earth. My treat."

Much to my surprise, Gorman smiled back. "Let me have a look at my schedule when we get back. We'll work something out."

"Look, I wish there was some part of it I could summarize, but . . . I can't. I'm sorry, sir. There's just a lot that I don't know how to explain in a short period of time. I mean, I can tell you I'm scared. I'm scared that my best friends-some of whom I consider my brothers and sisters-aren't gonna survive this. I'm scared that if I survive, I'm going to be set back in my progress for beating my fucking PTSD. That's it. I'm scared."

Gorman nodded. "I think we all are. I know it probably doesn't sound too helpful, but, stick with your partners, follow every instruction. I think we'll get out of this alive. Maybe not unscathed, but alive."

I took a breath. "I hope you're right."

Roughly an hour later, the dropship landed near a large almost horseshoe-shaped structure that Ripley claimed was the alien ship carrying the eggs. Gorman ordered us to do a quick equipment check. Vasquez looked over my smartgun and harness, and then made eye contact with me. She partially dropped her guard, for me, and only me.

Hoping no one saw, I mouthed, "I love you."

Biting her lip, Vasquez said, "I love you, too," by slapping me across the face, prompting me to smirk.

It was no surprise that the area this ship was looked no different to where the colony was. It was dark, overcast, dusty, and there was no life aside from us-and the fucking eggs, of course. There was a minor difference, though, and that was the ship's resting place looked much darker, more dusty. Out of all the depictions of hell I've ever seen, I'm surprised no artist has ever done something that looked like LV-426, but I can also see why; it's too fucking intimidating. It's worse than Antarctica, the Sahara, and LV-400 put together. For me, it's like looking into the corners of my brain where my PTSD nests. There's nothing, aside from a monster I can't describe using words alone.

That monster has been woken up a few times over the course of this mission. Maybe it lifted its head a little, before going back to sleep, but for me, that's too much. It's taken me so long to get it to just find a dark spot in my brain and stay there. I don't want to go through the sheer hell of putting it back again. I don't have the energy to fight that battle again.

Spunkmeyer unbuckled his harness to let Newt sit on his lap. "You're staying with us again, OK?" he said. "It shouldn't be too long."

Ferro left the pilot's seat to take a pulse rifle from Frost, and then sat back down. "Don't get too comfy, Spunkmeyer," she said.

"I'm not exactly comfy, but she is." Spunkmeyer gestured to Newt with his head.

I would later learn that he was actually comfortable. Frankly, I don't know how long it's been since Newt got any real sleep, but she was out like a light on Spunkmeyer, likely lulled by his heartbeat. I think everyone was glad she trusted him, compared to earlier, when she was running from us.

I wasn't too surprised Ripley was reluctant to accompany us to the derelict. This was the place where everything went wrong for her. I was tempted to say something, but I wasn't too sure she'd accept my thoughts after I've been a real ass toward her this whole time.

I tried to put myself in her place, imagining the derelict was full of silver flowers. When I opened my mouth to say something (although, to be real, I don't know what I was going to say, or how I was going to say it), I noticed Ripley making eye contact with me.

"What, Drake?" she asked.

Yeah, I wasn't sure what to say. I shut my mouth, sighing as I turned to head out with the rest of my unit.


Question: How do you think Hudson is going to manage his experience at home? Has he learned from his past, or do you think he'll attempt to bury it with adverse consequences?

Author's Note: I've read a few times that it's possible Drake would've beat on Hudson for whining if he survived the first encounter with the aliens. I don't necessarily deny that; Drake would've been ten times more enraged than he is now if events were playing out more similar to the movie.

Instead of Drake's internal monologue about suppressing emotions, there was going to be a scene where he inadvertently makes Newt cry after telling her Spunkmeyer's going to be OK. The dialogue between Drake and Ripley wasn't flowing all that well, so I scrapped it; they had their fight, so it's time for them to move on.