A/N: Haven't updated this in ages. I've gone through a lot of growth. I decided to update this, the flow of the story may seem a bit different because of the hiatus, but I've had a renewed interest in Aliens/Predators. My writing style has changed much since I'd first published this story. Please enjoy...

Chapter 12

Tony typed as fast as he could, his fingers constantly causing typos as he tried to punch in the cell number he'd gleaned from the LAPD database. After several tries, he managed to enter the proper number. He bobbed his leg up and down, the dial tone serving to grate on his nerves. "C'mon...pick up. Please," Tony breathed, phone pressed to his ear.

The dial tone finally ceased and the young man held his breath.

"This is Detective Harrigan."

"Mr. Harrigan!" Tony cried in relief. "I need your help. I-"

"I'm not able to pick up right now. Plsase leave your name, number, and message and I'll return your call ASAP."

Tony sighed, keeping the phone close to his ear. Voicemail. Great. What could be holding him up? Paranoia began to creep into his consciousness at the implications. Was he even still alive? ...No, he was still alive, he had to be. The LAPD would have listed him as deceased otherwise. Maybe he was busy killing more of those Predator aliens. Or worse, those mutant cockroaches.

His thoughts were briefly drawn to Amazon and what his future meant. Was she still trying to kill him? He wasn't sure. The fiasco at the military base left him confused and unsure of what to do besides get a second, no, third opinion on this mess. He trusted his father, as he'd met at least one of them, and frankly, he had no basis to doubt that his dad knew what he was doing.

But there had to be something more involved he could be doing besides wait for Amazon to show up, steal mpre of his food, and hope their shaky friendship- if he could even call it that- didn't morph into her suddenly deciding to kill him again.

So here he was, trying to contact a possibly reliable source, that wasn't picking up his damn phone.

The beep sounded, and he realized he hadn't thought of what to say.

"Uh, Mr. Harrigan, this is Tony, Detective Schaefer's nephew from NYPD." Tony paused briefly, collecting his thoughts. "Look, I've been in constant contact with one of the Predators. She hasn't tried to kill me in a while, but she and some others are after these mutant roach things...I'm sure you've heard about it on the news by now," he continued before facepalmed. "'Course you have, a base was blew to hell..." Tony realized he was rambling at this point. He sighed heavily.

"Look, I need your help. I don't know how, but I need to make sense of this. Please, get back to me as soon as you can."

Tony ended the call, hoping Harrigan didn't think he was a prank caller leaving some braindead joke message. But he did all he could on that front. It all depended on if Harrigan gets the message and if he takes it seriously.

So now what was he to do? He hadn't given up on looking for his Uncle, even if he had absolutely nothing for a lead. The base could have been one, but it was completely leveled.

The explosion happened only earlier today. There might be government presence there still. But maybe he could find something of a lead. With his mind made up, he headed for his bike.

Unhooking the lock from the front gate, he looked behind him to see his toolshed still crushed. He'd have to get that fixed. He sighed, jumping onto his bike seat, pedaling towards the crater where the base used to be.

Luckily, the installation was close to the museum, so he'd have no problem navigating his way there. It was still dark out, possibly 11pm. It was close to that time last he checked his phone. Many concerns still ran through his mind and he questioned his own intelligence for traveling outside close to midnight, especially if more of those quaraped aliens were still roaming about.

But the museum was already in sight. And so was the crater, made by Amazon's bomb.

No turning back now, he rationalized. He parked his bicycle next to a bike stand by the museum entrance. The museum's doors were situated at the top of a giant set of stairs. The police tape was way up there, so his bike should be safe locked where it was.

He jogged over to the crater, his quickened breath echoing in his ears from the exercise. He abruptly stopped at the edge and retreated back a bit in a crouch. The crater was deep. It was less of a crater, and more accurate to label it a cavern. It was far down enough that if he was careless, he probably would have died from the fall.

The crater's depth was only one-half of the problem. Within the cavern were dozens of personnel, ranging from soldiers to scientists, and even people in solid-colored suits.

He could obviously deduce that some of these people were investigators and there was military presence for obvious reasons, he couldn't identify some of the suited people. Some were obviously FBI, if the labeled trucks were any indication, but there were other vehicles with a strange logo on them. They looked like military transport but they sported logos of a white circle with a stylized "Y" emblazoned on it.

Tony hesitated, suddenly unsure. The cavern, the personnel...

No. He had to do this. He needed some answers. Even if he didn't find anything, at least he could be satisfied that he exhausted all his options.

"Here goes nothing..." he muttered. He was glad there were service ladders installed by the groups milling about. He wouldn't have to break his neck trying to get down there. He climbed down quietly and as fast as he dared, keeping a wary eye on the militia looking men with the "Y" on their combat vests.

Once he got off the ladder, he snuck along the wall. It was smoothed out somehow, probably by the personnel here and railings were nailed into it. Now that he paid closer attention, there were lights installed as well, much like the kinds he'd see in Subway systems. What all this implied didn't sit right with him, he realized. This seemed a little much to investigate what was essentially a bombing...

But he let the thought drift from his mind. Because the lights were angled in such a way that they light the walkway and not the walls they were attached to, he could blend in with the shadows that were cast easily enough.

Then it hit him. He had no idea where he was going. The only remnants that reminded him a building had been here were the almost skeletal like remains of girders, the rare overturned metallic table that had yet to be removed, and even more disturbing, the acid burned remains of flooring. Fortunately, there were no bodies.

Movement from farther down the hall alerted him to people coming towards his direction. Why had he come down here? He was reminded of how stupid this idea was. He had come back expecting to see a crater, not some...some other base installed into the remains of another one!

It was five people. A fairly attractive asian woman followed by four armed soliers. While the woman was dressed simply in a dark suit and flats, the soldiers were impossible to distinguish between. They all wore that same letter emblazoned on their uniform. Visors covered their heads and their combat gear bordered on bulky without looking cumbersome.

Tony pressed his back as far as he could towards the wall as they neared.

"What's the status on that heat bloom the techs spotted this morning," the woman asked, coming to a stop right next to Tony. She hadn't noticed him, and he dared not move, holding his breath.

One of the soldiers spoke up, a tablet of some sort removed from a strap on their leg.

They sighed, their voice distinctly masculine. "It seemed to travel from a couple blocks down towards the museum. We set up some bugs in that general area in case it returns to that spot," he answered. He paused. "Still no answer on the museum incident?"

"No," the woman replied with a shake of her head. "Weyland's people have an idea," she added. "But I don't trust them, or at least their heads."

"Why's that?" Another of the soldiers asked. Female.

"They're not exactly known for sound business practices," the woman answered. "They're claiming they need some manpower for 'fieldwork'. Why can't they send their own men?"

"Weyland Corp. still doesn't know we're aware of alien contact," the first soldier ventured. "Probably testing the waters in this case to see if it's what they think it is."

"You're probably right," the suited woman answered, tired acceptance in her voice. "Keep tracking that heat bloom. I want to know if it's a threat."

"Right," the soldier with the tablet confirmed, typing something down as they continued to walk. A door was only a few paces from where they had first stopped, where the woman stepped inside and the soldiers split off in formation down another hallway.

These people knew something about the aliens, he observed. Did that woman know something about the Predators? And maybe even his Uncle? He thought about his next step before shuffling over to the door.

This was highly irregular, he thought to himself. But he figured he had nothing to lose. He was in this deep already, he'd probably be shot on sight trying to get out of the cavern anyway.

He turned the knob on the door, cracking it just slightly. The lights were off. The only light projected was from a computer screen the woman was seated in front of. Praying that God would forgive him for his stupidity, he crept intl the room at a crouch, looking for a good place to hide. There had to be some information in here and he was going to find it.