Chapter 1 – Operations

            The emergency lights seemed to be the only system still working in the facility. Their ominous red glow barely illuminated the corridor as his boots clicked against the metal grated floor. He ran at a panic, his arms flailing about in the thick clouds of steam and smoke being poured out of the pipes running along the walls. The sirens also wailed, giving their warning of the situation that he was already too frighteningly aware of.

                "Containment fields compromised," the artificial voice rang out over the sirens, "Specimens detected in bio-labs 21-45, living compartments 8-21, command centers 5-9, loading bays 22-30."

                He ran as fast as his human legs would take him, but he knew it wouldn't be fast enough. They would find him and kill him. Even worse, they would make him a host for their damned group, making even more of them. Was he the only one left? He didn't have time to think about that, all he could do was run. He tripped over something, smashing into the ground. Reaching his hand up, he felt the blood rushing from his skull. He screamed, backing over the body of one of the security guards. Johnson was it? He was prick, and perhaps he deserved what those bastards did to him. He didn't have time to stop and stare at what remained of Johnson's torso, he had to run.

                Rounding a corner he found himself staring at the door that led to loading bay 35, one of the few that weren't occupied by them. He entered his code onto the computer pad, his nervous fingers making it all the more difficult. The door opened and he walked inside. Was he safe? It seemed so. There was no sign of them in there. He could just sit there and wait out his death. Sitting down next to one of the crates in the room, he cried for the first time since he could remember. They were coming for him, he knew it, but when would they find him?

                "Warning," the artificial computer voice blared again, "Specimens detected in loading bay 35."

                His spine froze as the creature's unmistakable hissing filled his ears. He cringed his shoulders as he slowly tilted his head back to look up. It was a drone, a large one, it's drool falling down onto his glasses. He felt the tears running down his face grow thicker and when he brought his hand up, he felt more blood coming from his forehead. The creature howled, it's inner mouth jutting outwards and into his forehead, tearing into his brain tissue. The drone lowered itself to the floor almost gracefully and began feeding on the dead human's body.

                "Warning!" the computer continued, "Complete contamination eminent, all personnel evacuate at levels 3-22."

                * * *

                The darkness of space was something that was easy for one to get lost in. It was limitless, infinite. Was man really supposed to conquer space? Was it within his finite existence to reach the edges of the limitless?

                Sighing, USCMC 1st Lieutenant Charles "Chaz" Rockwell ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. He was onboard the United Systems Military vessel, Lockwood traveling in the deepest part of space explored by humans, the Omega Quadrant. Named Omega because man had never successfully established a colony anywhere outside the ring of planets. It was widely believed that the planets outside the Omega Quadrant were the home systems of the Xenomorphs, so extra care was to be taken by anything journeying to the unknown regions of space.

                They had been fighting the war against the Xenomorphs, more commonly known as the 'Aliens' for nearly a thousand years. Chaz's father was in the USCMC as was his grandfather. Both had met their deaths on the inside of a Xenomorph hive. Chaz remembered the day the news arrived about his father. By the time the messengers had arrived at his small farm in what remained of the Midwestern United States, his father was more than likely already dead from the infestation. He remembered his mother crying on her knees, damning all the gods in the skies for killing her husband and his father. He took an oath that day, he would never allow that to happen to him. He would die of his own hand before he helped create another damned drone for an Alien hive somewhere out in the remoteness of space.

                "Yo, Chaz!" a familiar voice broke through the silence of his thoughts. It was Jeremy Blunt, another faceless soldier in the Corp and probably the only person on the ship that would constantly harass Chaz when he wanted to be alone. Jeremy walked up to where Chaz stood by the port window and tapped him on the shoulder, "Come on, buddy, the sarge wants you and me loading the equipment for the drop."

                "Sure," Chaz turned away and began following Jeremy down the corridors of the Lockwood to the hangar bay.

                "Man you need to stop just disappearing or the sarge is going to blow you out the airlock," Blunt joked, slapping Chaz across the shoulders.

                Blunt was relatively smaller than Chaz, and most of the other marines for that matter, but he never let that bother him. He was 'the' outstanding personality in their platoon and he knew it. Chaz looked at himself as the polar opposite of Jeremy. Where he just wanted to be left alone, Jeremy wanted all the attention.

                The cargo bay door slid open in front of them and they entered the hangar. The other marines from the platoon were already assembled and they were getting their gear stowed away on the APC. Chaz was already dressed in his battle fatigues and slid his body armor over his chest while Jeremy began inspecting his automatic weapon.

                "I just love this thing," Jeremy joked, "Had it twenty straight drops without a single jam or misfire."

                "You shouldn't talk about it," Chaz replied, placing a clip in his weapon and loading it before adding two more to his pouches on his belt, "Or it's gonna happen when you're smack dab right in the middle of a Xenomorph hive."

                "Man, you shouldn't joke about a thing like that," Jeremy shook his head, lacing up his combat boots.

                A sly grin crossed Chaz's face. The prepping was the best part of the mission for him. He pulled a combat shotgun from the storage container along with a box of rounds. He loaded the shotgun and a chest harness, wrapping it over his right shoulder. Having all the weapons of the Corp at his fingertips made him feel invincible against the Aliens. He rechecked his sidearm to make sure it was loaded and added an extra clip to his belt. His sidearm was his last resort, his ultimate weapon. He would always have that with him, it was the final shot. He would take the last bullet from his gun before he allowed himself to be taken by them.

                The cargo doors opened once again and the leader of their platoon walked in. Staff Sergeant  Donald Kinneas. He was what Chaz liked to refer to as a career gun. He had joined the USCMC at the age of nineteen and had since modeled his life around the Corp's rules of discipline and conduct. He had a number of hostile encounters with the Xenomorphs along with other missions deemed too covert to be made public knowledge. Chaz knew this because he had a friend in a tech division back at Marine Quadrant HQ tap into the personnel files shortly before their departure for the current mission.

                It was odd, but Chaz had never really been interested in Kinneas before the mission in question. It bothered him because there was little briefing on the mission before their departure, only general orders. They were to proceed to planet LV-2021 in the Omega Quadrant and await further orders there. Usually command handed down the specifics before the mission went underway. Why his team had been selected was what bothered Chaz about it. Could it have something to do with Kinneas' black op past?

                "Commander on deck!" the platoon leader, Miller, chimed up as Kinneas watched his men gather. He had grayed eyes from exposure to toxic substances on a planet that was infested as a Xenomorph home planet. The substance supposedly burned his iris and retinas, making his vision blurred. Chaz believed otherwise.

                "All right, listen up," Kinneas began, "As of 0800 hours, we've come into orbit around LV-2021. Our orders are as follows.  Two months ago, the Weyland-Yutani corporation lost contact with it's mining facility on the planet's northern continent. We're being sent to recover the facility from a possible infestation and rescue survivors."

                "Damned bugs go it?" one of the marines piped up, "What the hell are they doing building that place on a bug planet anyway?"

                "It's not our problem," Kinneas shrugged off the question.

                "Sir," Chaz spoke up, "Permission to ask a question."

                "Granted."

                "Sir, why are we doing this?" Chaz voiced one of his many concerns about the op, "Our platoon is still green with the replacements. They're not ready to fight a bug infestation."

                "That, also is not our problem," Kinneas avoided the subject, "Our orders are not negotiable. Rockwell, you and Blunt are the only ones on this platoon that have come into contact with the Xenomorphs aside from combat training against synths. I expect you two to provide the leadership you a responsible with. Am I understood?"

                "Sir, yes, sir," Chaz and Jeremy replied.

                "Good. Now, if there are no further questions, prepare to drop in twenty minutes. Dismissed!"

                * * *

                The dropship began to rumble as the final clamps were released from the Lockwood's holding systems. Chaz closed his eyes and tried to envision the departure system. Sitting locked into the holding brackets of the APC was a nauseating experience for all the marines in the Corp with little exception. The best way to deal with it was to keep your eyes closed so as to not realize how much danger you're actually in. There was always the possibility that the holding system would malfunction or the hull would deteriorate in the atmosphere above the planet. Not so common as it was when his grandfather was in the Corp, the incident was a rare occurrence with the use of new alloys, but it was still a threat.

                "Hold onto something, pukes!" Drake, the female pilot of the dropship chimed in over the announced system, "Twenty seconds to atmosphere. It's gonna get real hot in here soon."

                The ship started to shake more violently as Chaz ticked off the seconds with a methodical tapping of his boot. Aside from Jeremy, he was the only experienced member of the team going to the surface. Their company was comprised of around fifty specialists. They weren't called soldiers anymore, since the Corp now trained its men to do a wide variety of tasks such as maintenance, repair, engineering, and computer tasks. Chaz himself was fluent in computer access and hacking and basic repair. Still, he liked to refer to himself and his squad mates as soldiers. Out of the fifty soldiers, twenty were heading to the surface in two APCs carried by two separate dropships.

                The heat started to increase in the APC as the ship made impact with the planet's atmosphere. Nearly one hundred degrees in the inside of the ship, Chaz was starting to feel the heat, making his stomach start to churn and twist. His brow got instantly sweaty, but he didn't bother with it. The best way to make a drop less painful was to focus on something else. Chaz chose the Aliens. He could see them in his mind dancing about in their satanic fashion. He was also there with his gun firing at them and watching their bodies explode, the highly acidic blood spraying on the walls and surfaces.

                As the heat started to wear off, Chaz opened his eyes. Two of the new recruits had passed out from the force exerted onto the ship from the drop and the marine next to him had puked on his gear. Jeremy seemed fine, sitting with his eyes still closed. Jeremy had been given command of the ten marines in their APC for the mission while Kinneas and Miller were in the second APC. Kinneas' team was heading for the southern landing field outside the complex's perimeter to investigate energy readings picked up before the drop. Chaz and Jeremy's team was to land in the central landing field just west of the complex and travel overland in the APC to the facility to try and establish contact with the numerous outposts littered across the landscape. Any survivors were to be evacuated to a predetermined landing zone twenty kilometers north of the facility in the barren wasteland. Atmospheric makeup of the planet was similar to the deserts of Earth, similar to the Midwest where Chaz grew up. He smiled, thinking about how he would be in his element.

                "What's so funny, bud?" Jeremy asked.

                "Nothing," Chaz shook his head slightly, "Just anxious I guess."

                "Well we'll probably get that anxiety out of you in no time," Jeremy laughed, "All right, marines, listen up. When we hit the dustoff, it's twenty minutes overland to the facility. Harper, Jessup, you take  Alpha team to the security control on Deck 3 and get the power back on. Rockwell and I will take Bravo to the command center on Deck 1 to get in touch with Sarge's team, understood?"

                "Sir, yes, sir!" the squad echoed.

                "Good," Jeremy put his helmet on and brought him comm-link up, "Drake, ready for dustoff!"

                "Dustoff in five, four, three, two, one!" Drake radioed back.

                There was more violent jerking followed by the sounds of the APC engine roaring. They were on the ground and moving. Chaz unfastened himself from his harness and opened one of the viewing holes. It was daytime on the planet, though the sun appeared to be setting. If there was an infestation in the facility, they would have to move fast before the Xenomorphs awoke for their nightly hunting. Two months? There was no way anyone could survive for two months in an infested facility. They were better off to take their chances in the desert.

                Twenty minutes passed quickly and the APC came to a stop outside the facility's perimeter. Given the harsh nature of the planet's surface. The facility was built as a giant in-ground swimming pool. The upper surface levels were about one hundred square miles of living facilities and observation pods. Built to house nearly three thousand people, the top level was impressive in a of itself. But the true magnificence of the facility laid underground. A series of elevators could easily transport the workers and staff down nearly two hundred yards to the working center of the facility where the mining and operations happened. Overall, the facility was like a giant starship built underground. It was entirely self sufficient with enough tunnels and corridors that made it ripe for Xenomorph infestation. The outer mining facilities were connected by a complex tunnel network made of a tram system that ran over most of the northern continent. One of their jobs was too secure a section of the tunnel to allow safe passage for Kinneas' team.

                The entrance to the facility reminded Chaz of a prison back on Earth. Big metal doors were surrounded by barbwire and two guard stations flanked the doorway entrance. Two large sentry guns manned the towers, their systems offline.

                "Pretty high security for a mining facility," Jeremy wiped the sweat from his brow.

                "Sure is," Chaz loaded his weapon, "Let's get this done and get out of here."

                "Right on, bud," Jeremy nodded.

                A small plastic explosive was used on the door to blow the automatic locking systems open. With the power down, it was impossible to open the doors or even run a bypass. Six of the ten marines pried the doors open while the other four kept lookout for any hostiles. It was standard SOP. The big metal doors opened to reveal a dark corridor that led down into the first level of the facility.

                "All right," Jeremy turned on his shoulder lamp, "This corridor supposedly leads to an elevator shaft that'll take us down into the facility. Alpha, go ahead and take the elevator. Deck 1 is Bravo's. Fan out and report any movement on the motion trackers."

                Chaz watched as the marines entered the bunker. It worried him, watching the sun setting. They had maybe two hours before dusk. Then the aliens would come out for the evening. He would have to bypass a console somewhere and determine how long nightfall was on the planet. Alpha was beginning to disappear into the darkness before Jeremy ordered his team ahead. Chaz followed near the rear to keep a check on their six. Since the facility was completely underground, the Xenomorphs might have changed their hunting patterns. That was the scariest thought of all.

                Alpha entered the elevator and the metal gates closed behind them. One of the new recruits started hacking into the doors that led to Deck 1. Since the emergency lights and the elevator worked, it was safe to assume that the power systems were not completely off, but running in hibernation mode. Hibernation mode was the fail-safe system built into all the W-Y facilities to allow rescue teams into the facility in case of an emergency.

                The door finally popped open and Jeremy motioned for the marines to enter into the passage. Chaz again took the rear, his motion tracker covering their soft six. Jeremy led the way, his rifle slung on his right arm while he read the motion tracker and held his AP pistol in his left hand. The rythmatic thump of the motion tracker and their heels clicking on the metal walkway were the only sounds. It was perfect for an attack, their nerves were at their ends.

                "I don't like this," one of the new soldiers broke the silence as they made their way down the corridor, "It's too freaky."

                "Keep your cool," Chaz warned him, "All infestations are like this, just stay frosty."

                "The command center is about two more sections down," Jeremy reattached the motion tracker to his belt and unslung his rifle, "There's just ghost signs ahead of us. Rockwell, anything behind?"

                "Nothing," Chaz watched the sonar beep out again, "This place is dead."

                "Keep your guard up," Jeremy called back as they approached a door, "Someone on it!"

                One of the marines stepped forward as the others took defensive positions on the sides of the corridor. Chaz let the new marines handle the defense, they could use the experience, while he continued to monitor the motion tracker.

                "Bravo leader," Jeremy's headset rang, "This is Alpha leader. Over."

                "Alpha, go ahead, over," Jeremy squatted down and held onto his radio to try and clear up the static transmission.

                "We've arrived on Deck 3. Power's out, but we're proceeding ahead as scheduled. Estimated time to power up is ten minutes. Over."

                "Roger that," Jeremy replied, "Bravo out."

                The radio went silent behind Chaz as he continued to eye the tracker. They were only of limited use in the first place. He remembered his first time on assignment when his squad was attacked by Xenomorphs. The trackers suddenly lit up with twenty or so signals all within the thirty foot arc the tracker provided. It was a jungle planet so the beasts came swarming out of nowhere, devouring his squadmates and taking others back for incubation. Chaz shuddered at the thought, remembering how he survived by being tossed into a nearby river by one of the aliens. It was a harrowing ordeal.

                "Got it!" the marine hacking the door's panel announced. He removed the hacking computer and closed the panel before pushing the button.

                The marines readied their weapons as the door slid upwards very slowly, its gears obviously damaged. Chaz held his weapon outstretched in his right hand as his eyes slowly peered down to the motion tracker. The sonar blipped, followed by a sudden echoing blip.

                "Movement!" Chaz shouted.

                Rounds echoed into the darkness of the corridor as the marines fired. Some screamed, some paniced and fired wildly. The eerie silence was replaced with the hail of gunfire as Jeremy fought to regain control of his team.

                "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" Blunt yelled as the marines slowly lowered their weapons. They were all breathing heavily and rightfully so, "Rockwell! What the hell was that, man?"

                "Sorry," Chaz rechecked his motion tracker, "The signal's gone."

                "It's okay," Jeremy patted him on the shoulder, "You can never be too sure with these damn things."

                Two marines stepped forward into the corridor, tossing a pair of flares ahead of them. The purple illumination revealed a human body lying in the middle of the corridor. Blood was soaked on the ground and the walls around it.

                "Sir!" one of the marines called Jeremy.

                Jeremy and Chaz went ahead, scoping out the body. It was lying on its stomach with one of the hands outstretched and the other crumpled at an odd angle over the back, obviously broken. Jeremy slowly poked it with the toe of his boot as one of the new recruits turned his head and started puking. Chaz eyed him suspisciously. It was obviously the first time he had seen a corpse mutilated.

                "This is odd," Jeremy knelt down, removing his helmet, "The body looks gutted in the stomach, but everything else looks intact."

                "Xenomorphs?" Chaz knelt down beside him.

                "I don't know," he rolled the body over revealing a large gash across its sternum, "See, these gashes are cutting right along the rib cage. Aliens aren't that methodical."

                "I'm liking this even less," Chaz stood up, "Let's get to the command center and get our business done before those things show up. We probably got about an hour and half until night."

                "What happens at night?" one of the marines asked.

                "You start dieing," Chaz responded with a cold chill in his voice.